Young Writers Describe the Good Life Down on the Farm

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with audiences through the Newspaper Series (and and the Schools Project ( YWP is supported by this newspaper and foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. This week, we publish writing in response to the prompt, Farm: Write about an experience you’ve had on a farm. Next prompt: Consequences. Write about a time when you really understood the idea of consequences. Alternates: 48 hours. If you had 48 hours to do anything or go anywhere you liked, what would you do? Or, Bully. Write a letter to a bully. Due May 9.

The silo

sits there, a large container.

A large silver dome.

My friends notice rungs on the side

and say, “Let’s climb!”

That’s how it starts.


I tightly grip the first rung,

and pull myself up.

I climb rung by rung,

up and up,

slowly making my way.


There are people above and below,

imagine if they fell …

we all would,

but I don’t worry.


I look up,

thinking to myself,

“Don’t look down.”

Halfway there.


My hands and feet move

at a steady pace.

My legs tremble,

but all I feel is the breeze

blowing through my hair.

My hands are holding so tight

that my knuckles are turning white.


Above I see a foot go over an edge,

I’m almost there.

I still climb steadily,

until there are no rungs to grip.


Around me I see all blue,

only black birds breaking the stillness.

Below are miles of green fields.

In the distance is the horizon.


Nothing stands higher than me to the sky.

In Vermont it is easy to come across a farm. Since a young age, I have admired the big red barns on the side of the road. I would watch as the farmers worked and it amazed me how the work never ended. There are not enough hours in the day for a farmer to get all they need done, but still they are up bright and early starting something new the next morning.

When I was little we moved to a farm house in the middle of nowhere. The house was huge and old. The barn, though, was the most admirable piece of the land. Resting on a hill, housing the animals in need, the barn served its purpose. For myself, the barn was an escape. This secret wonderland made it easy to pretend that the only thing that mattered was where I was in that moment.

Although I no longer live on that old farm, I know it has touched my family’s life. My sister now is going to school to be a dairy farmer, and someday hopes to have a farm of her own. Living in Vermont, it is impossible to escape the farmlands, but who would want to?

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