Before the First Pitch: Writing with the Five Senses

Game Day at the Ballpark

1The ballpark was silent when Mom and I walked through the gate at six in the morning. Rows of empty blue seats stared down at the field. Mom is the head groundskeeper, and today, for the first time, I got to be her helper.

2First, Mom started the big riding mower. It roared to life and shook the seat under me as we rode together. Behind us, the grass lay in light and dark stripes, as neat as the lines on notebook paper. The sharp, green smell of cut grass filled my nose and made me sneeze.

3Next, we raked the infield. The reddish-brown dirt crunched under my sneakers, and the wooden rake handle rubbed my palms until they felt warm and tingly. Mom sprayed the dirt with a hose. "Water keeps the dust from blowing into the players' eyes," she explained. Soon the dirt turned dark and smelled like a flowerpot after watering.

4Then came my favorite job. Mom filled a rolling cart with white chalk, and I pushed it slowly along a tight string from home plate toward the outfield. A puff of powder rose with every step, and the chalk tickled the back of my throat. When I looked back, a bright white line stretched across the grass as straight as a ruler.

5By noon, the sun was baking the bleachers, and the buttery smell of popcorn drifted from the snack stand. Mom handed me a bottle of water so cold that it made my teeth ache.

6That night, I sat in the stands and bit into a warm, salty pretzel. When the umpire shouted, "Play ball!" the crowd cheered so loudly that I felt it in my chest. I looked at the stripes and the chalk lines and grinned. Everyone could see the field, but only I knew how it had smelled at sunrise.