Our Camping Trip I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her humungous skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every …show more content…
Unfortunately, it was a dark and cold rainy day which made it difficult with the rain soaking our clothes and all of our equipment. But aside from that, the rain didn’t seem to bother me or anyone else for that matter. Instead we had a slight appreciation for the rain, as if it was mimicking the melancholy feeling that we felt. It always seemed as if our camping trip couldn’t come soon enough, and then when it finally did arrive it was as if it was gone too soon. As the rain started to pour down we loaded everything in the car as fast as we could and we gathered ourselves inside. We watched out the back window as we drove away from the campground, seeing it dissipate in the distance. On our ride home we all felt a little nostalgic and talked about favorite memories of the trip and what we’d do next year. The drive was about 3 hours away from our house and somewhere along the way I fell asleep on Alicia’s shoulder while listening to Taylor Swift. I remember feeling as if I was still drifting in the soft waves of the water, and the thought of that relaxed me into a peaceful sleep. When I finally arrived at home I rushed into the living room where my parents were waiting on the couch to hear all about the awesome experiences I had on my trip. After that I went into my room to call Alicia, and we stayed on the phone with each other while we marked our calendars together to begin the countdown for our camping trip next
My heart ached with pain. I felt the rain pour on me, as my own tears started to drop just like the rain surrounding me. Regret. It was around me like a cloud that will always be on top of me no matter what.
No electricity, water, sewer, permanent address and certainty. These are what the people in tent cities live through every day. In the article “Camping for Their Lives”, author Scott Bransford chronicled the stories of people who reside in tent cities, a makeshift housing for informal settlers. He also documented their struggles, the different circumstances of the informal settlers and the origins of tent cities. The author was effective in raising awareness on the issues surrounding tent cities were growth rate seems to be proportionate on the amount of indigent residents. He was able to communicate the story without prejudice by citing stories of residents from Taco Flat, and adding excerpts from interviews with experts on the matter.
I love camping and spending time outside, but this summer I had a completely new experience when I visited the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. Before leaving, I had very little knowledge of the Boundary Waters. After getting advice from friends and purchasing some special equipment, I realized that camping there was going to be much more complicated than I had thought.
Here we are, packing in the nice, warm, mellow sun. The sweet-scented flowers of May are blooming. The huge amount of supplies goes into the back of our big, white van. Everyone’s face has a sincerely eager smile. I look at my mom’s smile, and I can swear that it’s as open as a crocodile’s. We’re taking a family trip down to Florida.
Dani and I stand in the sun waiting for the “men” to catch up. The view was worth Quill’s whining and navigating through the snow. The breeze catches in the bright green and gold of new Aspen leaves whispering around the lake. The Pine trees scent the air and bask in the sun to steal its warmth from the forest below. The trees are a dark canopy along our path permitting only a few patches of the raised finely mulched trail to a beam or two of sun. Framed like a photo three pencil lead gray peaks rise above a lower sweeping curve of pines. They look close enough to walk over the ridge and touch them. Boulders precariously cling to the side of the mountains. The perfect deep blue early summer sky is the perfect backdrop.
Camping is a fun activity for friends and family, that’s the time where they share their memories, and also make new ones. On the other hand, camping is when people are trying to stay off the rain, and wild animals form attacking them. That’s when camping is a time their lives depends on it. The article “Camping for their lives” by Scott Bransford talk about small and big cities that is over populated with homeless citizens. The article talks about what is happening in the scene, and what they have to face each and everyday order to survive.
Throughout my life I’ve always been an inside person, I didn't like to play outside, go to the park, or even hang out with my friends outside. In till last summer my family took me camping for my first time. Let me tell you I’ve never had that much fun in my entire life, I learned how to build a tent, fish, and even learned how to start a fire. Now it’s a family tradition to go camping every summer and bring someone along with us.
It had been a decade since I camped last, and I recalled it being a jam packed, smokey, noisy family campground. I had only been camping in the “real woods” once, and that was literally decades ago - four of them. And now, Wendy, who is a self-proclaimed Queen-of-the-wilderness, introduced a weekend in the interior of Algonquin Park as one of our - Canadian Destinations.
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
Oma had volunteered to cook Kartoffle-Klöse for all of the tenants in the apartment, and I think she very much enjoyed the praise and thanks from the five teenagers. There was not a moment in which I was truly alone until now. My family and friends were always a part of my waking hours and this change of pace was a breath of fresh air. I brought a beer, my camera, and set out for an unintended hike. I wandered a beaten path through the forest and up Pferdskopf, the southern mountain trail. The air held me in its arms and softly brushed my face with warm breezes. All the mountain flowers leaned towards the receding sun, waving goodbye to their blushing friend. Crickets played a symphony and the earth whispered from the trees with rustling poems of harmony. Heaven-on-earth is not close enough to the paradise I felt in that excursion. Absolute pace and serenity was all I could feel. I was truly blissful and was so content to have found such an emotion. My mind was as blank as the darkening sky, and my heart was as filled with happiness as the air with the scent of blossoms. It was a warm night and the air held the promise of rainfall so I began my journey home. I roamed for so long that when I returned, it was dark and the food was put up and everyone had already gone to
"Hey, be careful and don't do anything stupid," my dad said to me right before I hopped into Chase Miller's dark blue Chevy S-10 with a camper shell on the back. I looked at Chase and Tyler Becker and said, "Let's go camping." As Chase pushed down the gas pedal, a big cloud of black smoke shot out of the back of the truck and the smell of burning motor oil filled the cab.
The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning to the four-story walk up I inhabited for the majority of my young life. Instead of the pavement surrounding my former building, the final turn of our seemingly endless journey revealed the sprawling grass expanse of a baseball field directly across from an unfamiliar driveway sloping in front of the red brick walls that eventually came to be know as home.
The grass was soft and green, reserved for those who wanted to lie down or sit. A sweet aroma of flowers overflowed near by like s shinning light, but was hidden by the untrimmed bushes and wildly growing trees. Up above me was the beautiful, high noon blue sky spotted with fluffy, white clouds and airplanes flying by. I emerged into the parking lot and stopped happily as a squirrel under a tree. Hesitating to proceed anywhere further I took a few minutes to treasure the moment of silence and peace. As my girlfriend and I got out of the car to get ready for the picnic, she happened to be distracted by the water; a rhythmic ongoing resemblance of rhythm in her heart. The water was clam and beautiful in every aspect. To me she was like a wave, never stooping to catch attention or go unnoticed. Before doing anything else, we began setting up the picnic. By the time we ware done, her temptation was unbearable and was finally unable to overcome it, consequently she eagerly ran towards the water pulling me right behind her. Each step was like an imprint in my heart, a fossil that would always remain the same and special inside me forever.
Fortunately, I wake every morning to the most beautiful sun lit house. I sit on my porch sipping coffee, while I drink in an atmosphere that steals my breath away. Rolling hills lay before me that undulate until they crash into golden purple mountains. Oh how they are covered in spectacular fauna, ever blooming foliage, and trees that are heavy with pungent fruit. Green it is always so green here at my house. Here where the air lays heavy and cool on my skin as does the striking rays of the sun upon my cheeks. I know in my soul why I choose to be here every day. Pocketed in all the nooks and crannies of these valleys and hills are stately homes, rich with architecture resplendent. Diversity is the palate here; ...
The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.