Walking through the woods never fails to clear my mind. After spending all day sitting in a stale classroom, filled with stress, confusion, and overwhelming responsibilities, taking a long stroll through the familiar woods behind my grandmother’s house lifts any worries that could ever weigh me down. I never wander through aimlessly. I always follow the trail of grass that has been deliberately cut down shorter than the rest, making it easier to tread through to the small creek at the end of the trail. The entire journey through the woods behind my grandmother’s house, there and back, first took on a whole new importance in my life during my junior year of high school. Pulling my car into the circle driveway of my grandmother’s humble abode, …show more content…
With stress on my mind and a cookie in my hand, I headed towards the wooded area behind her home. At the beginning of the trail, there was an old rotting tire swing barely hanging onto a low-hanging branch. The extensive amount of muddy puddles and the surrounding damp grass made me hesitant to follow through with my grandmother’s suggestion; the mountain of homework that waited for me back at home convinced me to continue. Trees towered over me, adding to the existing weight of stress that sat upon my shoulders, as I carefully maneuvered around the biggest puddles, beginning to become frustrated. Today was a terrible day to go for a walk, so why would my grandmother suggest this? Shaking my head in frustration, I pushed forward. The trail was slightly overgrown. Sharp weeds stabbed my sides every few steps, and I nearly tripped over a fallen tree branch. As the creek barely came into view, I could feel the humidity making my hair curly and stick to the sides of my face. After stopping to roll up the ends of my worn blue jeans, I neared the end of the trail. Bright sunlight peeked through the branches and reflected off the water. The sun must have come out from behind a cloud, seeing as it now blinded me as I neared the water. A few minutes passed by before I could clearly see
The people of the Eastern Woodlands made many tools to help them in their everyday lives. They made spears, weirs, nets, bows and arrows, lances, knives, taps, snares and deadfall for hunting. Most of those tools were made of wood or bark and other forest material. Arrowheads were made from chert, or flint, from sedimentary rocks. They were shaped like isosceles triangles, the smallest arrows were used for hunting birds, the bigger ones were to spear bears or deer. Flint knives were often oval, or teardrop shaped. For fishing they made spears, weirs, and nets. They also made canoes from hollowed-out trees to help with fishing in the lakes and streams. Some other tools they made were axes made of stone to strip bark, clear fields and removing fat from hides. Axes
I prepared myself for the upcoming adventurous day. I set out along a less-traveled path through the woods leading to the shore. I could hear every rustle of the newly fallen leaves covering the ground. The brown ground signaled the changing of seasons and nature's way of preparing for the long winter ahead. Soon these leaves would be covered with a thick layer of snow. The leaves still clinging to the trees above displayed a brilliant array of color, simultaneously showing the differences of each and the beauty of the entire forest.
I wasn’t even outside but I could feel the warm glow the sun was projecting all across the campsite. It seemed as if the first three days were gloomy and dreary, but when the sun on the fourth day arose, it washed away the heartache I had felt. I headed out of the trailer and went straight to the river. I walked to the edge, where my feet barely touched the icy water, and I felt a sense of tranquility emanate from the river. I felt as if the whole place had transformed and was back to being the place I loved the most. That day, when we went out on the boat, I went wakeboarding for the first time without my grandma. While I was up on the board and cutting through the wake of the boat, it didn’t feel like the boat was the one pulling and guiding me, it felt like the river was pushing and leading me. It was always nice to receive the reassurance from my grandma after wakeboarding, but this time I received it from my surroundings. The trees that were already three times the size of me, seemed to stand even taller as I glided past them on the river. The sun encouraged me with its brightness and warmth, and the River revitalized me with its powerful currents. The next three days passed by with ease, I no longer needed to reminisce of what my trips used to be like. Instead, I could be present in the moment, surrounded by the beautiful natural
In the beginning of this story, one expects for the characters to follow the concepts that they represent. This story displays one man's journey to leave his home and comfort zone in order to fully explore his curiosity. He goes off into a forest and undergoes a life changing experience there. He encounters three different things that set him on the path to the journey of knowledge. This forest was symbolic of an assessment of strength, bravery, and survival. It took determination to survive in the forest and the young person entering into it would not emerge the same. Conversely, this story is more representative than realistic and the peril is of the character. This story is more of a vision or conscious daydream th...
Does wilderness exist? To many people, this would seem to be a very meaningless question. Of course wilderness exists. But, coming from a student who decided to enroll in a class called Humans and the Natural Environment: Impacts and Moral Obligations, this question has become one that has almost thrown my world upside down. Before we can answer the question, we must first know the definition of wilderness is this, “an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man is a visitor who does not remain.” Because of my recent class periods and readings, I believe that the concept of wilderness does not exist, and that it is not useful. Throughout this essay I will explain why
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep
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.
Bill Bryson the author of the short story ‘A Walk in the Woods’ constructs the story in a certain way to try to get the reader to accept his attitudes and values about how dangerous and death defying Earl V. Shaffer and other’s are in attempting to travel the trail. He uses the techniques of emotive language, unusual language and use of first hand accounts in the short story ‘A Walk in the Woods‘ . The use of descriptive and humorous language, combined with conversational text has allowed Bryson to express his feelings and opinions on his and others experiences on the Appalachian Trail to the audience.
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.
My walk along Highland Park surrounded by with the water’s quiet flow that moves through the land, separating the two sides that were once connected. The waterfowl escape the heat of the sun by swimming happily with the current and in the process, diving to catch lunch. Trees are scattered all over the grass, soaring high above the ground creating homes for those who live by the sky. The dirt, leaves, bark, and water create the smell best classified as Earth, enriched by the uprooted trees from Mother Nature’s wrath. An old giant lay across the water connecting the two sides once again, similarly to the synthetic bridge conveniently located before the trees begin to hug the road.
Looking back, I remember running through the long lush grass pretending we were at battle andtrying to take cover. I would always find myself behind the old oak tree in our back yard. This was my favorite spot. The thick trunk, like a bodyguard, protected me from the imaginary bullets that flew towards my body. I would lean against the hard bark and for some reason it was comforting to have something sturdy to lean on. It was dark brown, and every now and then a spider would nestle between the pieces of bark. Sometimes I would touch the tree to peek around the corner and my fingers would be sticky. I could never quite figure out why that was, but, nevertheless, I had the hardest time getting it off, a constant reminder of my tree.
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
It was a calm, overcast day, and I found myself resting at the side of a large oak tree, admiring the beauty of the woods that surrounded me.
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 gargantuan 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 morning together