It’s time again for you to write the story. This is the third post in a series dedicated to letting you, the reader, make your own story out of one of my photos. (Your Story; Your Story:Blue)
Please write a story, your feelings or both below in the “Leave a Reply” section. Your words can be long, they can be short, silly, happy or sad as long as they are present. Also, please feel free to comment and give feedback on the stories written by others.
This picture was taken somewhere between Ohio and New Jersey back in late August. To get a better view, please click on the picture. To see more of my photos, please visit my galleries.
sethsnap 
Lovely place, it seems.
Thank you.
I was born here. I lived and died here. I didn’t return to conjure up a good haunt. I came back to look at the landscape once more. As a child, I climbed the very same trees gracing the area and oftentimes ventured beyond testing my mother’s patience and good nature. The red shed is still there even after all these milleniums. Sigh! You lose track of time when you’re dead. I remember dad building it and mom wanting to put the finishing touches on it by painting it red much to my father’s chagrin. It’s not that he didn’t like red, he just thought it was a feminine color but she won out. She always did. In those days, nothing was built without a purpose and dad built the shed for chickens. We were never short of eggs after that. I grew up and left the homestead looking for bigger and better, chasing my dreams. Trouble was, I didn’t have a clue what my dreams were. It took time. A long while in fact and it was only after a failed marriage and other life altering experiences did I realize what I wanted. I looked around on that day and saw that I had everything I wanted but nothing I needed. The decision was murky at first but became clearer as I opened the door to my childhood home. It needed some revamping and modernizing but through the murky haze were all my answers. I lived in that house after that. I really lived. Everything old became new again and I was re-born. My parents comfortable presence remained there through the rest of my life. I became part of that house. The place I couldn’t wait to turn my back on when I was twenty, I was eagerly embracing at fifty. My neighbors were farmers and the hamlet where I would occasionally shop had a sense of community which I had never experienced as part of the corporate world in the big city. I returned to my roots. Perhaps next Halloween, I’ll come back for a good-natured haunt but for now, I’m content looking at the landscape and feeling grateful for being who I am.
Great story. 🙂 Thanks so much for taking the time to write it!
Seth
Thanks for visiting my blog. Your blog is real awesome. I just loved it.
Thanks, I am glad we found each other’s blog.
I’ve got no story ideas, but I’d like to pretend I’ve just had a lovely long country walk and that house in the middle is really a cafe that sells tea and coffee and an amazing selection of cakes!!!
That sounds good. Shall we meet for coffee then? I’d love to have some of that cake this AM. I’m thinking maybe Red Velvet. I am starving. 🙂
He was forced to live in the small red building because of the danger of the rocket launchers by the other two buildings….
Interesting….
As we welcome a new day,
is the sky blue or just a bit grey,
what a tranquil setting with meadows so green
the sights and sounds are just so serene
I like to think that we can all live in a scene like this
alas the truth shows far more is amiss
I want to believe the family who lives in this house are content
but the world we live in bears a more sinister portent
Families torn, children scarred by the scourge of Eviction
it lives among us, a product of Banks with no conviction
no moral’s, no ethic’s, no human empathy
and nobody knows what the end of this will be
their actions are carried out in the name of greed
their insidious infection spreads like a weed
we must hit the reset before its too late
and we hand our lives, our children, our futures to the bankers on a plate,
stand up and say “enough is enough” we will no longer play by your rules,
and before long with enough people they will emerge as the fools
we can then all find our own “tranquil setting”
and live in peace without fear and fretting.
PEACE
Nice poem. Thanks for stopping by and sharing.
Pretty!
Thank you.
A woman was abducted from her home in 2008. She was mistreated, harassed, and sexually abused. Her kidnapper had her locked up in the basement of this county shack with minimal living conditions. No one would have ever suspected that this beautiful home hid beneath it such a terrible crime. The man would drink rum until he was hazy, then he’d beat her and sexually assault her. It wasn’t long before the woman became pregnant. She hid it from him for months. When the man found out that she was carrying a child, he was furious. He beat her with a metal rod, repeatedly until the baby was miscarried. The young woman wept for the loss of her dear child, but that didn’t stop him. The drunk man felt no sympathy. In his drunken haze, he continued to beat her without holding back. The woman couldn’t hold on any longer, so she gave in. She had nothing left to live for, other than the hope of one day raising her child in a better place. The woman and her unborn baby were murdered that night. Their spirits were set free of this vile world.
Wow, that’s a very depressing take on the photo but very well written . Thanks for taking the time.
My home on the Prairie . My parents had bought this piece of land with their savings and build this home for us. The grass was always green and sky so blue, perfect for holidays . Each day, the sun would shine on us and greet us with a good morning. And our parents, love and support would make the meagre meal, much richer and healthier than any King’s table. never a day passed by that we didn’t play and roll over the grass, sometimes at night we would all sit in circle and watch the sky…and sleep peacefully to be carried inside .
Wow, great story. Thanks again kalabalu.
welcome 🙂
Hmm interesting. A few things swirl in my mind but the most prominent is a set of characters. Don’t mean to be judgmental but the land looks a little unkempt for an active farm land. So automatically a struggling farming family comes to mind. Of course, it could always be winter and and a family is struggling to make it through the winter’s famine and into spring harvest. Oh and the timeline is different… definitely and earlier era maybe 50’s… sigh.. your stories series make me want to write fictional stories.
Thanks dietriotgirl. You should write a story.
Sorry to say but it makes me sad because I think you took this picture from a road/highway and I imagine the farm was there before the road was built. The view is nice of the farm from the road, but the farm was probably sliced in half and the view of the cars from the road is not nearly as bucolic.
Interesting thought. Thanks for your comment.
After ten years of slaving away for the corporate world Amy had seen enough. Ten years of working to help the rich get richer while those who did all the work like her still stayed the same with a schedule that’s too full for any life of their own. One more Monday meeting with the boss helped her make the decision. It was time to move away from the city, away from the corporate blood-suckers to get some peace and quite. It’s been a month since she moved back to the country side, her old home town, and she was already feeling relaxed and happy for the first time in years. The days could be spent in the company of books while the evenings could be enjoyed with walks in the lanes and through the fields breathing in the fresh air. Standing there in the soft green grass and looking at the blue skies above confirmed to her that she had made the perfect decision to come back.
Nice. I often want to escape!
hmm..I would have to say…
Tom gave one last look at the picturesque landscape that was his home for a number of years and told the driver to head to the airport. The lady who told him she was his wife, had stirred some strange emotions as he baded her goodbye. Shrugging the feelings away, the emptiness in his memories shoved him towards a new city where he can start over again.
Awesome. Wonder which city he is going to and wonder what he is running from.
Special Agent Tyler Kellerman inspected the last picture taken by Officer Tom Carson. There has to be a lead in here somewhere. But where? What is it! Tom wasn’t the type of person who would take a picture just because he liked the scene. There has to be something, a hidden message, but Tyler couldn’t figure out what it was. They checked the buildings, the whole town even, but they didn’t find anything.
He has to find something, anything! They have to find the culprit. He’ll do anything to get the person who did that to his friend!
“C’mon Tom, help me here!!”
– I guess I watched too many cop movies?? XD Maybe I should continue this story? If you think its good enough, that is.
Yes, you should continue writing. Nice so far.
Thanks 🙂
Stepping away from the wooded path, she moved through the trees toward the colors she could see in the distance. There it was, the place she had been dreaming of for so many years. The red outbuilding, the silo, even the trees in the distance were exactly as they appeared in her dreams that had occurred night after night for months. She knew exactly where the path she was on would take her, which side of the barn it would lead her to. It felt, of course, as if she were dreaming. She shook her head in disbelief, pinched herself to make certain of her wakeful state and moved forward into her future.
Amazing. I would love to read more.
Thanks. I may have found a new source for writing prompts. Your photos capture nuance and detail with such clarity. Nice.
Thank you Kami.
Nice! The photo definitely looks idyllic, so much so I couldn’t come up with a story…oddly perfect. Your scenario let’s it make sense to be dreamy and makes me want to read more.
Thanks!!
An eerie silence fell on the landscape after those visitors left. Everything seemed crystal clear and clean, after the visitors left, but there were no words in the air, no words in the mind either. Who were they? why did they come and why did they leave? Inescapable silence hung everywhere.
Wow, I wonder who they were.
me too… I dont’ know.
Solo red barn sits
Amidst painted trees glowing
My home hides nearby
Thanks 2ndhalfoflife
No problem! Nice idea….
He looked through the window and gazed upon the scene that passed him for the last time. This 4 year old boy, now being driven away from this serene scenery, by his father who was utterly convinced that he has once again educated his son a valuable lesson – about being rich. His father, who owns several businesses, was absolute on that being rich is far better that being poor. He looked down on his son and patted the child on the shoulder, and asked “How did you like the visit at the farm? Did you learn the differences on being poor and being rich?” The boy turned his head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of his father’s expression and then turned his attention to the red barn. Looking outside the window, he replied “Pa, when we go for walks we visit parks. The farmers take a stroll in the woods. We go swimming in pools. The farmers swim in lakes and rivers. We use hundreds of light to illuminate our houses. The farmers enjoy the night sky and moonlight. The farmer go to walk in bigger parks, bigger pools and even get to enjoy the biggest observatory. Pa, these farmers must really have big businesses, don’t you think?”
Great story and true. 🙂 thanks.
Nice picture! One thing that caught my eye was the paint color on the back porch and windows, gives the house a pop of color. I wonder why they didn’t paint the upstairs windows? That could be an interesting story. Did they run out of paint? Did they not have a tall enough ladder? Maybe they’re still working on it. Perhaps it was intentional. 🙂
Maybe or perhaps they hadn’t gotten to it yet.
Did I ever get a bang from all of the comments, even those that did not tell a story. Some were very good and others had potential with some improvement. I am not a writer and do not pretend to be one. But I enjoy reading what other people have to say. I suppose that is why I enoy so many varied blogs. Thanks Seth. I think “write your own story” is a great idea.
Thank you. I love the interaction with folks from all over. It is amazing how we all see thins so differently.
A great blog. And I love what you have done with the write your own story idea. Really wish I wasn’t headed to bed. I will have to stop by again and try it out. Looks like a ton of fun.
Please do. Looking Forward to your words
I will certainly trying hoping to have time this evening to give your blog a good read.
Great concept of writing your own story. I read all the responses and realized that we all see things so very differently. I am new to your blog, and I love your pictures. I am a very novice picture taker, but love capturing beauty in photos. To me this photo depicts simpler times and riches found in nature. Breathing in country smells of hay fields, fresh mowed grass, and honeysuckle. Listening to morning doves and mockingbirds. Sitting on a porch swing appreciating all there is and being grateful.
You are welcome. Thanks for your thoughts.
oh dear, the iphone blackhole ate my reply once again. I did write a story this morning and it appears to have disappeared. Had some snappy dialogue, a couple of allusions, irony. Oh well. Do like the idea of photo prompt writing. Maybe another time.
Happy Pages,
CricketMuse
Thanks for stopping by my housekeeping post
I’m sorry. I would have loved to read it.
How I miss being a child.
Growing up on the farm was, and still is, one of my fondest memories. The rolling hills provided endless entertainment in the winter as we would race each other on our toboggans; the shed would be transformed into our own unique hideaway…animals included. The driveway always full of our neighbours vehicles, stopping by for coffee and some small town gossip. The slow moving creek providing boundless fairy-tale stories of the goblins under the bridge and the neighbours’ barn just over the ridge was there to protect us, just in case we got too scared. These are the memories I hold dear to my heart, something I wish everyone could experience at least once in their life…..
Thanks for the picture.
Very warm and uplifting. Thanks.
The Pilgarlic//
The woman worked her hands up and down in revenge against the ground. The hands had always possessed some degree of fortitude, but there were now scraps of dead skin clinging to the flesh of her palm between the callouses and the grainy wood of her hoeing handle. The woman wasn’t sure how she felt about them.
She worked the ground into neat rows. There were little stones that came up at times from underneath the dirt. They would hit her prongs and she would know they were there. Sometimes, when she saw them, she would spit. She thought of graves when she saw them. Graves and teeth. “Just you wait. Just wait.” She continued to hoe.
There was a bag of seeds in burlap standing to the left of the field she was working. When the woman was done hoeing, she found the bottom of the sack chewed out. ‘One more thing,’ she thought. ‘Is it really one more?’ The woman reached into the deep denim pocket of her trousers, and brought out a worn knife and a bright orange pepper. She gently cut the pepper, and rubbed it all, until the juice was used up, over the burlap sack. She put her hat over the torn hole, and wondered if he would be back. If he would know anything.
There was a set of thin bifocals on the counter, and it wasn’t long before the woman caught sight of her husband’s prominent fading (faded?) mustache. “What did you the doctor tell you?”
He hunched. “I have some sort of zoonosis. I can’t…” His eyes moved toward the old iron kettle, and then to the sweat covered face. Her hair was thick as roots, and barely moved as she looked at him.
“I’m getting back to work. You’re ordering food. Paper dishes.” The woman grabbed one glass of cold water, and walked out of the room a dobbin. She thought: Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn It All.
The woman worked her hands against the ground, but this time there was no strength for revenge.
Very nicely done! Awesome. Thanks.
Jane painted the porch and the first floor windows blue, because she didn’t have a ladder. Because it reminded her of the clear autumn sky. Because that was the name of the dog she had when she was nine, before she was married, before she had 3 kids, before the oldest, Kevin, was shot by his best friend in a hunting accident.
Thanks Alisa, interesting short story.
Pingback: Your Story: Blue Bank | sethsnap·
Pingback: Of great photography…and haikus | Brood Coffee Talk·
Ooops, I think I posted my story of your country pic in the wrong place. Sorry about that.
No worries.
Pingback: Your Story: The View | sethsnap·
Pingback: Your story: Night and Day | sethsnap·
Pingback: A Grey Evening « Beauty of Simplycity·
Pingback: Your Story:The Tree | sethsnap·
I have no idea.Once you begin£¬you must continue.I have my hair cut every month.Our school covers 100 square meters.Just read it for me.I’ll still love her even if she doesn’t love me.I want to see the film again.Many people believe that overweight results from overeating and stress.Most games cost about that much.I will seek from my doctor’s advice.
Pingback: Your Story:Morning | sethsnap·
Pingback: Your Story:House | sethsnap·
Pingback: Your Story: Rain | sethsnap·
Pingback: Your Story: Crackle | sethsnap·
Hello there!!! I wrote mines @ http://wp.me/p2K5ui-Hx Thanks for the inspiration photos..
Pingback: Your Story : Country (mile) « Funkangeles·
Pingback: Your Story: Winter | sethsnap·
Pingback: Your Story:Front Yard | sethsnap·
Pingback: Your Story: Whispers of darkness | sethsnap·
Pingback: Your Story: Cold | sethsnap·
Pingback: Your Story:Keep Out | sethsnap·
Pingback: Your Story: Cowology | sethsnap·
Bandar bola terpercaya like you great blog