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18th Annual Crooked Tree Arts Center Juried Young Writers Exposition
Walloon Writers Review is pleased to share the poetry and prose winners for the 18th Annual Crooked Tree Arts Center Juried Young Writers Exposition. This exciting event is sponsored by Bob Schulze Literary Award, Little Traverse Literary Guild, McLean & Eakin Booksellers, the PetoskeyHarbor Springs Area Community Foundation, The Petoskey News-Review and Walloon Writers Review. This year, Little Traverse Literary Guild sponsored the first Hannah-Renkes/ Jan Smith Literary Award to “Best In Show” in both prose and poetry. We hope you will enjoy their talented writing.
First Place Prose, Elementary School
MISTY AND I
Madeline McDiarmid, 5th Grade
The wolf went up to the mountain top and stared intently at the moon. I wondered if she would howl, but no, she laid down and fell into a deep sleep. Observing the wolf, I noticed that she had silky gray fur, one blue eye and one hazel eye. She had a black nose and very big paws. She woke up and I was sitting next to her, at first, she was scared and my heart stopped then… she laid her head on my foot and went back to sleep. I started breathing again got my food out of my bag. She awoke at the smell of the food and ate it right out of my hand. I realized that she was hungry and I pulled some rabbit meat out of my bag, she ate cautiously, but finally swallowed it. I was winning her trust.
I was proud but then she stood up and started running. There was no way a teenage girl like me could catch her. I tried anyway, not realizing she was running from me. I continued all the way down the mountain, until we reached the forest. She ran right in like she was home and I stopped like when you pull the brake that stops the front wheel of your bike and you go flying. I knew where I was. I was standing at the edge of the Forest of Darkness. The wolf knew her way inside, but I wouldn’t survive, I would get lost and starve to death if I followed her. I knew I couldn’t go in, so I stayed and hoped that she would come back but she didn’t. I headed back to my cabin and thought of names for her, I decided on Misty because of how she disappears into the darkness.
The next morning, I felt like I was being watched, I opened my cabin door to get some fresh air and saw Misty. She ran into my cabin next to my basket of food, I couldn’t deny a hungry wolf. I gave her some berries. Misty wasn’t happy with me but I had nothing else to share, I realized I loved her and wanted her to stay.
I needed to get more food and decided that I would have to hunt. I left the cabin and she cautiously followed me. It was late afternoon and my deer camp was one hour away by snowmobile and I would have to strap her into my sled and pull her.
I tried to get Misty in the sled, she wouldn’t cooperate and backed away. I figured I am her only friend if she lost her pack and that she would follow me I started up my snowmobile and rode about a mile and stopped. I waited five, then ten minutes, no Misty. I waited five more minutes and saw Misty come out from behind an evergreen tree. She sat next to the sled and cocked her head at me. I said, “Let’s get you hooked in the sled!” I clipped a harness from one of my old sled dogs on her so that she would be safe and I hopped on going slowly at first while checking on Misty who was sitting calmly in the sled. I pushed and she wobbled but adjusted so I increased to a steady pace and she got a little scared but put up with it because she was hungry.
We were halfway there when we saw a female black bear, knowing that there must be cubs nearby, I slowed and looked at Misty who was extremely scared. We had to get to the site soon. I moved slowly around the edge of the clearing
and saw the bear running toward us, I sped up hoping to save our lives. The bear stopped chasing once we left the protective mother’s territory. Misty and I were off to the races again, I reached top speed and Misty looked like a dog hanging out the window, happy as can be. When we finally made it God must have been smiling down on me because we saw a herd of six deer walking through the woods. Misty spotted them and was agitated that I hadn’t unclipped her yet. She saw my bow and arrow and knew she was hunting with me, not for me. When she calmed down, I told her that she couldn’t get one without her pack and she would just chase them away. I said “I know you want to hunt but we need food, so I’ll make a deal. I will shoot one and you can retrieve it. Deal?” I could tell that she was disappointed but I was hungry and knew that I wouldn’t miss. I got lined up and could tell Misty was skeptical. To show my skill I let go with my eyes closed. A second later I heard Misty lunge off of the snowy ground and opened my eyes to see her entering the woods to catch our 200-pound buck. I screamed, “Yeah Misty!” She ran back dragging it behind her proudly with her broad shoulders held high.
Having field dressed the buck I made it back to my cabin past dark. I cooked up a nice deer kidney for myself and gave Misty the other. After eating I was exhausted and got ready for bed. I wondered what Misty was planning on doing. I still had my huts for my sled dogs and set one on my porch for her in case she decided to stay. She rejected it and laid down in the field next to my cabin to sleep. I was so tired that I fell asleep getting into bed. When I awoke in the morning Misty was sitting staring at the sunrise and I smiled a humongous smile brighter than the northern lights. I will always call her Misty of the Mountain. Thinking to myself, maybe this time you’ll stay.
First Place Poetry, Elementary School
MUSIC OF THE NIGHT
Madeline McDiarmid, 5th Grade
When you hear the buzzing noise of the beetles in the grass, and when you listen to the crickets chirping and see the fireflies glow you are listening to the music of the night.
If you listen very hard you may hear the wind whistle of the flutter of wings, the wings of a golden moth searching for some food. That is the music of the night.
You may also hear the scampering of a bright orange fox scavenging for a snack. When you notice the flapping wings of a dark brown bat hiding in the shadows that is the music of the night.
When you listen to the rushing stream and the trees creaking in the breeze, you are hearing the music of the night.
When you listen to your fireplace crackle while watching the tangerine and crimson colored flames fly, you call the music of the night your lullaby, as you finally drift off to sleep.
In the morning when you awake and smell the fresh dew, secretly wishing that could still hear the music of the night.
First Place Prose, Middle School
BENEATH THE CHERRY BLOSSOM
Eva Sharapova, 6th Grade
The bare moon drew over the sky like a dove made of pure light, ready to swoop through the trees and bring the totality of darkness before the gentle light of dawn. Thick driven fir trees sloped across the landscape blanketing the forest floor with fir cones. A singular cherry blossom tree sat in a clearing in the woods. It was unusual to have a cherry tree in a conifer forest. Near impossible. Yet this tree didn’t seem to care. As it sat in the moss-covered clearing, a singular petal floated down to land on the tree’s roots. Something stirred near its trunk, like a ripple of movement. A vixen slipped out of the brush, her amber-furred head bristled with fine fur and her green eyes happy. The fox trotted a couple of paw-steps before stopping to tip its head back towards the bracken from which it had ascended. An old woman hobbled out. Her eyes were a milky hazel and she held a cane. Her silver hair was braided with care, yet a few stray hairs framed her wizened face. She panted and hobbled along to the great roots, sitting down with an aged sigh. The amber vixen followed her with ease and as she began to sit the fox guided her muzzle against her cane as if to help her sit down against the cherry blossom tree’s roots. The old woman closed her eyes for a moment, moving only to slightly pet the fox’s bristle-furred russet-amber back. As she sat, a clearer view of the tree seemed to form. Beneath its pink-flowered boughs, a bundle of purple-speckled lavender plants rested, their gentle sweet scent mixing with the cherry blossom’s own. Once the older woman had sat down, the fox darted to her side to rest its head on her leg. She smiled softly and called out in her warm, cracked, gentle voice. “I’ll tell you a story, zorro rojo.” She spoke in Spanish, for she had learned the language when she had been young from her father who was Mexican. The young vixen raised its head from her lap in its own elegant way and flicked an ear curiously towards her. “In the early spring times when cherry blossoms like this were blooming, I came here with my father and my family, to this very same conifer forest.” The vixen tipped its head imploringly and nosed her cane-hand to continue. “We came here because this fir tree forest had stood since my grandmother’s father had come. On his way with his family to search for land, he came to this wood. They trekked through the wood, searching for a place in the forest to camp that wasn’t as densely packed with trees. After hours they came upon this clearing deep in the woods. They called it ‘refuge dans le noir’ refuge in the dark. When they awoke in the morning, they discovered a spring and traveled on to find a plot of land of their own. They knew without this clearing they most likely wouldn’t survive with limited water and no shelter. So, they began the tradition of visiting every spring time.” She went on, “Every year we came to this very spot and my brothers and sisters and I would play in the stream that lies just beyond that rise.” She motioned to the rise of earth. “Of course this cherry blossom tree wasn’t there yet but I remember…” she trailed off. The red fox nudged her again and she nodded, “The spring was warm and fresh, I remember it like yesterday. Of course this very same conifer forest was much bigger but that was before they began to cut it down…” her face fell slightly at the mention of the deed. “That day we had just
laid out our picnic when my father almost sat on this very same cherry tree sprout!” She paused, lost in a cascade of memories she once more was quiet and the small vixen nosed her hand gently, almost bidding her to go on. She shook herself, clearing her mind. “Yes… he yelled like no tomorrow; he was so surprised. Of course he wouldn’t hurt a fly so he had us redo our picnic on the other side of the clearing. It was odd enough to find this tree and everyone had their own thoughts on how it had ended up there but none exactly fit until my father gave his bid.” The fox blinked softly, seemingly wondering about the story. “He said, ‘It’s a cherry blossom, that’s what it is. It means that we are sure to have a full springtime by God. I haven’t seen one of` these since I was just a child. I remember my own father telling me it was a sign that even though it is hard to see, someone’s watching over us.’ Then he knelt down and beckoned to us, and he said, clear as day I remember it… ‘look at that,’ he said with a proud sigh ‘it’s against all odds. Growing in a conifer forest filled with fir cones and shadows! Who woulda thought?’” She smiled warmly. “Every year we came back as it grew. I’m still here and you have to think, we’re just like the cherry blossoms. Against all odds we’re here. You’re a fox by god. I’m not but an old woman. Yet we’re very much alike, me, you and the cherry blossom. You see, the cherry blossom only blooms for a short time. After that it hides its beauty from the world.” she smiled blissfully, “I myself doubt I have much time left here. Days are ticking away. But even if this is the last time I come here. I’m glad to have come, I might be the only one to have ever seen it as it truly is. Beauty given to only those who take the time to slow down and take a look.”
First Place Poetry, Middle School
FAMILY PHOTOS
Eva Sharapova, 6th Grade
People cast in black and white. Their eyes unblinking, Faces unmoving. Caught in a state of perfection. Beauty in a fragile frame of glass. Broken glass. Frozen in time. So much Could be shared. So many apologies Could be whispered. So many thoughts Could be spoken. So many fears Outspoken. Look deeper I beg, Hiding behind Their smiles, Darkness captured in a single flash. Perfection in a wave of pain. Lost in thought, Or lost forever.
ELEVEN LETTERS
Marisa Hoover, 10th Grade, Petoskey High School
Eleven letters. That’s all it takes to create a ripple in the lake of consternation. You never think something can erode you until it washes up on your shore. Life-altering events are the whirlpools that drag you to the sandy floor and beg for your gasping breath. Like a footprint seared in the trodden sand, you always seem to recollect the setting of significant events as if they are ingrained into your reminiscence.
It was a nippy and frigid December evening. The sounds of the frozen wind howling and the drip of deteriorating icicles created a vortex of tranquility. My Shenandoah, however, was about to be shattered by a squall of reality. A knock came to my brother’s fine-grained door, and my mother entered. She approached me and my brother wearing a halo of reassurance above her raven black hair. She gazed at us with her cerulean blue eyes and brave countenance and then said the eleven letters that resonated an echo of perturbation within us: I have cancer. Those letters ricocheted off the fresh snow colored walls and blew buffets to our utopia. It was as if time had been frozen. The room chilled and ice seemed to trace my spine. The numbing ambiance, however, melted in the cornucopia of my mother’s warmth. There seemed to be a conflagration that enveloped her determined features. She promised us that she was going to fight her battle without treaties or white flags of surrender, and she was going to decimate her foe with deep animosity. That promise was sealed with copious amounts of devotion and tenderness, never to be broken.
Her fight was a grueling one, and it chipped her strength into splinters of defiance. She went through eight rounds of chemotherapy, six weeks of radiation, and even had a port inserted into her chest. Her immunity dwindled, but a smile was always plastered on her face. Her robustness illuminated the true capability of courage, and it seeped into the lives of those around her. Her thirst for victory was unquenchable. Even as her hair diminished, her resistance waxed to a zenith. She started off wearing a wig but felt ill at ease under the mask of inauthenticity. The way she emanated bravery by displaying her true self still reverberates with me today as if it was etched into the shore of my evocation. Her water colored eyes and sand dune skin holistically embodied a lake of valor.
Her fight ultimately persisted for twelve months, until one transformative day, she explained to me that she had won her war with cancer, solidifying her victory over the malignant vessel. That’s when I ascertained the most empowering eleven letters ever amalgamated: I’m a survivor.
ENVY
Marisa Hoover, 10th Grade, Petoskey High School
Tangled in profuse vines of green, Jealousy towers lofty and pristine. Grass trounced beneath hankering feet, Sprouts desire where comparisons meet.
Disguised by a facade of benevolence, A brute ruptures levees spouting my pestilence. My perceptions gleam of its jagged fangs craving; Insecurity dictates its terrors and panging.
As our hearts flutter in a synchronized chorus, My Achilles heel grows exponentially porous. Ubiquitous are its jade petrifications; Suggestions buoy my begrudged obligations.
The behemoth creeps, rapacious for control; I’m devotedly covetous with my heart and soul. Its serrated claws prickle porcelain skin, Piercing the confidence buried within.
Yearning avarice reaps harmonious unions; Intertwined are my deceptions and delusions. As prevaricating aplomb lurks apprehensive, My actions become utterly retrospective.
An aperture augments to chasms of greed, Plagued with cacoethes, I acquiesce and concede. My Statue of Liberty collapses like Goliath; The flame erupts into a conflagration of riot.
Emerald tinged are its formidable frights, The green-eyed monster is all bark, no bite.
NO MORE NORMALITY
by Isabel Dunn, 9th Grade, Harbor Springs High School
Arthur knows that he shouldn’t be at the store. He shouldn’t be anywhere, for that matter. Anywhere except the confines of his house are forbidden. He isn’t sick— not yet, at least—but he is on the watchlist. Ever since his older brother and his wife came back from their honeymoon in Italy, he and the rest of his family have been under quarantine.
He can still remember the first few tense days. His brother, David, was on one of the last flights allowed in or out of Italy. Since Arthur’s house was closer to the airport than his own, that was where he and his wife, Julia, made their first stop. They didn’t realize that in doing so, they had jeopardized the health of their entire family.
At first, everything was alright. Then, after three days, Julia woke up with a high fever and a tight feeling in her chest. She was whisked away to get tested. Of course, it came back positive. Only a day after that, the same thing happened to David.
Arthur hates being stuck inside. He misses his friends, and all of the activities that he was looking forward to doing outside of school. That’s why, as soon as he heard David say that he really wanted a specific type of granola bar that they didn’t have at the house, Arthur took it as his opportunity to escape.
The streets are almost entirely empty. Although he lives in a small town, Arthur has never seen this few cars out on the road. He expects the grocery store to have a considerable population since it is one of the only places that is still open, but he is surprised to find that it is mostly deserted. What surprises him more, however, is when he turns a corner and sees a familiar face.
“Cinthia,” he says before stepping back to make sure he is at a safe distance of six feet.
“Arthur,” she replies, stepping back as well. She is wearing gloves and a face mask, just like he is. She is also alone. Arthur wonders how she and her family are doing. He had never been close friends with Cinthia when they were in school, but he knew who she was.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur asks. It’s a stupid question. He realizes that as soon as he says it. They’re at the store, so she must be shopping. Cinthia ignores his stupidity.
“I’m looking for soap,” she says. “What about you?”
“Same, I guess,” he replies. Technically, he’s telling a half lie, but he suspects that mentioning his sick brother won’t win him any conversation points. Cinthia nods.
“This is crazy, isn’t it? I haven’t seen anyone in days.” She crosses her arms over her chest. Arthur can’t see much of her face, but from what he can tell, she looks
slightly apprehensive. Not just of him, but of everything around her. It’s almost as if she thinks the corona virus could suddenly jump out of a box of cereal and take her down. Now that he thinks about it, that could happen—only in a less literal sense.
“Yeah, things are crazy,” he agrees. “How are you? How is your family?”
The fear in Cinthia’s eyes deepens. Arthur wonders if he has hit a sore spot.
“I’m not worried about myself,” Cinthia admits, “but I’m terrified for my family. My little sister has an immunodeficiency disorder, and my grandpa has lung cancer from smoking for over twenty years.”
“Oh,” Arthur says, unsure of how else to reply. Her family really does have it pretty bad. He wants to do something nice for her, like give her a hug, or buy her some soap, but coming any closer to her would only make things worse.
“Yeah,” Cinthia agrees. “How’s your family?”
Arthur pales. He should have seen this coming. It was only common decency to return a question back to the asker. He stutters out a vague response.
“We’re okay, I guess.”
Like almost everything he’s told her, there is a bit of truth masking the one monstrous lie. Yes, David and Julia are both getting better, but that isn’t exactly what Cinthia had in mind when she asked how his family was doing.
Cinthia sighs and shakes her head. “This is crazy,” she says again.
Arthur nods, suddenly feeling a strong urge to get out of the store and away from everyone. He’s putting people in danger by being here. He is a threat to Cinthia, even from six feet away, and he’s a threat to her sister, and her grandfather, and anyone else that he has come into contact with today.
What was he doing here in the first place? Just because he was going a little stircrazy didn’t mean he was suddenly allowed to leave. Just because he wasn’t showing any symptoms didn’t mean that he wasn’t a carrier. He starts to back away from Cinthia.
“Hey, I should probably go,” he says.
“Oh.” She looks surprised by his sudden departure, and maybe a little disappointed. “Okay. It was nice seeing you, Arthur.”
“You too,” he says, still backing away. She stops him.
“Wait,” she calls. “Maybe, when this is all over, we could hang out some time?”
At any other point in time, this would have made Arthur’s stomach flip with excitement. Today, however, he just nods and waves goodbye. As he walks back to
the hospital, he can’t manage to shake her words.
When this is all over. Arthur isn’t sure what will happen ‘when this is all over.’ He doesn’t think that anyone knows. However, he has noticed that everyone seems to be living with the hope that everything will snap back to normal, like the horror movie that they are living through on a daily basis will suddenly cease to exist.
Arthur isn’t sure what will happen next, but he feels certain that it won’t be considered ‘normal’ anymore.
FINDING MYSELF
Hannah Ivie, 10th Grade, Boyne City High School
“Be correct.” “You have to be right.” And so I try; I don’t put up a fight.
“Look at her.” “She’s just fine.” Suddenly, I’m living a lie. My life is no longer mine.
I’ve become someone new, Someone who’s not me. If I’m not being myself, Who am I trying to be?
I see the others, The “perfect” ones. I see all of them, The daughters and sons.
I’m supposed to be like that. I’m supposed to belong. Why am I different then? Why am I wrong?
I’m in a battle That’s all in my head. Now it’s too late The monster’s been fed.
My mind is the monster Controlling my thoughts. It’s made expectations, Lines not to cross.
Now I’m stuck in a void, One of blackness and sorrow. I have to focus on today, Forget about tomorrow.
Because it’ll come.
It always does. Look at who I am now, Compared to the person I was.
But now this is my life; This is what it’s become. Endless struggles, Crushed under my thumb.
All of the pressure, Weighing down on me now. But I have to keep going. I’ll make it through somehow.
So I decide to fake it, To put on a happy face. But it all gets to be so much, While I’m trying to find my place.
Am I just lost? Am I just broken? But I stay silent, Leave words unspoken.
I don’t want you to worry. I don’t need you to ask. Please don’t say, “What’s wrong?” Just be fooled by my mask.
I’m playing pretend, And faking at school. I realize I’m acting, That I’m just a fool.
To think I could be more Than who I am. I thought maybe I could, Maybe I can.
But I’m not the person, That I am supposed to be. And I can’t do anything That is asked of me.
But now I remember. I remember I am loved. And so now I start, Start removing the gloves.
I remove the mask; I stop pretending. This world of criticism, It’s now ending.
I take the reins; I’ll start anew. And hopefully, I can make it up to you.
I accept myself For who I am. Your opinion doesn’t matter; I’m done with your scams.
I have a life, And it’s my own. This is my life. I’m no one’s clone.
And now I know You’re telling me lies. My eyes are open, Now I realize
I am important, And I do matter. Tear down all of the walls; The barricades I’ll shatter.
Now I’m done, Done locking myself away. No longer stuck in the dark, No more being afraid.
I’ll embrace my differences; I’ll be myself. I’ll be who I want to, And no one else.
I am correct, And now I am free. I am myself. I am me.
