The first few pages of Of Mice and Men establish the seemingly idyllic setting through a stream of carefully crafted imagery. Revisit these passages and note Steinbeck's attention to plants, animals and sensory images. Steinbeck was clearly very familiar with this area of California. For this assignment I am asking you to describe, through vivid imagery and the "zoom in" technique we discussed in class, the town you are so familiar with- Norton. Create, develop and edit a passage which gives the reader a true sense of the town you live in.
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Between the neighboring areas of Mansfield, Attleboro, Plainville, and Taunton, lies a small town. The blanket of snow that covers the land is fresh. The town is still and serene; all is quiet. The air is crisp. A covering of white hushes the normal hustle and bustle of the people. Bodies of water have the thinnest layer of ice upon them; the waves can be seen below the liquid glass. Usually green, the grass is enveloped in the frost. Trees shiver in the breeze. Norton is the image of light. As rays of moonlight shine down upon the town, the animals are resting. The full moon subtly illuminates the land. The taste of winter is distinct. One lone snowman stands at the foot of a driveway, skillfully placed as to not be hit.
The house to which the driveway belongs is blue. It is just large enough to hold the family of six that inhabits it. It is between paint colors at the moment. Half red, half blue. The home has navy shutters and a brick chimney. There are three vehicles occupying the driveway: a green Town and Country, a blue Dodge Neon, and a silver Ford Focus. More than likely there are bicycles in the back yard, beside a wooden shed. The shrubs along the front of the house are masked in ice. Icicles dangle from the small overhang of the roof, melting slowly.
The crunching of the ground can be heard as feet break the topmost layer of snow. A single trail of foot prints lead from the snow-person. The tracks are human. They lead to a porch where a youngster stands. Clad in blue mittens and a heavy, red jacket. The boy cannot be older than twelve. His name is Tristan.
Between the neighboring areas of Mansfield, Attleboro, Plainville, and Taunton, lies a small town. The blanket of snow that covers the land is fresh. The town is still and serene; all is quiet. The air is crisp. A covering of white hushes the normal hustle and bustle of the people. Bodies of water have the thinnest layer of ice upon them; the waves can be seen below the liquid glass. Usually green, the grass is enveloped in the frost. Trees shiver in the breeze. Norton is the image of light. As rays of moonlight shine down upon the town, the animals are resting. The full moon subtly illuminates the land. The taste of winter is distinct. One lone snowman stands at the foot of a driveway, skillfully placed as to not be hit.
The house to which the driveway belongs is blue. It is just large enough to hold the family of six that inhabits it. It is between paint colors at the moment. Half red, half blue. The home has navy shutters and a brick chimney. There are three vehicles occupying the driveway: a green Town and Country, a blue Dodge Neon, and a silver Ford Focus. More than likely there are bicycles in the back yard, beside a wooden shed. The shrubs along the front of the house are masked in ice. Icicles dangle from the small overhang of the roof, melting slowly.
The crunching of the ground can be heard as feet break the topmost layer of snow. A single trail of foot prints lead from the snow-person. The tracks are human. They lead to a porch where a youngster stands. Clad in blue mittens and a heavy, red jacket. The boy cannot be older than twelve. His name is Tristan.
The day was cloudless, cold. A few more days and winter would fall. The birds knew this and in response, flew this way and that, perhaps a little confused about the change in weather. Sparrows darted, trying to gather their scattered brethren and make their journey to the south. It was silent, saved for the occasional sound of geese with their rhythmic serenades. Sitting on its rightful throne the sun perched in the sky, hiding slightly behind the trees, as if timid to show its face. It had rained the night before, and with the frost, glass covered everything in a protective shell. The tree themselves sat still in meditation, rime coating their ancient limbs. Some, completely bare, pointed their branches in all different directions. The pines, with their evergreen needles, glistened. The water of the reservoir was no different. A thin layer of ice held the water in a tight and brittle embrace. The grass stood stiff on the ground, the foot soldiers of winter. A proud buck walked slowly across the grass. Every time he stepped, the grass would crush under his feet. A cloud of moisture streamed from his nostrils in steady puffs. The air itself was crisp and cleansing, devoid of impurities. In the noiseless world of peace, ice and cold held her dominion over all, even, it seemed the celebrated sun.
peter l.
The Most Comatose Town
Deep in rocky New England lays a small town north of Providence, Rhode Island. Although in a region full of rocks, cliffs and hills Norton contains the flattest of flat surfaces, the dullest of sharp rocks, and the lamest of extreme cliffs. With a measly population of 30,000, this town’s average acts of entertainment consist of swimming in yet another dirty swamp; which can be located just about everywhere in Norton. Now, in comparison to the neighboring town, Hopkington (which is the hilliest town in all of Massachusetts) Norton can appear to be as monotonous as an over-played soap opera Historically speaking, the only major icon to be found sometime in this town was the great King Phillip, who used Norton’s bogs to hide himself from the “white man.” The typical person walking through here is your Caucasian individual complaining about either work or money which turns back into complaining about work.
Cameron Hale
A few miles south of Boston, Massachusetts, where the chickadees twitter, a small town is nestled among the plain. A large reservoir sits majestically on the outskirts of town. The water is a toxic sludge unfit for any life besides the most resilient microorganisms. Any life other than those aforesaid microorganisms are likely to have horrifying genetic mutations and possibly telekinetic powers. The stunning pine trees lining its banks seem to claw at the sky like the fingers of a prisoner reaching for freedom. The vibrantly colored lilypads seem out of place when compared to the black water that seems fitting for a biohazard bag.
- Ian Mallor
There is No Place like Home!!!
Just a few miles south or Norfolk County there is a small, flat area of land that the natives like to call Norton. Norton is such a wonderful place. It experiences the best of all four seasons. The beautiful snow crystals fall in the winter, while the summer consists of the perfect weather. The land consists of swamp lands: at one time this land was enjoyed by the local Indians. Surrounding Norton lie many hilly towns. Norton is the luckiest of them all! The land is extremely flat and it is actually the flattest town in the entire state. The town is covered by luscious green trees during spring and summer, but during the fall the trees are colored like rainbows. It gives off an almost magical feeling, almost as if you are in a land of fantasy. The winter brings all the leaves off the trees and leaves them bare to the branch.
Tyler Anderson
In the center of a wintery New England is the town call Norton. Between the busling towns of Attleboro Mansfield Taunton and Easton is where this small boring suburb is. As some relate norton to as boring as "watching grass grow" or "watching paint dry", this town is a very historic, significant, and beautiful town. A beautiful resevoir, destoryed, now lays as black as the sky in a silent night. with a meager population of 20,000, the fun includes swimming in dirty water, and hanging at gas stations in the middle of town. other than the measly gas station, a enormous land behind an elementary school that is loud and noisy until 245 is the other "hang out" in this dull town we call norton. The image of norton, called a lancer, a symbol that most people refer to as "a what". our colors yet, not dull, with purple and white all over town. known most famously from king phillips cave where he hid from "white people" in king phillips war, and the Devils mistavious red footprints at devils rock near our J.C. Solmenese. Norton is quiet, but at times very busling, people say its a dull town, but with the magestic black water of our town "Res", the amazing places to hang out, Norton will always be the town for me.
-Evan Dasilva Period B
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