I wrote this as an assignment for a class I took as I contemplated going back to school. I wasn't really sure how I'd do since I haven't taken an English class since 7th grade, but it didn't turn out too bad.
June 29, 2020
English Composition 1
Narrative Essay
Why The Red Desert Has My Heart
As a child, some of my favorite memories are vacations with my Dad in the red rock country of Moab, Utah. He was a gruff looking man with a full beard and a volatile temper but when we were on vacation, his gentle, mild side showed through. It was almost as if the wild of the desert calmed his soul and gave him the peace he needed to be able to enjoy the moment and the people he was with. I have other good memories in my childhood, but our vacations to the red desert he loved are definitely the best.
The six hour car ride to Moab from where we lived in Salt Lake City was always hot and sticky with not enough air conditioning reaching to the back of the van where I inevitably had to sit. As the fifth child, there were plenty of people taking up the seats in front of me and air conditioning in the old van just wasn’t able to keep up in the blistering heat. I didn’t care though, vacations seldom happened and a little heat wouldn’t ruin the chance to go.
As volatile as Dad’s temper was at home, he seemed to relax on vacation. The one exception to that was that we knew we better be ready to leave for the day’s adventures each morning when he was ready or you might just get left behind. He was happy to take us on vacation but nobody was going to ruin his by dawdling and wasting time at the hotel when there was a desert to see. I think that is partly why I love the red sandstone rocks and desert so much, because I associate it with him being calm, kind, and carefree.
One of Dad’s favorite places to go near Moab was the overlook at Dead Horse Point. The road was long and seemed to stretch on forever as it wound up to the top of the mesa. Once we were up there you could count on eating lunch because Dad wouldn’t be ready to leave for hours, and I was okay with that. I remember feeling the breeze on my face and the sun beating down as I looked across the myriad of canyons that stretched out from Dead Horse Point across to the Needles Overlook miles away. Far away from traffic, lights, sounds, sirens, or playground noise, it was just you and the desert with the occasional hawk windsurfing in the distance and lizards basking in the glorious sunshine.
Being alone at the edge of a desert canyon drop off is where you might begin to understand the phrase “the sound of silence.” It is one of my favorite places to be. Dad, true to his reclusive character, would be off on his own looking out over the canyon, becoming one with the stillness. He was home. I often wondered what he might be thinking as he stood there looking across the expanse for what seemed like forever, and one of my regrets is that I never asked.
Once when I was fifteen, my two uncles, Richard and Allan, brought some of their family with us on one Moab trip. My older brother Jason brought his new 4x4 truck and they all decided to go offroading on the slickrock trails. I remember they tackled Elephant Hill, or at least tried to. Dad wasn’t driving or tackling the offroading trails but I think he enjoyed watching his son and brothers playing in the desert he loved. Within just a couple years after that trip, Dad was gone.
When I had kids of my own, I took them to Moab to see the desert I had grown to love. Off to the right, just as you come into town, there is a big red hill of soft fine sand that is perfect for jumping in. I held the baby and watched as my older kids climbed to the top and then laughed as they jumped down into the warm sand, falling and rolling down the hill just as I remember doing as a child.
We went to Delicate Arch and stood there in awe of the beautiful asymmetry carved and worn through winds of time. I was grateful that I could share my happy place with my kids. Warm tears filled my eyes, and yet a lump formed in my throat. I missed my Dad. I often wonder what the winds of time would have carved with his weary soul given the chance, but I’ll be forever grateful for the time I had with him in the red deserts of Utah.
B. Think About Your Writing
Below your completed narrative, include answers to all of the following reflection questions:
1. Which narrative techniques did you use to bring your story to life?
The six hour car ride to Moab from where we lived in Salt Lake City was always hot and sticky with not enough air conditioning reaching to the back of the van where I inevitably had to sit.
Far away from traffic, lights, sounds, sirens, or playground noise, it was just you and the desert with the occasional hawk windsurfing in the distance and lizards basking in the glorious sunshine.
I held the baby and watched as my older kids climbed to the top and then laughed as they jumped down into the warm sand, falling and rolling down the hill just as I remember doing as a child.
2. How did your purpose and audience shape the way in which you wrote your narrative? The narrative was written with a hypothetical audience of my kids and anyone interested in my life while still being interesting to a random reader. Considering the audience to be people connected to both myself and my Dad, I provided more details about my Dad’s personality as part of the narrative. I feel the interaction of my love for the desert and my Dad’s personality are intertwined.
3. Provide a concrete example from your narrative that shows how you have written specifically for this audience and purpose.
A concrete example of how I wrote specifically for the audience of my kids and people connected to both myself and my Dad, providing a bit about his personality as well as my love for the desert is shown in the following paragraph.
“Being alone at the edge of a desert canyon drop off is where you might begin to understand the phrase “the sound of silence.” It is one of my favorite places to be. Dad, true to his reclusive character, would be off on his own looking out over the canyon, becoming one with the stillness. He was home. I often wondered what he might be thinking as he stood there looking across the expanse for what seemed like forever, and one of my regrets is that I never asked.”
