Hye Hyon Kim/ Beaver’s Trail; Home to Beavers, Ducks and Myself/ Thurs 1pm

Hye Hyon Kim

Professor. Jonny Bahk-Halberg

Intermediate English Writing (2)

02 November 2015

Beaver's Trail; Home to Beavers, Ducks and Myself

Squirrels race past inches away from my front bicycle wheel as if they are playing truth or dare and refused to tell the truth. I swerve, trying to avoid them but on the other side, there are ducks. I stare at them in amazement, wondering if all the ducks and swans in Minnesota have summoned here to hold an annual migration meeting and I whisper, "Where in the world did you all come from?" As I ride past them, I see they stare back at me with their heads to one side, as if to ask me the same question.

             I spent my junior year at St. Cloud State University which was located right next to the Mississippi river. Whenever I crossed the bridge across the river on my way to school, the university campus almost looked like it was floating, or on an island just like you see The Great Black Lake around Hogwarts in the beginning of Harry Potter movies. Campus buildings were always crowded with people, everyone scuttling to their next classes but the place I liked most on the school grounds was the St. Cloud Dam, the river area along with the Beaver Island Trail. Water crashed against each other and fell down the slope as if they were on bumper cars and roller coasters. Even though I was miles away from the dam itself, the sound it made was incredible, like I was on the tallest slide in a waterpark and when the wind blew, sprinkles of water would land on my face as if to warn me to stay away. Students and other residents would bring their dogs and fishing rods and wait patiently for their first bite.

             Down the river, there was the Beaver Island Trail where I would cycle or walk whenever I wanted to find peace or just wanted a little space to myself. All sorts of wildlife and greens, from trees, shrubs and bushes surrounded the trail, making it impossible to see anywhere but ahead. I could faintly hear the water gliding down the river but it was hard to see through the greenery. There were no streetlamps so I always made sure I got back in time but the trail seemed so distant, in a different world from assignments and classes to the point that I had turned my head many times expecting to see unknown spirits like fairies or wizards to a sudden sound made behind me. Despite what I had thought, it was always a bird sitting on a tree or a horse biting into a crunchy apple.

I knew I had reached the end of the trail when I came to a steep hill. I would stop pedaling and just close my eyes for a brief second to cool down as the sweat on my forehead quickly evaporated from trickling down with the force of the wind. The trail had always been a place for me to go whenever I wanted to get some fresh air and refresh my head but there it was also a place where many of my favorite memories were made. It was where I learned to first climb a tree and also where I first attempted to skip stones and failed continuously. Whenever I cycled past the hills and roads, I reflected back on the conversations I had with my friends as we jogged along the trail conversing in our out of breath words. Memories of first date picnics and deep conversations about our dreams were all there and they all came back to me whenever I went by, like the winds in the story of The King with Donkey Ears. Whenever my friends sends me pictures of the swings or the trail, they makes me think back to all the times I whizzed past the trail on my bike or laughing hysterically with my friends about a joke leaving me to feel as if I never left.