Ernest Troost

A Songwriting Lesson 

by Ernest Troost 

Dad pulled the car over and parked facing the pond. He stared trance-like, leaning forward on the steering wheel, looking across the water as he smoked. He took a deep drag, and I could hear the soft crackle of his flaring cigarette tip. I stared across the pond too, hoping to see whatever he was seeing. 

“Beautiful spot,” he said. 

“Yeah.” 

Driving home from town on a Saturday, Dad would sometimes say, “Let’s explore,” and he’d turn down a road we’d never been on…

On Account of the Lamb Being Awkward* 

by Ernest Troost 

David Copperfield as a child: But why must I go away, Aunt Betsey? I want to stay with you, and Mr. Dick. 

Aunt Betsey Trotwood: But you have to be educated, David, and take your place in the world. 

--David Copperfield MGM 1935 

While I was living at my parent’s house in between high school and college, a period when I was adrift and confused about what I would do with my life, I’d go for drives with no particular destination, just to be moving, to…

Midcentury Modern 

by Ernest Troost 

I went to kindergarten in a suburb of Toronto, where each day my sister and I walked to school, winding between five-story apartment buildings and undeveloped lots. There was an ice cream man in the area that cut kids up with a long knife and stuffed them into his ice cream cart with the popsicles. It was a known fact that if you heard his bell he was too close for you to get away. In hindsight, I realize that this might have been a tall tale made up by older kids…

Night Crawlers 

by Ernest Troost 

It was black outside as I stepped onto the chilly back porch. A light drizzle was falling and I pulled my windbreaker tight over my sweater. Dad handed me a flashlight and a coffee can with a little dirt in it. He looked at me as I shivered and said, “It’s not that cold. This will be fun.” 

Just after I’d gone to bed, I’d heard Mom saying to Dad that I was only eight years old, and kids that age need their sleep. I was too young to be dragged out of bed in the middle of the…

How to Catch a Frog  

by Ernest Troost  

If you tumble out of bed one morning in the autumn of your life and smack your palm to your forehead in the realization that you’ve never experienced catching a bullfrog with your bare hands, you’re not alone. But you’re in luck. After you finish your morning coffee, I’ll guide you through the steps.  

First, you’ll want to outfit yourself with waterproof shoes or rubber boots, and an effective mosquito repellant wouldn’t go amiss. After you’re suitably dressed, the…

Clare’s Woods 

by Ernest Troost 

I wish I had met Clare and got to tell her how much I enjoyed climbing her trees and wandering through her fields and meadows. How I scraped my shins trying to climb a granite ledge behind her greenhouse, how I lost a shoe in the mud hunting for frogs down by the lake, and how one summer I dug up some of her wild columbine and jack-in-the-pulpits in a dark hollow behind the caretaker’s cottage, and I transplanted them to the rock garden my mom was planting in our front yard…