Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Marshland Adventure

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
I turn off of a paved path and into the wild. I carefully step through overgrown grass that completely surrounds the stream nearby. I watch the ground carefully, as I know that the thick vegetation often obscures ruts and holes. I continue on through the marsh, and for a moment, it's like I've stepped back in time. There are no signs of civilization in my immediate area, and any form of upkeep done by humans in the past has now long been forgotten.

Up ahead, two trees rise above the reeds like the Pillars of Hercules, and their branches intermingle to form a protective canopy from the sun. I rest for a few minutes under them, standing on the soft, flattened down grass.

I decide to keep moving, and reemerge into the sun. I look around, searching for the best path to take. Here, the reeds are higher than my head, and nearly impenetrable. I decide to walk closer to the bank of the stream, where the grass was shorter and thinner, and there was a vague but discernable path.

After a few minutes, the stream bends sharply towards me. I pause to look at the slowly running water as it rippled past rocks and around curves. I look up quickly when I hear a noise in front of me. I see a full-grown buck suddenly leap from the water and onto the opposite shore, immediately disappearing into the brush.


After waiting awhile, I cautiously continue walking along the bank until I hit a wall of bulrushes. Seeing no way around them, and being unwilling to go through them, I turn around and start walking back.

The marshes near my home are a place I can completely escape from everyday life. Although it's less than a mile away from where I live, it feels like an entirely different world. Oftentimes when I go there, I take my best friend Rebecca along with me. Together, we brave the thickest brush, and lots of bugs. When we get tired of having to push our way through the reeds, we'll take off our socks and shoes, roll up our pants, and walk in the stream itself.

Sometimes, however, going by water isn't much better than going by land. The river bed is made up of either soft sediment and clay that will trap your feet, or rocks of varying size and shape, most are either pointy and hurt to walk on, or smooth and slippery.

Sometimes there is an island in the middle of the stream. The only way to get to it is the take a running leap and hope for the best, and it doesn't always work out. Once, while Rebecca and I were exploring, we both landed with at least one foot in the water. Our lack of success led to us having an even better experience that what we probably would have had if we had landed on dry land. For instance, we discovered that the stream bed was made largely out of clay, which was exciting as we like doing art projects together. We also found that on one side of the island, the stream bed was covered in small rocks, which led to Rebecca spending what must have been close to half an hour trying to teach me to skip stones.

The marshlands are a place where I can leave stress and responsibility behind. They are a place where I can be a child again and just explore the world and set free my imagination. It is a fantasy land that can be anyplace I want, and the possibilities are endless. It is a place where I feel free, where I can be anyone I want, and at the same time, truly be myself.



Join the Discussion


This article has 1 comment. Post your own!

RayynbowThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. said...
Sept. 30, 2013 at 5:56 pm:
I like the anecdotal nature of this piece that causes you to remember one particular trip to the marshland with your friend while in the piece you're obvioulsy visiting it alone. It's nice to think that you have a place to be yourself and that the way you write this that it is continuous. C:
 
Reply to this comment Post a new comment
 
Site Feedback