Appropriate Trail: A Short Story

This book was quite difficult to read. The simple fact that it was written in 1896 is why the reader will have a little difficulty reading and comprehending this work, and the author is in no way at fault. Ross quotes extensively from source documents which proved to be very tedious. Not only was Ross a state representative during the time of Johnson's impeachment trial, but Ross' vote proved to be the final vote that would result in conviction or acquittal. His vote ultimately lost him the bid for re-election two years later. This work is a prime source document from 1896.

Migration of humans is not a new concept, from hunter gather tribes, to colonists of the Americas, to those migrating west on the Mormon, Oregon, and California trails. However, the motivations and end goals for those travelling westward differentiated them greatly. For those on the California trail: prosperity. For those heading to Utah on the Mormon trail: religious freedom. In the early republic, with new territory being acquired by the United States westward expansion was driven by population growth and economic opportunity. With cities growing larger, land was growing scarce once again. With the federal government selling land in the newly acquired territory, many took advantage and headed westward. Later on as the country neared the

On April 4, 2017 at approximately 2:32 A.M. I, Deputy Hill was informed by dispatch of a possible over dose at the Trails Inn Motel.

One cold, dreadful winter day in November, the wind was biting at our faces, high in the Ouachita mountains at Ash Creek deer camp, I would have to face my most dreaded fear. I would be faced with losing the person that means the uttermost to me.

The contents of the family restroom off of Peaks Place Trail were always the same. The little 8X5 room usually contained a stained-up finger print covered mirror, a leaky sink, a clogged up or overflowing toilet, and a drain in the middle of the floor that had probably never gotten rid of any water in its existence. However, on the last Sunday of every month, the items in dirty room would get a few additions. On these particular Sundays, the public restroom would contain its usual revolting things, but it would also contain a view from the doorway of a rusty bike leaned against a rotting tree, a black duffle bag that housed a few dirty clothes, and a visit from a 19 year old homeless girl who would be frantically trying to get the dirt stains out of the only semi-nice thing that she owned. This particular Sunday would be no different as the young lady tried to get ready for her usual once-a-month church going.

I had a poke around the town, but nearly every building I went to had a locked door

As I’ve been told you are aware, I am currently leading a 22 day backpacking trip on the Appalachian trail and have been out of contact. I am currently on a rest day until tomorrow morning. I’ve tried calling your number, but got an unavailable message. Let me know if you have a chance to talk via phone today. Otherwise, I will forward along the number of a friend who can help sort this on my behalf. My primary concern is repaying you for the damages and to do whatever we can to make up for the stress this has undoubtedly caused. For that, I am truly truly sorry.

After entering the canyon, I saw the light slowly fade as I further immersed myself into this endless waterway. My only company was the sound of the steady, rippling water, and the quiet voices of my friends nearby. I stretched my hand toward the dank, rough wall to get some assurance. As I did so, pebbles from the crumbling structure fell into the water. I felt the cracks in the sandstone that the water had sculpted after years of erosion. My feet slipped over the rocks on the bottom and I sank into the water. The water climbed to my shoulders and the light faded into pure darkness. I felt my heart rate intensify just before I turned a sharp corner. My eyes widened as I saw the first light since I had entered the cave. Three distinct rays of sun slipped through the rocks above and filled the canyon, illuminating the bright orange color of

Today was a big day for me. I had been training for this bike race for months and I was going to win. Sadly, Ben was here and I seriously doubt he came to cheer me on.

I found Happy Trails very interesting and fun to read because of the interesting writing style. It was also fun to read because it was informational as well as interesting. I learned about the life on an Indian preservation and how people act there. I also found the story interesting because of the way that people refer to each other and the way they talk. And finally, I liked the way that it talked about the uncle, Hector, which was not present throughout the whole book but is always talked about. Happy Trails, by Sherman Alexie is the most fun short story that we have read so far.

The next three miles were much as the first two had been, a walk through a colorful enclosed forest. At the three-mile point, a rough, wooden, weatherworn sign stated that the Over Mountain shelter lay close by, and seeing as dusk had rapidly set upon me, I decided to spend the night there. Down a small hill through an arch of trees, the Overmountain Shelter squatted in an open field. The trees abruptly ended on my left and a large hillside presented itself to the sky. The hill, a wind tunnel during a thunderstorm, seduced me with its lush green grass, but I did not so easily forsake the prospected security of the shelter. The shelter, an old, weathered, abandoned barn squatted regally in the meadow, as if ruling over the valley below it. As dusk deepened into night, I carried my sore but happy body inside where I cooked a wondrous meal of pasta then swiftly passed into unconscious bliss.

This was my first time hunting alone. I was on my own, on my four wheeler, rifle on my back, and backpack on the four wheeler rack. I was headed to a new spot, only a few miles from my home in Rockwood. My hopes weren’t very high seeing what had happened every other hunt I’d ever been on. I had arrived at the spot to park my four wheeler and start my trek to the field I wanted to hunt through the over grown forest and undergrowth and brush thickets of briars. As I walked through thicket after thicket my patience began to diminish. I thought to myself, “how much farther of a walk is this, if I’m even going the right direction”. I was starting to wish I hadn’t decided to go hunting that evening. Although I had my regrets, and doubts, I returned to the slow stalking and sneaky pace.

The smell of the pine permeates the air I breath as I climb up the mountain trail with the excitement of a child exploring new and exciting adventures. The buzzing of mosquitoes intensifies near a slow moving stream I reach down with my hand to pick some of the western yarrow growing near the trail. I have been told that it acts as a natural repellant. I chew on some of plant, flooding my mouth with an almost pleasant, bitter-sweet flavor. This hike up Red Ridge Mountain feels completely removed from the world in which I grew up. We are miles from the nearest car or road, over 8500 feet above sea level, and I am hearing sounds of nature that I have never yet experienced. Before reaching the summit we set up camp. We brought almost nothing, not even tents, and we are learning to build a lean-to shelter for the night. The adults check the construction of our lean-to's before we start a campfire. Our camp was set up and we sat down for smores and dinner. Finally I climb into my sleeping bag, feeling proud for the shelter I created with limbs, leaves, and only a small amount of twine from my pack. I was ready for a great night’s rest, listening the orchestra of natural sounds, and the more still I got the more new instruments I was able to hear in this great symphony; the chittering of bugs and the rustling of nocturnal animals was the music that finally lures me into slumber. I am suddenly jarred out of sleep as the earth starts to shake. The leaves rustle, and my entire

You are finally doing this long hike in nature, something you have contemplated for quite some time. The clearly marked trails lead you over mountainous terrains with a multitude of valleys, peaks and cliffs. You find yourself crossing another dry riverbed, which is filled with enormous boulders, massive rocks and a collection of stones, all in the process of being rounded during millions of years of torrents of water rushing downhill. You are curiously drawn to this place and you decide that it is the perfect time to sit down, to remove your shoes and to relax.

Sunlight kisses your skin as you wander down the road. Off in the distance in front of you, heat waves wobble the ground. Despite the pleasant breeze drifting around you the sun is relentless in its warmth. You turn to the left, down a small turnaround and come to a stop before the maw of the trail. Brush sways on either side, trees choked by the height of the foliage. Sun dapples the ground between branches, skittering across the ground with each brush of the wind. You stand there a moment, watching, utterly transfixed on the peacefulness of the woods in front of you. You step forward.