Skip to main content

My House Has Stars

 By Amanda Schultz

Written at Age 12


My house is my sanctuary. Safe. Quiet. Home. A place where nature is overwhelming—where every screech, scream, buzz, peep, squawk, whine, and whistle means something different to everyone.

My house is a log cabin, built by hand—and love—in the heat of summer. You can tell that it has been there for a long time and will still be there even after I grow old. The wood is scarred and worn, but it is strong.

As the sun rises, so do I, the pitter-patter of my feet echoing through the house as I rush outside to greet the sunshine. So bright I have to look away, it warms my cold fingers and fills me with happiness.

A gentle breeze rustles my hair and tickles my face, waiting for me to chase after it. I almost do, but the savory scent of crispy bacon forces me back inside. Breakfast is heavenly—fluffy pancakes and fried fish caught fresh yesterday.


Dad takes me fishing. We go out in the rusty old rowboat and just float. My dad handles the oars, the splintered wood slicing through the water. Our little boat sends out miniature wakes behind us. Ripples are everywhere. We don’t catch anything today, but tomorrow we will.

My day is filled with the quiet whisper of the pine trees as they sway in the wind. Tall and imposing, they tower over me, casting shadows across my face, making me shiver.

I head toward the lake. Already, I can feel the silkiness of the water as it rushes around me and slips between my toes. I can smell the damp, earthy scent of rain still lingering in the air.

As I make my way back to the house, I try not to make any noise. It is getting dark, and the Oregon sun is just a sliver on the horizon, almost ready to duck behind the mountains. The sky is a rosy red, the colors of the sunset swirling together. The air is quiet, which means the animals will be silently nestled in their homes.

That night, we light a campfire. We roast hotdogs and sticky-sweet marshmallows until our stomachs are aching, bulging, and ready to burst. The light from the fire makes shadows dance around in the clearing.

Later, as I lie in bed, there is a flash outside my window—then a boom, then a roar. I am tempted to hide under my covers until it is over, but instead, I rush over and look out. The clouds are a dark splotch on the horizon. The rain sounds like the pitter-patter of my feet. I savor the sound of the raindrops as the storm rages on.

And then I wonder—will it ever stop?

Yes. Somewhere, up above the lumpy clouds, there is a clear sky, a bright moon, and dazzling stars. It reassures me and makes me feel safe knowing that...

My house has stars.

Editor’s Note: This was written by my daughter, Amanda, at the age of 12. She is now 15 and has guest posted for this blog a couple of times. You can read her other posts here: 

Perfectly Wicked 

My Experience With Autism


Labels:
Location: United States

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Young Boy and the Rattlesnake

By Stephen C. Schultz (Editors note: This is a story used in a Wilderness Treatment Program. Many come to this program having struggled with depression, anxiety and substance use.)   Many years ago there was a young Native American who lived in the very land you are residing in. He decided to seek wisdom by journeying to the top of Indian Peak. As he approached the base of the mountain he came across a rattlesnake that slithered beside him. The snake coiled as if to strike and the young boy moved back quickly in fear of being struck by the snake’s deadly venom. At that instant the snake spoke to the boy saying, “Don’t be afraid of me, I mean you no harm. I come to you to ask a favor. I see that you are about to traverse to the top of Indian Peak and was hoping that you may be willing to place me in your satchel so that I don’t have to make the long journey alone.” The young boy surprised by the snake’s request quickly responded by turning down the offer, stating, ...
4 comments
Read more

When Emotional Pain Looks Like Manipulation: Oxbow Academy

By Stephen C. Schultz The teenage years are often full of complexity—especially for young people who struggle with impulse control, social understanding, or emotional regulation in relation to Problematic Sexual Behavior (PSB). For some, this difficulty is compounded by co-occurring conditions like Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), ADHD, or Nonverbal Learning Disorder (NLD) . These teens may unintentionally find themselves caught in compulsive, confusing, or embarrassing situations—sometimes involving inappropriate behavior with siblings, neighbors and friends or accessing dark corners of the internet. As these patterns continue, parents are often left feeling overwhelmed, frightened, and unsure of what to do next. Some worry that law enforcement or government agencies might get involved. Others have already experienced the fear of having electronics confiscated or home environments scrutinized. In the midst of this chaos, many parents recognize that their child’s behavior isn’t just a...
Post a Comment
Read more

Measuring What Matters: Oxbow’s Edge in Predicting Progress

By Stephen C. Schultz Therapists are highly trained to guide, support, and assess progress. Yet, research continues to show that even experienced clinicians have mixed results at predicting which clients will improve, drop out, or struggle in therapy. This isn’t a critique of therapists—it’s a reality supported by data. And for those who place trust in residential treatment programs—families, school districts, educational consultants, and Managed Care Organizations (MCOs)—this insight is critical. At Oxbow Academy , we take this seriously. That’s why we use validated, research-backed tools to supplement clinical intuition and track meaningful progress in real time. Research Shows: Intuition Isn’t Enough In a foundational study by Hannan et al. (2005), therapists failed to recognize which of their clients were likely to experience treatment failure—even when objective outcome data pointed to risks. Similarly, Hatfield et al. (2010) demonstrated that therapists tend to overestima...
1 comment
Read more