Essay about I Need New Frontiers

I smiled because I remembered reading about all the unique and facinating birds in the book my mother got me yesterday. I was very intruigued by the canyon’s rim and gorge. Sammy said that the canyon’s gorge showed no sign of human occupation, but we could still go down there for a tour. We all agreed that would be a good idea. Sammy told us to stay close behind him, for the way down could be a little tricky. As we walked with Sammy I stopped every once and awhile to bend down a study the small little yellow flowers that lined the pathway. I remembered reading about thses flowers! They were Mountain Parsley. They looked more beautiful in person than in my book. I pulled out my camera to take a quick picture of them. After I was finished I looked up and Sammy and my family were gone. At first I didn’t panic. Earlier we had passed those tall blue flowers called Silvery Lupines. Or was it those bright orange ones called Scarlet Globemallows? It was then I realised I was lost. I was lost in the middle of Colorado. No one was in sight. There were flowers of many colors everywhere, the sun beat down hard on me, and it was scorching hot. I sat down and thought there was no hope.

It was a short drive to the hotel, and the scenery was pretty cool, but I was really waiting for arrival time. I couldn't wait to see the hotel, and I had no clue what to expect. I eyes drifted out the window at all the tall trees on the hilly landscape. The trees filled the hill, and there was on sight of the forest floor. Birds of all sizes flew in and out of the forest, keeping a person looking at them and their home forever. But then the landscape began to change.

The sun was glistening through the tall, swaying pines. To the right of the trail, a gentle river flowed softly down towards the mouth of the lake. Walking across the rickety wooden bridge, I inhaled a deep breath of refreshingly crisp mountain air. The sun beat down on me as I made my way across the bridge and back onto the well-used hiking trail. The ambient sounds of chirping birds, babbling water, and the croaks of several frogs filled my ears as I made my way around the bend. As I entered the mouth of the forest, I could see my father standing in the middle of the path, glancing upwards, taking in the beauty that had began to engulf us. “We better get going.” he said, looking back at me. “There’s still many miles to go.” I smiled and turned, taking in one last view of the beautiful creekside. Then, with determination, we set out to finish the challenging trek we had started.

Waking up to discover the immense, pristine wilderness of Alaska, listening to the birds chirping their sounds while feeling the tremble of your heart beating through your veins. Trees as far as one can see with rolling hills and distant peaks covered with unblemished snow. The sounds of streams growing larger until they rush over a fall, and into an untainted lake. Pondering the true meaning of life while observing Mother Nature’s true grace. Very few people can relate to this scene of the wild. One of them being Christopher Johnson McCandless, a young pioneer and traveler, who was determined to seek the truth no matter what the cost.

The three most important causes in the closing of the frontier were the end of the Civil War, the mechanization of agriculture, and the Industrial Revolution. Leading up to the Civil War, the rise of industry began to challenge the notion that the small farmer was the backbone of America. The Jeffersonian belief in working and owning your own small plot of land gave way to the rising system of industry that was allowed to freely flourish once the Civil War ended. The end of the conflict freed up a large amount of resources that helped contribute to the Industrial Revolution and allowed America to become the largest industrial power the world had ever seen. Mechanization of agriculture reduced the amount of workers needed and thus helped fuel urbanization which contributed to the closing of the Western Frontier.

The river and creek separate but also bring together. The river separates by serving as a boundary, in Luke’s words, for “our side of the river” (Grisham 184). “Siler’s Creek,” observes Luke, “ran along the northern boundary of our farm” (127). Things were different once the boundary was crossed. The world on the other side was dangerous; in contradistinction, there was safety on the

As Bill took his first step in the woods, he takes a deep breath soaking in the scent of oak and fresh ash. “far removed from the seats of strife”, not having a warm bed or hot meals even a full night rest. Knowing he had one abventure ahead for Bill and Kats. Both having to hike 16 miles everyday over rocks,trees, crossing ice cold rivers, and hearding the rain outside of thier tend and the roaring of the bears at night.

The clearing was quiet, it seemed lifeless. The Salinas River still flowed merrily near the hillside. The water was still warm from the afternoon sun, and still reflected a green hue. On one side of the river, the smooth foothill slopes still curved up to the strong and rocky Gabilan Mountains, and the other side was still lined with trees. The willows and sycamore branches still swung gently in the wind, and the leaves still created a green light within the space. It was totally calm and peaceful… but something was wrong. The air seemed heavier, and the sun seemed dimmer. No animals stirred, and everything seemed to be aware of a deep sadness. Nothing moved save for a small group of men standing around an unmoving figure.

As we started along the trail, I worried about forgotten items and my decision to only bring one extra pair of socks. However, after a while, I became aware of a pair of birds chattering above me and the soft murmur of water trickling down a stream bed. After an hour of walking, the trail starts winding back on itself in a series of switchbacks. The chatter between my family members slows down, as we soon struggled to breathe from exhaustion. Sometimes I was hunched over so far from my load that I would stare at my rubber-toed boots and forget to look up at the majestic trees surrounding me.

Drewyer knew something was going to go wrong that day because of where they had set camp. They didn’t listen to him, and thought this would be a perfect spot to stay and rest for the rest of the night; he knew that there dangerous species close by, dueto the water stream close by, and the berries growing on trees all around. It all started on June 2, 1805, where it started off to be a normal night, until Drewyer awoke so early that the moon was above, and the sun wasn’t close to rise. He stood from his small but comfortable bed, and walked alone to get a drink of water from the stream. His throat felt raspy and a bit too dry for his liking, so he knew he must keep it wet and moist. As he walked in the pitch black night, he hears something to his left, and quickly turns his head to see what it was.

The air was crisp and clean, as it was a mild autumn day. Throughout the forest, the sounds of nature could be heard. Birds chirping, leaves falling off trees in the midday breeze. The calm sounds of the woods gave way to a new sound: the gentle humming of a young female wanderer, on a quest to visit her grandmother. She quite enjoyed the sounds and view of the forest, as it was her favorite thing to surround herself with as she was growing up in the village not far from the forest edge. As she strolled through the winding paths of the forest road, she thought of the wonderful experiences of the day ahead with her grandmother.

The mountains towered over us threateningly. The only reason I joined the research group was to escape normal life. The same everyday routines were torture to me. The grass around me fluttered gently, creating this enchanting illusion of a grassy, green wave of greatness. The sky was filled with fluffy wild clouds, dancing around in unison.

A ways away from a town that I call home, I found a happy place. I often find myself walking through the park by myself. The beautiful trees, the way the yellow and red leaves crumple under my feet every step I take. When the flowers bloom and how it's the most spectacular sight you could ever imagine seeing, all the different colors that appear. When you breathe in and you get this smell of purity, you feel free and alive. Sometimes I like to sit on the old wooden bench where the bench frame is a little rusted, and I get rid of my thoughts and my eyes search the sky. In the winter the icy breeze makes me shiver, and the cold air I take in, is like sitting in front of an air conditioner and breathing in. Some mornings the sun beams across the sky, which is not quite blue yet, but the sun has almost fully risen. When the wind blows, it grazes over the blades of grass. Some days I just stand and take a deep breath in and I can taste the spring. When summer comes around, and the bees are buzzing, and the hot sun beats on the back of my neck, I lay on the soft grass and listen, to the birds chirping a beautiful song, and the kids playing in the park. The sky is the bluest view in sight.

At the end of the dock is a sign that reads; "No Fishing, No Swimming, No Dumping"; a sign that is quite often recognized by all visitors of parks and lakes and as big as the windshield. Around the lake there a hills and valleys around Lake Lavon. $200,00 home are springing up like mad. Retirees, former airline pilots, and people generally burned out on big cities are discovering Lake Lavon. The small lake but the perfect weather, and the safe-quiet atmosphere are drawing people like a cover-up draws Ed Bradly. Without thought or hesitation we smiled and warmly held ourselves in each other arms and slowly sat down together at the end of the dock, put out feet in the water and the water was so cool like melted water from snow (to eat the strawberries we brought). The strawberries were delicious; red, ripped, and plumped; sweetness caressed our mouth with very bite. Some were quite sour, but was washed it away by an ocean of water every time. As supplies ran short she decided to play lazy and had me carry her to watch the people fishing by the dock. Although very distinctive and precise, I was like a bear; very step was heavy and short. To the left side of the dock about 200ft people ware fishing and kid's playing soccer on the field near the lake. By watching them play I remember my childhood, that my mother always took me to the Lake Lavon every weekend to fishing, and now I'm with my girlfriend holding her hand and watching people fishing and

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.