Running threw the woods on a hot scorching summer day with a muddy trail of footprints following me. Salado Creek was more than just a creek for us when we were younger; it was a never-ending trail in the woods that ran from the north side to south side of San Antonio, Texas. The creek had many parts to explore some as swampy as Florida and others as dry as Arizona. Salado Creek is full of story’s from my friends and I childhood, from sixth grade to eighth we would often explore its dark natural beauty’s and run around its never ending narrow trails.
The creek was the perfect spot for bike rides and midday runs especially when the ground was dry and settled. A few friends and I would often run around the woods early in the morning and explore
…show more content…
The south part of creek unlike the north was very big and thick, instead of bushes it was covered with big trees and long braches that went over your head that human life figures when it got dark. One of the most popular spots in the creek was dead mans hill, this was a small but extremely steep hill that was narrow. We would challenge each other to ride our bikes down dead mans hill as fast as possible with out hitting a log and flipping in to the creek. The creek its self was also very wide and about four feet deep on the southern side, this made it impossible to cross also invited more animals. The woods were always dark because of the thick trees but provided good shade and also made it a little creepy. Deer with long antlers would also randomly scare the life out of you walking pass with no hesitation. Birds would start to whistle loud and intently, bugs would make loud zipping sounds and the water would often flood causing a loud slashing sound. It seemed like a place out the movies at moments, so scary that most of my friends refused to go to the southern part of the creek.
Going threw the thick creek gave an adventurous and intense feeling that I could never forget. In the creek you get the feeling that someone is watching or the feeling that you are lost in the middle of the woods, this was the reason we explored. Getting lost in the woods was something that actually made the day more exciting
Have you ever thought about having someone close to you pass away? In this exhilarating story death is something that could happen at any moment. Watt Key shows us in Terror at Bottle Creek that it's not about how bad you get knocked down but about the fight to get back up. The genre of this book is non-fiction. The book starts off with Cort and his father working to prepare for the level 5 hurricane coming their way. They live on a house boat in Louisiana. Cort and his father move all their things up to the neighbors house. Corts father takes off to see his ex-wife before the storm hits. The storm hits, and Cort is left without his father and with two younger girls and his dog. Corts dog runs off into the rain and Francie who is 8 runs after
The first two chapters in Ethridge book talk about Hawkins and Bartram and their importance and lays out a great image of what the landscape that surrounded creek country looked like. In chapter 1 the reader is introduced to Bartram and Hawkins. It talks about what their primary goals were within the Creeks. Ethridge mentions in her book Creek Country, that Hawkins felt it was his job to led the Creeks in the path of the U.S. and become more civilized (16). The chapter continues to talk about why Hawkins felt this way and how he planned to achieve this goal. Chapter 2 gives a great layout of the history of the Creeks and how they came about becoming the Creeks. Ethridge again goes into great details
Outdoors-river widens to a broad stream, low mud flaps on one side, pelicans, native pines, high creeper covered walls.
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...
Sandra Cisneros in her work “Woman Hollering Creek and other stories” depicts the role of women that assigned to them by the male-dominated society of Mexican Americans. Those women, though they are Mexican, live in an American society. And being on a verge between those two cultures, they are struggling to find their own self, their own identity, often by breaking away from the traditional stereotypes, roles and expectations of what Mexican woman should be. Cisneros’ stories underline the idea that cultural traditions and expectations often become a kind of trap for Mexican women, (and sometimes for men also) and define their gender roles in a society. Cisneros shows us that Mexican culture and society respect those women who suffer. And she challenges that idea by presenting us the heroines that are strong women. They have strength to go against what their culture says and stand up for themselves.
For this essay, I decided to write about Carter’s River Trail Ranch. You will learn how it looks, smells, and textures. This place is very special to me, therefore I decided to talk about this place. Carter’s River Trail Ranch has been in my life for quite some time now. It houses many horses, chickens, goats, sheep, dogs, and even people.
“The Blue People of Troublesome Creek,” was spread and caused by many different factors. It was a blood defect that was passed down throughout generations of inbreeding and close relations of several families. The remoteness of the “colony” of blue people had an effect on why this spread to so many people, and not just a few. The actually deficiency itself was called methemoglobinemia, and was an enzyme defect. Doctor Cawein was the one to actually discover and treat the defect, and make the people of troublesome creek no longer blue but pink.
An ancient game trail once followed Hospital Creek. Lieutenant Gabriel Moraga, on his 1808 Tulare Township exploration, followed this track from the hills. When they reached the river, Moraga’s party camped before they forded the stream to explore the eastern plain. Moraga, with Fray José Viader, returned two years later. Again, they camped on the same dry, high ground.
It may be a wooded ranch with towering pine trees, enormous mature oaks and other hardwood trees dot the rolling pastureland. A natural spring feeds a pond where you can picture yourself catching a few perch to grill on a summer evening under the shade of the pecan trees.
Let us not forget the ocean. There is nothing more spectacular then watching 12 to 20 foot waves crashing against the coral reefs. It is really something. I myself will never forget the first time I went surfing. At first, I got it down pretty well. I had very good balance and excellent control. I began to swim out farther then I should have. I see this wave come in that just blows me away. I try to paddle in to avoid it but it was too late.
The most surreal experience in my life had to have been when my family visited the Indian Echo Caves of Pennsylvania. It was the summer of 2015, and the sun scorched the back of our necks as my family met up with the tour group to experience the wonders that was the this mysterious cave. The cave entrance was situated next to a gorge filled with vegetation, where one can see the entire Appalachian Landscape. After our tour guide explained the Native American history of the caverns, our journey began and we all descended into the depths of the cavern. We were immediately hit with cool air that seemed to have surrounded our entire body as we continued into the cave, which was a pleasant contrast to the beaming heat of the summer sun outside.
My childhood wanderlust only consisted of traveling from my bed to my couch to my dining table and back to my couch, making me live vicariously through the TV or computer. But when I was 13, I finally-- finally -- got to go to an ocean.
Sitting in the back seat between two towering piles of clothes and snacks we drive up the abandoned streets of Adell. I see vast open fields of corn and dense wooded forest filled with life, along with the occasional, towering grain house. We pull into a dry, dusty, driveway of rock and thriving, overgrown weeds. We come up to an aged log cabin with a massive crab apple tree with its sharp thorns like claws. The ancient weeping willow provides, with is huge sagging arms, shade from the intense rays of the sun. Near the back of the house there is a rotten, wobbly dock slowly rotting in the dark blue, cool water. Near that we store our old rusted canoes, to which the desperate frogs hop for shelter. When I venture out to the water I feel the thick gooey mud squish through my toes and the fish mindlessly try to escape but instead swim into my legs. On the lively river banks I see great blue herring and there attempt to catch a fish for their dinner. They gracefully fly with their beautiful wings arching in the sun to silvery points.
Her spry, Timberland-clad foot planted itself upon a jagged boulder, motionless, until her calf muscles tightened and catapulted her small frame into the next stride. Then Sara's dance continued, her feet playing effortlessly with the difficult terrain. As her foot lifted from the ground, compressed mint-colored lichen would spring back into position, only to be crushed by my immense boot, struggling to step where hers had been. My eyes fixated on the forest floor, as fallen trees, swollen roots, and unsteady rocks posed constant threats for my exhausted body. Without glancing up I knew what was ahead: the same dense, impenetrable green that had surrounded us for hours. My throat prickled with unfathomable thirst, as my long-empty Nalgene bottle slapped mockingly at my side. Gnarled branches snared at my clothes and tore at my hair, and I blindly hurled myself after Sara. The portage had become a battle, and the ominously darkening sky raised the potential for casualties. Gritting my teeth with gumption, I refused to stop; I would march on until I could no longer stand.
I used to go there to be alone or to dream with my eyes open admiring the blue sky or the clouds. I liked to go there to lay down on the grass, listen to the wind, kiss the flowers and watch the leaves moving. It was hard to go up the hill to get there, but I wanted to see everyday my seven trees, to see how the color of the leaves changed and to feel the softness of the grass.