Ms. C released the criteria for our latest (and first) English Language Arts project a while ago. It's an idea that excites me, so I am passing it on. In a creative attempt by the teacher to get to know her pupils better, she gave us a nifty assignment to write a "Where I'm From" Poem, a poetically composed account of where we are from, not exactly where we live, but about all the aspects that make up who we are; memories, experiences, memorable experiences, family members, particular household objects, things, places, or events around your neighborhood, favorite foods... anything of that sort from your past, present, and future... all these things that make up who you are and where you're from. It's amazing how much you get to know someone just by reading their Where I'm From poem. Everybody, everybody on CB and everyone else, is unique and from many different places. It can be hard to take apart the mixed media collage that is you and put it on paper, or it can come in a rush and it's all your pen can do to keep up with the waterfall of thoughts and memories. But well, you know where this is going. I personally always am psyched to tell anyone about me, and the bolder parts of my past, when I get the chance. So if you are feeling creative and want to give a shot at telling the story of where you're from, then please, sprout! Unravel yourself. Everybody is a breathing, eating, walking story. We'd be glad to hear about Where you're from.

A short Example of what a Where I'm From Poem can be like:

I am from brownies, from shampoo and books.

I am from the fluffy carpets and freshly mowed grass.

I am from the snap dragons, the golden flower.

I am from grandma's house and dimples, from Jessica and Bohn's and crazies.

I am from the late nights and smarty pants.

From don't touch that and go to bed.

I am from scriptures, the words of god.

I'm from Ogden and St. George, watermelon, and grapes.

From the pond where Matthew fell into the water,

The smile of Kristina, and the spunkiness of Cherise.

I am from bookshelves, chest and memories that show the paved road beneath my feet.

-Tiffany Ann Bohn