304 Day Sequoia Research Paper

When I crossed by the snow covered sign that read “Welcome to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness National Park” and looked at what surrounded me, I was beside myself. I didn’t know that trees could ever be so beautiful. The towering trees were the perfect shade of dark emerald green, and the way the snow piled on them looked like painting. I thought I was living a fairytale. It was the most beautiful sight I have ever laid eyes on.

At Yosemite National Park I got a chance to truly experience the nature and wildlife around me. The Merced River ran through the valley, and I could hear the sound of the rushing water from far away. I could hear the whistle of the wind and the birds chirping from high up in the trees. The vivid colors of the flowers there were incredible. On top of Pride Rock, there was a splendid view of famous landmarks including the Half Dome. From OMG Point the view of the valley below was absolutely breathtaking. --Some plants and trees had a nice scent to them.-- The Jeffrey Pine tree had a pleasant aroma of vanilla. I also got a chance to smell the fresh scent of earth when rain was falling on the last but one day of the trip. --We got to taste the leaves

Sequoyah (ᏍᏏᏉᏯ) was born in Monroe County, Tennessee which is east of the Chillhowee Mountain. He lives about 8 miles away from New Echota, the old Cherokee Nation Capital. Sequoyah was born around 1760 - 1765 and died about 1843. Sequoyah’s mother's name is Wut-teh she belongs to the red paint clan, his father had left before Sequoyah was born, and he is believed to be known as George Gist, a German paddler of Nathaniel Gist, an English fur trader. The English name that was given to him was George Gist, his Cherokee name (S-si-qua-ya or ᏍᏏᏉᏯ) meant “pig’s foot”.

Sequoyah was a Cherokee Indian who created the Cherokee language. He was born around 1760 to 1765 in the village of Tuskeegee, Tennessee. His mother was the daughter of a Cherokee chief, and his father was a Virginia fur-trader. Sequoyah was married to a Cherokee and was a silversmith. Because the white soldiers could read and write letters, Sequoyah became inspired to create a written and spoken language during War of 1812, and he taught it to his daughter Ayoka. Sequoyah was a very important figure in Cherokee life.

The first time I every experience the Wildcat Hills was during a difficult time in my life. My parents were going through a custody battle over my siblings and me. They were also both in the process of being remarried. So, when my step father brought us to the Wildcats to explore for the first time I realized how amazing our earth can be. Here in the county known for the Scotts Bluff National Monument, sits over 1,000 acres of land. It wasn’t just the sight at the top of the escarpment that took my breath away. It was the fact that whether you were at the bottom of the hills or the top, when the wind blew that’s all you can hear. It isn’t overwhelming, it is

After a long mountainous drive, I arrived at my destination to embrace one of nature’s wonders in the Great Smokey Mountain National Park, Abram Falls Trail. Upon departing the car, a cool crisp breeze brushed my face and the aroma of bacon lingered in the early morning air from the neighboring campground. The narrow rocky footpath looked like a tedious adventure, however a gorgeous, vibrant array of red, purple, orange, and yellow wildflowers blossoming at the entrance made the trail alluring. Navigating the rocky, uneven terrain required sturdy footing, but the quiet stillness created a peaceful relaxing atmosphere. The lush pine-oak forest formed a green canopy of shelter above the trail, offering welcome cool shade, as vivid sunlight filtered through the foliage. A sweet honey fragrance permeated the air, as a stunning scene displayed a cluster of purple and pure white

For my observation, I choose to visit the area of the Stanislaus National Forrest. I had wanted to see the changes over the few years from the rim fire. I headed up to the 120 towards Groveland and got as far as I could, but the road was closed. I stop for a moment to observe the area, and decided that I would take a different route to the area where I could look down below to see if I can catch anything with the Rim Fire affects.

Driving down the Franconia Notch Parkway, the mountain walls rise up around me and consume me. On one side, the guardrail separates me from the cars speeding past in the opposite direction. On the other side, nothing is separating me from the slopes. My eyes slowly follow the smooth curvature of the faces of the mountains. Wind, rain, snow, and ice have shaped the rock in such a way that the rock looks like silk sheets. As my eyes take in more, they come across the sharp jagged edges and ridges where rocks have recently fallen and taken parts of the mountain as their casualties. The sun peeks from behind the summit and causes the great mountains to cast shadows on their smaller counterparts. Crimson, goldenrod, bronze, and saffron leaves dance across the air as the cool gusts of wind blow them along. Soon the trees will become bare and blend with the barren slopes above the treeline, but for now the contrast between the two is unmistakably noticeable.

John Muir deeply lives in the solitude of now, and integrates a sense of belonging within Yosemite when he writes, “We are now in the mountains and they are in us” (Muir, p. 72). Muir’s detailed, joyous descriptions of the Yosemite, in the mountains, valleys, forests, Yosemite Creek with falling waters, mountain creatures and plants, erupted in his writing as the very breath of his life, that soaked the exquisite sightings into his skin and rooted themselves into his bones. Muir delineated the vast beauty of the landscape and the simple face of a daisy declaring a himself a servant in a “holy wilderness," a wilderness that mirrored the reflection of the Creator.

I never knew the Smokies were so close to my grandparent’s retirement village. Every summer all the cousins jammed into Grandpa’s Ford for our jaunt up the mountains. But back then the hills had no name. They were recognized only by the pop of our ears and the pink silk trees bowing down to the highway. Since those days I have grown partial to any patch of grass with “National Park” tacked to its title. Today the mimosas still tossed their petals to traffic, and the truck remembered its ever-present perfume of damp golden retriever. But today we were going to The Great Smoky Mountains National Park. “Cade’s Cove, next left,” the road sign read, and two bikes bumped along on the car hitch.

Nature has always provided a sanctuary for me, especially during the Spring and the Summer. The beautiful trees, flowers, and long grasses in the local nature preserve have always provided me with great joy and freedom in my leisure time. More importantly, I have always enjoyed doing nature hikes with my friends. In the Spring of 2013, I decided I wanted to hike with a group of people, instead of hiking by myself. I chose Allison, James, and Sheila to be my companions for a day-hike into the depths of the woodlands. During the hike, Allison told me about a really large oak tree that she had seen deep in the middle of the forest. She had actually given the tree a name: “Big Albert”. Allison had told us that she had named the tree after her big brother. Tragically, Albert had died in a car accident in 2010, so all of us were inspired to join Allison in this spiritual quest. All of us were very surprised to hear of this tree, since old oaks were very rare in these parts. We decided that it would be our mission to find

It is December 26, 2011. The trees are bare; the grass is lifeless. The brutal winds send shivers down my spine. My family and I pack our suitcases in the car, and we begin the long journey up to Natchez. Everywhere I look, I see dead trees and brown grass. I listen to the wind, whistling past the car. The three hour drive seems like an eternity.

When arriving at Tumbledown Mountain, I was surrounded by brown and reddish leaves that were scattered on the ground. The trees around me were filled with luscious, vibrant, green leaves that enchanted my eyes. In addition to the leaves and trees, there was a lot of moss growing on tree stumps that looked like a small blanket covering an infant. Wild, white mushrooms were also growing out of the ground, which gave the ground a pop of color. Taking a step out of the car and onto the leaves, sounded like fire crackling at a camp fire. The sound of the leaves made the hairs on my arm stick up and filled my skin with small goose bumps. At first the smell of the woods was unfamiliar, but I soon got used to it and felt at ease. It felt like I was in my own fantasy where I could escape my troubles and focus on each little detail in the woods.

As I left behind the somber forest, I now recognized an appreciation for nature that I did not realize I had. I now knew there was more to nature than just trees and animals, but also I found the

We begin our journey leaving our house later in the day because my dad always double checks the alarm is on and our house is secure, In times of stress I go to my mom who is always there to support me. We are driving and the closer we get, the more tired we become. We can see that the trees have been getting bigger and the smell smells more like a wet garden. When we reached the sign that said “Welcome to the Redwood National Forest,” the trees were massive! The trees were around 300 feet tall, for comparison the trees in front of the KAOL High School are about 15 feet tall. Once we entered the forest we felt like we were ants.