Response to: Annie Dillard: “The Chase”

Dillard begins her essay by explaining her relationship with boys as a child. She speaks of her cunning tactics in football and baseball. Talk of these sports, and their inability to be played throughout the winter, lead into a detailed anecdote of Dillard and her friends in the winter. One day, while continuing their routine of throwing snow balls at cars, Dillard and the boys she hung out with throw a snowball at the windshield of a black Buick. In contrast to an adults "normal" reaction to this childhood prank; "the car, pulled over and stopped." A man, dressed in "city-clothes: a suit and tie, street shoes", got out of the car and began a very extensive chase after the six children. Upon catching up to the kids, the young man proceeded to "perfunctorily" lecture the "stupid kids" on the error of their ways. Regarding the maze Dillard and friends caused the businessman to run, Dillard remarks, "I don't know how he found his way back to his car."

        Growing up with two older brothers has a very large impact on your childhood. When I was a young girl, I was the biggest tom-boy to ever live. I spent my days aspiring to be like my older brothers, playing in the mud and catching tadpoles. Every year, for my birthday, my aunt would give me a Barbie doll, and every year, I would ask my mom "Why?" "Why does Aunt Mary give me these when I never play with them?" It wasn't until I started school that I understood that young girls were expected to WANT to play with dolls. Although, this discovery did not change the way I acted nor the way my mother encouraged me in my playtime habits. At school, I would always befriend the boys playing basketball on the playground, and actively ignore the young girls practicing their older sisters' cheer-leading moves. My mom will tell the story of how she once waited months for me to get on to the waiting list of a highly regarded dance school, only to have me throw a fit about not wanting to go and insist upon joining a soccer team instead. All these anecdotes are highly ironic to the fact that I grew to love music and dance as a teen and soon regretted my six-year-old decision to forego the dance training. Although, I have no honest story of being chased by a man in a business suit, I can connect to Anne Dillard in this other way. From her extensive descriptions of beating her male friends at what is assumed to be tackle football and baseball, I can see a small bit of my young self in her writing. This was the part of the essay that stood out so strongly to me. I feel as though Anne performed the act of throwing the snowball as a form of impressing her daring male peers. As a child, I always felt as though I needed to act like and compete with the boys I befriended as a way to state my value to the group. This may also stem from a bit of sibling rivalry and being the baby of the family, who knows?

        I am most interested to know how this passage connects to Anne Dillard's life as an adult. In contrast to E.B. White's essays, Dillard gives primarily the facts and ceases to explain the event's later impacts on her life. I would like to ask her why she felt the need to write this little piece of her history down and share it with others. I am also curious to know what she now, as an adult, thinks of her actions as a child. In all honesty, I would like to have more details about the businessman. Did he go to the children's parents about their prank and what all did his lecture to the children entail?

Response to: E.B. White: "Death of a Pig"

In this essay, White recounts the events leading up to the death of his pig. He begins his account by stating, “the pig died at last, and I lived.” By putting this bit of information early on, E.B. White gives away the ending. He moves on to compare the act of raising a pig to that of a play. According to White, raising a pig is a clearly written script that one must follow, but if “one of the actors goes up on his lines” “the play would never regain its balance.” In this case, the play has been completely turned upside-down. It is at this point that White decides to return to the beginning of his story. The author first notices a change in his pig’s behavior when it does not appear for its evening meal. White must then assume that there is something significantly wrong with his pig and immediately phones a fellow farmer, Mr. Dameron. Dameron calls upon another friend and they suggest that White give his pig two ounces of castor oil and an injection of soapy water. They are assuming that the pig just has a case of constipation. White proceeds to the pig’s barn with is son and follows Dameron and Henry’s advice. It is at this point he notices a series of small dark spots on the pig’s back. White leaves the pig and goes out to dinner (an activity he claims is “deliberately arranged to coincide with pig failure or some other failure”). Upon his return home he checks on the animal only to find no sign of success with the oil. The next day, White, once again, attempts to feed the beast with no victory. The author finally calls a veterinarian, which, upon hearing of the pig’s spots, assumes the pig to have erysipelas, a disease that can quickly spread to humans. White fears for himself, but the vet sends a colleague over to run tests on the pig, allowing White to rest easy. McFarland refutes the theory of erysipelas after performing his tests. White then reveals to the reader that the pig died twenty-four, “or it might have been forty-eight”, hours later. White finds the pig dead late Friday night, and awakes Saturday morning to Lennie digging a grave for the creature. In conclusion, White notices a worm and an apple while observing the pig’s grave and comments on the directness of an animal’s burial. 

When I was eleven years old, I had to say goodbye to my first pet. His name was Jake and he was a black Labrador retriever. My family had owned him since before I was born, but in his old age, Jake had developed cataracts in his eyes and began to have seizures. Losing my dog was the first real experience I had to face with death and it was a rough one. I remember, my mother picking me up from the bus stop and waiting to drive the rest of the way home to explain to my brother and I that she had found Jake in the woods earlier that afternoon. Although Jake wasn’t a pig being raised for the slaughter, watching him suffer up until the moment of his death was a very difficult and eye-opening incident for the young me.

In contrast to some of his other writings, E.B. White manages to stay much more “on-track” with this account. I would like to know if this story meant more to him or less to him, because he didn’t spend quite as much time dissecting the events as he did giving the facts. I would also inquire if he felt any sorrow towards losing the pig; and whether this sorrow was for the loss of money that must have incurred due to the pig’s death or at the loss of a “pet” or friend. 

Response to: E.B. White: “Once More to the Lake”

White begins this passage by recalling yearly-month-long trips with his family to a lake in Maine. He talks of a point in his life when he became sick of salt-water and decided to return, with his son, to the lake of his childhood. As he goes on, White discusses the changes he believes the lake must have gone under since he was a child. While at the lake with his son, the author believes his son to be reenacting White’s time at the lake as a young boy, and, in turn, White is now stepping into the shoes of his own father. E.B. White calls this a “creepy sensation”.  As the text goes on, White finds himself having trouble differentiating whether he embodies more of his father’s characteristics from the past or his own as a child. As the author’s son experiences more of the fun the lake has to offer, White pictures himself as a child participating in each activity. White and son go fishing in an old boat; thereby enhancing White’s feeling “that everything was as it always had been, that the years were a mirage and that there had been no years.” While fishing, E.B. White notices “some of the campers were in swimming”. He sees one with a “cake of soap”, just as there had been in his childhood and states, once again that “there had been no years.” After fishing, the father and son walk back up the road towards the farm house for dinner, where the author realizes that the road looks different from when he was a child. For during his childhood, the road had three tracks, but now, “the middle track was missing, the one with the marks of hooves and the splotches of dried, flaky manure.” Although, soon, the world of White’s childhood is no longer shattered; while at dessert, White comments on the waitresses, for they are “the same country girls, there having been no passage of time.” White goes on addressing many events parallel to his past and ends with an account of his son swimming. He once again, puts himself in his son’s place, for as his son lowers his body into the water, White can’t help but say that his own “groin felt the chill of death.”

Every year, since I was a freshman in high school, I have directed the middle school musical. Doing theatre in seventh and eighth grade are some of my fondest memories from my youth. I always felt that, because I had such a great time, I owed it to the kids that age to make sure they enjoyed the experience as much as I did. Throughout the years, I have learned so much from directing them and have found so many more reasons that I love doing it. But my main reason will never change: watching those students up on stage reminds me of myself at that age. Every time they complain or applaud what they are doing, I can feel myself relate. I remember when I thought the director was stupid and I got so frustrated with the production I wanted to burst, but I also remember the times that I was just so happy to be up there doing what I love with my best friends. Sure, directing takes a lot out of me. Imagine thirty twelve-year-old kids talking over you and giving you all their sass, it’s a mess, but seeing the joy on those faces forces me to remember where my love of theatre began, and I would not trade that for the world.

I am most curious about the son in this essay. I would like to know what he thought of the trip to the lake. Was the lake as impactful in his life as it was in White’s? Did he enjoy his time there? I like to think he did, based on the way E.B. White described him throughout the trip, but you never know what was going on within his mind. I think it would be extremely interesting to hear the son’s account. I would also like to question White’s emotional feelings about the lake. Was he sad to see his childhood so far behind him? Or was he just happy to be sharing something he loved with his son?