My Favorite Part About The Lake

“Once More to the Lake” is a short essay written by E.B. White for his column in the New Yorker, One Man’s Meat. “Once More to the Lake” is a story about a father who is taking his son to his childhood vacation spot. On the trip, the father finds himself inside the memories of his past. Throughout the trip, the father finds differences in the lake from when he was a child. While much of E.B. White 's essay is set in the present, the author explores his own mortality as he looks both to the past and to the future.

“Well,” Mrs. Johnson interrupted, “how about we settled down and talk about our plans for the morning?” Everyone agreed and sat in a circle discussing their ideas. Next, they decided they should head to bed due to the early times they would have to wake in the morning. As they woke up, they put on their layers of clothes, grabbed their bags, and headed for the Johnsons’ business. They would be staying in an attic, which luckily had a bathroom, but would have to sleep all in one room. They set up their belongings and set rules which they would have to follow to stay safe.

Opening the tent flap reveals Jim smothering his face into his pillow, crying. “Oh, I apologize for scaring you with my story, Jim” apologized Carl.“It's just a story, Jim, there's nothing to be afraid of,” sneered Jackie, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Jackie! You know I don't like creepy stories!” He cried, muffled by his pillow. “Hey, listen Jim, you can't be afraid of stories, sounds, or the dark forever. You need to conquer your fears eventually, right?” Carl continued, “Now come on Jim, I'm sure Roxy will cheer you up” he suggested. Jim stood up, and squeezed them both “Thanks you

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.

In the Mid-1850s a group of trappers ran into a small group of native Americans with a cart of whitefish. They caught it in a long narrow lake. And about 40 years later that lake had a name and a town to match it. This is small town, Whitefish, Montana. It is in the northwest corner of Montana. It has a reputation for being a big tourist town, with a ski resort and the 36 hole golf course. Who wouldn’t want to spend time here. But this town hasn’t always been a big attraction.

Leo shook off a flood of rippling goose flesh as his left foot touched the doorway of the ancient manor. The 150-year-old lintel didn't even sigh, much less creak, as he had expected. He was there for his best friend's birthday party at the Auburn Manor, on the shores of Dead Man's Lake, a two hour drive from the city.

During the relaxed summer of 2010 my family and I passed through the entrance of the campgrounds, and the moment night dawned upon us prompted the most scarring experience of my life. In our small car, my irritable older stepbrother, my over excited mom, and my exhausted stepdad finally had arrived to our destination, Lake Tahoe, after and excruciating seven hour driving starting from Southern California. After many times of me annoyingly inquiring, “Are we there yet?” and subjecting myself to the wrath and dismissiveness of my family, my ten-year old self was elated that we finally reached our destination. Once we parked at our campsite, my family hastily got out of our tightly packed, dirty 2004 BMW 3 Series, and all spread out among the site. The crisp, evening air was complemented by the crunching of the gravel and

“Talia, wake up! It’s time to get on the road!” I hear Mom say. “I don’t want to go, just leave me behind!” I say when I’m half asleep. Then it hits me, tonight we will be out in the open, sleeping under just a thin piece of fabric, where there are bugs, and who knows what different kinds of animals lurk out there. While I sit in the car, I think about the worst possible things that could happen to us. “A bear could come into our tent!” I think to myself. Oh, what a night it’ll

I awake to a gentle shaking and the continual whisper of my name, coated in a tone of urgency. My body is slow to respond as my mind races but, finally, I convince my mouth to work and spill out, “What’s wrong?” not-so-well-shielded from worry as I espy the young camper who is barely tall enough to peer over the edge of my sleeping bag. With a look of embarrassment, the girl responds, “I wet the bed.”

We ran like the wind through the heavily crowded streets in search the familiar blue polo all orchestra members were assigned . After a while, we found another member who was able to point us in the direction of a bathroom. We raced off in the direction we were told to so that we may find much the needed toilets. Up a hill we found the magnificent yet disgusting bathroom that ,sadly, had only two room/stalls. Louise and Phil went into each leaving me to wait outside in the boiling sun. I waited outside forever until Louise finally got out of there. I rushed in the room right after her not reading the warning sign that was in English saying to wait one minute before entering the stall. I was too busy to worry about signs since my bladder was about to explode. SLAM! The large, metal door closed loudly behind me making my jump. CLICK! A pipe on the floor turned on and began spraying cold water. I decided that now was the perfect time to leave and turned to the door attempting to opening it but after many tries at turning the handle, realizes that it was locked. I turned around once more to find that three more pipes had begun spraying water. The room became dark as the lights shut off leaving me to my own thoughts and allowing fear to consume

One day Colten woke up to his dad banging pans together. It sounded like a wild circus, but it sounded like this every year around this time. Every year Colten’s family wake up at 5:00 and go camping by this cool lake surrounded by it was a huge forest and that was today. Colten hate’s camping every year.

Later that night we went out about a half mile into the ranch and set up tents by a creek. Once we had all of our tents set up around a big fire, we just camped out. We talked, made fun of each other, burned stuff, and made s’mores; we were just having a great time. Until Braydon’s dad decided to scare us with mountain lion and coyote calls.

" nature will bear the closest inspection. she invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain" ( Thoreau). The first thing which gives me peace is sitting at the lake, look at the dreaming of moving trees, and listening to amazing sounds of lake water and birds. As nature is the best company of all the time, so whenever I go to the colonial lake near my house, it gives some special effect on my mind because I forget my all tension and stress for few hours. For example, I just sit down there for some hours. Also, sometimes I lay down on the grass, closing my eyes and listening to the sounds of moving water. However, the blumy voice of birds makes a new tune in my mind and moves of water works refresh

The only camper who routinely returned week after week was Isaac. Not to be deceived by looks, he had feathery blonde hair and blue eyes brimming with mischief. His height was not something to be underestimated, as he was four years old and scarcely approaching three feet. On the first day, he arrived in a yellow rain jacket accompanied with red boots on and a necklace in his pocket. He was quiet, attentive, and stood shyly, twirling the necklace around his fingers. I threw my friend a look of gratitude; she had found me a job that would be easily accomplished. Nine days later, I started wishing for any other place to be. Isaac had begun to become exasperated on a daily basis, until one day when he decided to leave the campground all together