OutoftheWindows

ByIsabelKrull

Iwasperchedonmybedwithmytwopitbullscurledupatmyfeet.Ihadajournalinmy
hands,anovelonmyrightside,andacupofgreenteaonmyleft.Iclickedmyblack,inkypen
andopenedmyjournaltothenextavailablepage.Ietchedatitleonthefirstlineincursive
handwriting.

OutoftheWindows

Todayisastormyday,withsnowmanagingtoslipthroughthemassofgrayclouds
everyfewminutes.AsIlookoutmywindow,tranquilityconsumesmeablanketofsafety
surroundsme.RainydaysinDurango,Coloradoaremyfavoritebecauseofhowrarethey,not
tomentionhowbeautifultheymakethelandscapeappear.Fogencirclesthetopsofthe
massivecliffsoutofmywindows,andraindropsracedowntotheirsills.Thelandseemsto
standstilllikeeveryoneandeverythinghadbeenputintoacomafromthefreshair.

Inthismoment,Iaminatrance.Theworldofgrayenvelopsmeintoasedateddream,
andyetsetsafireinsidemysoul.Afamilyofmallardducksareswimmingtowardsthemuddy
islandquicklyastoescapetherain,andIhearafamilyofgeesesquawkinginthedistance.I
imagineourbearhidinginhisdenontheridge,eatingchokecherriesandeyeingtheducks.I
seethislittlebrowneveryfewdays,andIeventuallyhadtonamehimRubiobecauseofhis
burnedrubycolor,andhowsweetIimaginehiseyestobe.

AsIpeeroutofmywindows,IrememberhowmanytimesIhaveplayedtugofwarwith
mydogsinthelawn.Somanytimes,Ihavejumpedintothepondonblowupboatswithmy
sisterandbrother,onlytoswimthroughthealgaeplantsgrowingatleast2feettall.Endless
dayshavebeenspenttakingcoldplungesinCoonCreek,andsomanytimesmysisterandI
havewalkedonourtrampledtrails,takingpicturesofeachotherhangingontrees,tucking
dandelionsintoourbraids,anddoingbackflipsonourtrampoline.

Ihavemademybedroomthehalfwaypointbetweenthisbackyardutopiaandmyhouse.
Locatedattheendofthehallway,withcornerwindowsoverlookingtheentirespace,ithad
becomeabridge.Witharoofformetositonovertwelveaspensandthesoundoftreefrogs
echoingthroughthescreensatsunset,ithasbecomemycradle.

Ihavespentsomanynightsinthisbridgeroom,contemplatingmyfuture.Isitonmyroof
duringthetwilighthours,lookingoverthetopsofthemountainsthatsurroundme.Ihavefelt
panickedatsomepointsbeinginavalleywithrockwalls,andothertimesIhavefeltcomforted.
Gazingatthesewalls,Ihaveponderedwhatwaitsformeovertherainbowoffog.OnceIclimb
overtheseskyhighmountainsandtravelthroughtheopenblue,whatwillIfind?

Duringthesenightsofcontemplation,IhavethoughtabouteverywhereelseIbelong,or
whereIwillgoonceIgraduate.IbelongwithmybiketripalongthePacificCoast.Ibelongat
PalmerQuarterHorseRanch,Ibelonginthedancestudio,inSewardParkandPikePlace
PublicMarketinSeattle,Washington.

WhileImightbelonginotherplaces,thisbackyardandthisbridgeroomiswhereI
alwaysreturn,itismybasecamp.

EventhoughIamgoingtocollegeoutofstate,andwillnotliveinDurangoforever,the
connectiontothisbedroomandtothislandisforeveringrainedinmysoul.Thememoriesof
summerswimming,andwintermemoriesoficeskatingonourpondwillalwaysresthere.Even
aftermyhousesresidentsleave,thememorieswillstillbeplayinghideandseekbehindthe
scruboaks,orripplingdownthecreek.Theywillbepreserved.

Iamkeptupatnight,worriedaboutwhatwillhappentomyCountyRoadhomewhenmy
familydoesnotlivehereanymore.Willthenewownertakecareofthewildlifeasmuchaswe
have?Willtheyleaveoneacretothemselves,andthreetothewildlifelikewehave?

WillRubiotheBearstillbesafeupontheridge,orwilltheyhavehimrelocated?Willthe
mallardducksandtheheronstillhavefreerangeinthepond,orwilltheyscarethemaway?

Iamnotalwaysapreservationist.Likeanyrationalhuman,Itooadmitthatthingsmust
change.Butnotthishome,notthisland.Itmustremainuntouched.Thealgaeinourfrontpond
mustbeleftalonetoprovideshelterforthetreefrogsthattakebathsinit.Themuddyislandin
themiddleofourpondmustremainungroomed,forthegeeseandduckshavebuilttheir
mansionsinsideofit.Thescruboaksandcottonwoodswithvinescreatingnetspastourlawn,
cannotbeexcavated,forthisiswheredeerpranceinandbearslumber.

Somanyplacesinthisworldarebeingchanged,butwecallprogresstojustifyit.But
thisspotintheAnimasValleyrequiresnoprogress.Theinhabitantsthatlivehere,would
arguethattheirprogressofnestsanddensandfamilieswouldallbedestroyed.

AsIamhere,inmybedroomwithpaperbutterflieshangingfromtheceiling,andcacti
lineduponmyshelves,IbegintofeellikeIhavejustruntenmiles.Iblinkonce,thentwice.I
starttocomeoutofmytrance,andlookoutofthewindows.Myheartbeathasjoinedin
synchronicitytothesoundsofhailpoundingmydrivewayandtinroof,andmyspiritisas
restlessasthejaggedwavesbeingcreatedinthepond.Thebackyardhasbecomeacontrolled
chaos,anda

Ithrewmyjournaltothesideandclickedmypenclosed.

IcalledmydogstofollowmeasIrandownthehallway,downthestairs,unlockedthe
doorandsprintedoutintothehail.Ithrewmyhandsupintotheairandlettheicemattdownthe

topofmyheadandnumbmybarefeet.Iranintothelawnandrolledaroundinthemuddy
grass.Istopped.Iwasinthemiddleofarainstorm,lyingontheopenlawnwithmyheartbeat
echoingthroughtheearth,withmyhandsfullofdewygrass.Iwhispered,Home.

ExhibitionIntro:Hello,mynameisIsabelKrullandtoday,Iwillbesharingmysenseofplace
writing,writtenasajournalentry.Inthiswriting,Iillustratemybackyardandmybedroomasmy
basecamp,andnomatterwhereItraveltoorwhereIgo,thiswillalwaysbemyplace.