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Appalachian Trail route
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Intimate Encounter I needed a weekend away from the all too humdrum existence of day-to-day living. I decided that a good diversion might be to hike the Appalachian Trail for a weekend. After class on Friday, I ran to my car so that I could begin this wonderful divergence from daily life. The parking lot at Carver’s Gap, my destination, finally came into view as I drove up US 19E. Across the road, a short wooden fence separated me from my wonderful weekend of adventure. From the second I reached the parking lot, I realized that this hike, a great way to escape from reality for a weekend, awaited me upon the trail I saw dwindling in the distance. Due to my college freshman regimen of a bad diet and no exercise, the first bald I climbed winded me. At the summit of this little hill, however, a great vista gently caressed my eyes, as the natural beauty of Tennessee flowed over me. Verdant hills broiled before me, bubbling away into the distance to pop upon the backs of monstrous mountains. The sweet aroma of the few vibrant flowers on the flat plateau, and the intoxicating sensation of the breeze pawing at my hair, made the scene picturesque and serene. After gaping in awe for several minute, I turned my back from one beautiful landscape only to find my self at another. The harsh winds of the balds blew around me as I came upon the testaments of the winds power. The tree line appeared as a mass of gnarled, knotted, dead looking trees, the guardians of the forest. The harsh winds had over the years, deformed the trees here at the barrier between the lush forests and the vast plateau behind me. The path wound through the gnarled guardians and the true beauty of my hike soon greeted me. The lush, vibrant fall colors on th... ... middle of paper ... ... as my hike the day before had. The secluded intimacy of the forest stunned my sense and made me feel as if I were apart of a land no man had before seen. As I passed the guardians of the forest, those gnarled, knotted, crooked trees overlooking the balds, I bid them farewell and a thank you also, for protecting the secluded interior forest from the harsh winds of the balds. My car squatted in the parking lot like a bug on a blackened, cooled, lava flow. I dreaded going back to my normal life after enjoying a weekend of such freedom and pleasure. Duties and obligations began to flitter though my mind as I once again began to think like an insect in a hive. I looked back over my shoulder, fondly remembering the freedom the wonderful weekend blessed me with, and vowed that I would once again return to experience the pleasure and seclusion that lay hidden therein.
My life so far has been like a good hiking path. A path that is winding and twisting and encompassed with plenty of beauty. A path that is lined with trees like angels protecting you from the mysteries in the deep forest and that keep you rooted on the path you are destine to take. One that is filled with deep troughs and the most beautiful peaks you could ever image. Sometimes the path is rocky and hurts the soles of your feet until they crack and bleed, but other times it’s covered with a soft green moss that lifts your steps and revives your spirits. Through the last 17 years of my life, I have traveled that path and endured every step. I have gone into the dark abyss of the trough and have found in it the most precious grace of light. As I have gotten older I have come to recognize that the scary and shaky steps of my path have indeed been “fearsome blessings” (Buechner, 92).
It was simply amazing hiking out there, the mountains covered in tall trees that dug into the rocky soil, the beautiful sky, when visible. Even in the midst of strenuous exercise I still en...
The book, The Trail, takes place on a portion of what is called the Appalachian Trail. From start to finish, the Appalachian Trail is roughly 2,200 miles in length, and starts in Springer Mountain, Georgia, and ends in Mount Katahdin, Maine. For Toby’s specific portion of the hike, he was hiking 400 miles from his grandma’s home in Norwich Vermont, to Mount Katahdin, which is one of the 4 trailheads. Throughout the Appalachian Trail, there are things called shelters, in which people that are hiking the trail can stay at. These shelters provide warmth, food, and company, which are all things that a majority of the hikers are craving. Not
Branagh, Kenneth. "Hamlet" by William Shakespeare: Sreenplay, Introduction, and Film Diary. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1996.
...truggle and Laertes is shot fatally as well. After Laertes and Gertrude are both dead Halmet shots and sills Claudius as if the director was in a hurry to wrap the film up.
The drive to cross the Kentucky border had taken hours and hours of strenuous patience to finally arrive in another state. The view was by far country like as hints of cow manure could be smelled far from a distance. We drive through small towns, half the size of our hometown of Glen Ellyn had been the biggest town we've seen if not smaller. The scenery had overwhelmed us, as lumps of Earth from a great distance turned to perfectly molded hills, but as we got closer and closer to our destination the hills no longer were hills anymore, instead the hills had transformed to massive mountains of various sizes. These mountains surrounded our every view as if we had sunken into a great big deep hole of green pastures. Our path of direction was seen, as the trails of our road that had followed for numerous hours ended up winding up the mountainous mountains in a corkscrew dizzy-like matter.
Stone, Chad, Danieli Trisi, Arloc Sherman, and William Chen. "Center on Budget and Policy Priorities." A Guide to Statistics on Historical Trends in Income Inequality . N.p., 6 Oct. 2013. Web. 14 Nov. 2013. .
Pearce, Brian. "Hamlet, the Actor." Shakespeare in Southern Africa 19.(2007): 63-69. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 15 Mar. 2010.
Summarize: this article is about the wealth gap. This article talks about a survey that 5000 people took and how they thought wealth was distributed and what their ideal distribute Tatian of wealth would be.
In this paper a new technique is introduced for implementing the basic logic function by using analog current-mode techniques. By expanding the logic function in power series expression, and using adder and sub-tractor realization of the basic logic function is simplified. To illustrate the proposed technique, a CMOS circuit for simultaneous realization of the logic function NOT, AND, OR, NAND and XOR is considered. PSPICE simulation results, obtained with ±2V supply, are included.
Nationwide, organizations are witnessing for the first time ever, four different generations working side by side. These generations have been labeled as the veterans or the traditionalist group (born before 1945), the baby boomers (born between 1946 and 1964), generation X (born between 1965 and 1980), and generation Y (born after 1980). As a manager it can be quite challenging to manage four different generations of workers. All four generations have different strengths and weaknesses, so it takes a great manager to merge all of them into one productive team. To be an effective manager of such diverse groups, it takes understanding and appreciating the qualities each generation offers. This review analyzes current research available describing the differences between each generation, how to motivate each generation, and how to effectively merge the generations into one cohesive group.
Being invited to a friend’s house the other day, I began to get excited about the journey through the woods to their cabin. The cabin, nestled back in the woods overlooking a pond, is something that you would dream about. There is a winding trail that takes you back in the woods were their cabin sits. The cabin sits on top of a mountain raised up above everything, as if it was sitting on the clouds.
One would think the highlight of the trip was the concert, however, one could not be any more wrong. The highlight was literally the highest point in the trip. Inching our way up Pike’s Peak to an elevation of 14,115 miles (“About Pike’s Peak”) proved to be quite the adventure. I will never forget how a number of mundane occurrences created such a wonderful memory: my mother’s dislike of heights, my father’s horrible driving, the scenery, and the arrival to the
On the edge of a small wood, an ancient tree sat hunched over, the gnarled, old king of a once vast domain that had long ago been turned to pasture. The great, gray knees gripped the hard earth with a solidity of purpose that made it difficult to determine just where the tree began and the soil ended, so strong was the union of the ancient bark and grainy sustenance. Many years had those roots known—years when the dry sands had shriveled the outer branches under a parched sun, years when the waters had risen up, drowning those same sands in the tears of unceasing time.
I wandered around the path near the lake because it was always peaceful and quiet there in the morning and the trees that hung over the wide walkway only drew me in more. The cool wind blew continuously, and some of the leaves that barely hung on to the branches were pulled along with it. They floated while dropping slowly, and one of the leaves chose my head as a landing spot. I brushed my hair with my hand, not caring if doing so messes up my hair, since the wind already accomplished that job the second I took a step outside my house.