Fifth Grader's Prose Selected For State-Wide Publication

Ian Kamperschroer, a fifth grader at Ledyard Center School, is no stranger to winning writing contests but that doesn't make this year's selection by the Connecticut Student Writers magazine any less special.

Kamperschroer's submission to the state-wide contest was a short piece of prose about the last visit to his grandfather's farm and illustrates how one 10-year-old boy felt the gravity of the end of things.

Kamperschroer's grandfather passed away a few years ago but before that, he enjoyed family trips to Pennsylvania to see his grandfather and relatives.

"I miss the familiar feel to it," he said of the farm. "It was just a special place and Grandpa was at the center of it holding us all together."

Kamperschroer said he wrote 10-15 drafts before finishing "The Farm" and that the hardest part was just sitting down and remembering details of the farm. He was selected for publication last year too, for a piece of fiction about WWII soldiers, but being recognized this year was more meaningful.

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"It made me feel really good because it was dedicated to him," he said. "I knew if he was alive it would make him really happy."

Kamperschroer was one of three students in the school's Writers' Club who were recognized by the publication as excellent student writers. Profiles on Anna Graul, a second grader, and Chloe DeMaio, a fourth grader, are coming soon.

The Farm by Ian Kamperschroer

"I climbed into the car, my eyelids slowly closing. After a long day of visiting, I waved wearily to Aunt Dacia, standing in the driveway.

"Mom, when will we be back?" I asked. A hesitant sigh came from the passenger seat in front of me. "Dacia's selling the farm," she answered. "This will be the last time."

A pain started to creep into my body and spread liek a gathering fog. Tears slowly trickled down my cheeks, but this time, I didn't just cry from my eyes; my heart cried too.

I looked back at the tiny yellow house, fireflies scattering across the yard; the porch light emitting a bright loving glow. And then the barn stacks of hay piled neatly, one side of the roof caved in, rusty plows, lined with silver cobwebs, and memories of dare-devil dreams and rope swing wonders.

I cried until my eyes were dry, until the Farm was miles away, gone and lost forever.

I cried for the fireflies, the yellow house, the crippled barn, the land that Grandpa harvested with his whole loving heart, his life, his memories of family, and our memories of him, a man who not only was the love of our lives, but the soul of the Farm, and most of all, our everlasting family."