Lake Worth: A Short Story

: Larchwood Lake may not ever be the same again. The story about Larchwood Lake is not that uncommon. Without doing extensive research into possible things that could occur by lowering the lake level, the Larchwood Lake Homeowner’s Association destroyed the very thing they were trying to protect. Carelessness and poor planning are not the only root causes however. There are a number of reasons that led to the degradation of Larchwood Lake that happen to relate to more macro level environmental issues. Those reasons are poorly designed environmental policy created by the E.P.A., poor understanding of lake ecology by the managers of the land, and false confidence in poorly planned ideas. By looking at how these factors contributed to the degradation of the lake, hopefully we will be able to make more ecological sound decisions in the future.

Anyone that came in contact with him, could tell that was his biggest and most honorable trait. He knew when enough was enough, he knew when to leave the bar, and he also knew when his granddaughters wanted attention and affection from him. Growing up across the street from my grandpa, I was able to watch and observe him go through many stages of life. He was my biggest trainer of moderation, self-discipline, and love. He may not have always stopped when others thought he should and he may not have spent as much time with us as we thought we deserved, but he knew the right things to do for himself or other. I was so easily influenced as a child, that I was affected by the right and wrong things I would see happening. While my grandpa didn’t always do the right thing, he always showed me how it was wrong and what I could do to make it

When I made thirteen years old we had move to Lake Charles Louisiana, my mother had gotten a better job and a new house. Only part I didn’t like was my mother boyfriend move with us to Lake Charles and that I had to make new friends because I didn’t know anyone out there. I started 7th Grade when we move to Lake Charles and I wasn’t happy about it because I had friends in Crowley and didn’t want to move. My first day at Oak Park Middle School I was very quiet because I didn’t know anyone or had family members there. There was this girl name Barbara Thompson who had came sat with me for lunch because I was sitting by myself and she introduce herself to me . I was very happy she came sit with me instead of me sitting alone by myself, then that’s

I never really knew my grandpa as well as I would have liked. He was already an old, old man by the time I started high school, and my own memories of him are mostly of a man confined by age and ailing health. So I'm not really going to talk about my memories of him. Instead, I'm going to try to share his memories and the memories of those that knew him.

His deep wrinkles carved a map of his life. His galaxy-blue eyes were jaded. His skin was time ravaged. He was my grandfather. I watched from the balcony, his trying to pick up his home key from the ground.

Hi James, I am a camper here at the Camp Green Lake. There was an incident here at camp and I need your help. You see I was digging my hole to build character and the warden here poked me with a pitchfork as a punishment.

He was hard working, honest, and the smartest man I've ever met. In 94 years, i can assure you, he never broke a promise, never let someone down, and absolutely never disappointed his family name. Gramp excelled in an era in which nothing was done for you, there were no computers, and internet. An era in which you had to absorb, listen, and learn, something he was particularly good at. He was successful at everything, especially while at the helm of his trucking and logging company for over 50 years. One of the most demanding industries there is in our area, an industry that was constantly changing, and he never missed a beat. Gramp was always ahead of the curve, the best of the best, and a pioneer in his industry, and he took pride in that.

“Yeah, sure, nice try, Justin,” said Conner, folding his arms, leaning back in his chair.

The primary goal of this my analysis is to estimate long-term mass loss of nitrate in Saylorville Lake and compare my analysis with those of Schoch et al. (2009) and Okereke et al. (1988) to determine if Saylorville Lake is a nitrogen sink. Approximate annual percent mass loss of nitrate and hydraulic loading rate (HLR) in the reservoir, and compare my finding with those of David et al (2006) and Garnier et al.(1999); to determine nitrate reduction Saylorville Lake. Recent studies done by David et al. (2006), Schoch et al (2009) and Okereke et al. (1988) from 1981 through the period of 2006, on Shelbyville lake indicate high to low nitrate inputs. Similar observations were also indicated by Garnier et al.(1999) in three reservoirs in France.

Let me tell you about the time I got pulled over trying to retrieve a bouncy ball.

It was 6:00 in the morning on a Saturday. I wondered, “Why do we have to wake up so early?” Then I remembered.

Silver Lake’s name held true that night, as the moon reflected gray-toned glitter across placid ripples. The air was warm on our bare skin, and filled with music. Raleigh lay next to me on a blanket, twirling dark curls around her fingers, reborn from straightened locks after being submerged in nippy lake water.

Here I stand upon the northern shore of Lake Superior, I look waiting expectantly to see some monster of lore, The foaming spray of its clammy waters hits my unwav'ring skin. Instead all I see is the flashing of a fish's gleaming fin. All I see as I look around jutting from the lake are rocks, Looking down I now see stone etched in the form of ancient clocks, I see my family staring at me wondering with their eyes. I don't understand the time and so I let out a little sigh.

For many people, Grandpa is a storyteller, someone to go fishing with, and someone who has your back no matter what. The experience I had with my grandpa was a little different. I never got the opportunity to meet my great-grandfather Liston Grider, but he still somehow managed to have a huge impact on my life. Sometimes my mom would tell stories about him; happy memories from her childhood, sad ones that were painful for her to tell, and everything in between. I thought I had heard it all, but this past summer I learned something about my great grandpa that would perhaps impact my life forever. This story was not told by my mom like usual, but by someone who was a complete stranger to me. The lessons I learned would not be taught in a single day, but over the span of a month through a series of Facebook messages and letters in the mail. The words I read upon opening those messages and letters would change my life forever, permanently transform my beliefs, and show me what it truly means to be an American.

Every afternoon after school I loved to go to my grandparents house. Their house was the most peaceful place in the world, they always were talking about their history and how well they used to live in the campo. All my cousins and i used to sit down on the floor and listen my grandfather talking and making jokes while my grandmother was in the kitchen making coffee, the smell of the hot coffee was so good my grandmother's coffee is the best in the world. My Grandpa was very funny, kind, protective and lovely person. He had white hair, brown eyes, 5’7 tall, he weighed around 180 pounds and light skin.