Personal Narrative: The Fargo Camp Of Fargo

Decisions are what direct a average person's life. Some decisions are easy some are hard. But that’s the way of life and how it works.

It was a balmy July morning when my family and I drove out to Lycoming College to begin my week at PFEW. An uneasy feeling set in as I realized that I will be surrounded by strangers in an uncommon environment for a whole seven days. Adding onto this stress was the fact that I have never been away from my parents for more than one night. Upon my arrival, all of the camp participants were ushered to a large auditorium and given a welcome presentation. Looking around at all the unfamiliar faces, I felt the urge to call my parents and avoid

No matter what happened during the school year I would always come back to camp and be able to spend time with the girls that went from friends to family over the nine years that I had known them. This last year was the last time I would ever get to do activities, earn merits or even swim a mile. During my last two weeks at CLH I knew this but it did not sink in until it was my last time to hike up to Church Mountain as a camper. On the way up my eyes started to sting and I reached over and grabbed my friend Riata’s hand. I looked over at her and saw that she was crying too. Once I realized she was I looked around and witnessed my entire cabin start to break down and come to understand, this was our last year, our last chance to do anything a camper could do. It was during this time that I truly came to appreciate everything camp has taught me and the great friends that I made along the way.

Sometimes the hardest decisions are the most important, and are the ones that shape and sculpt your journey through life. Whenever I am faced with a dilemma, like whether to start a new episode of The Office on Netflix or to proofread my global history essay, I remember to take a step back to better analyze the situation which, at times can change my perspective.

I am not from San Antonio. I am not from Texas. I’m from California. Where no one twangs, or drawls, or even says hi to the stranger standing in line at the grocery store. Texas, half way across the U.S and what seems like a whole other country compared to California. It is a completely different place that I could have ever imagined living and calling home. I came to Texas to find myself. I didn’t know that when I came here, but it is what ended up happening.

Lotes en Cleveland Heights. Sucio, basura por todas partes. Pero imagine uno como un jardín. Eso era verdad. (Lots in Cleveland Heights. Dirty, trash everywhere. But imagine one as a garden. That was true.)

At the request of the OCSO I responded to the scene in the town of Clay, (Onondaga County), New York on 02/19/2017. I arrived on scene at 19:33 and met with Deputy Tanya Wickline who briefed me regarding the case. The weather was cloudy with no precipitation with the outdoor temperature of 50⁰F.

It was my first time going to Knotts and I was with my classmates. Felipe, David, Eric, Leo, and I decided to be in a group. David and Eric were trying to convince Felipe and I to ride Supreme Scream. We were convinced and decided to go on the ride. We never saw how tall it was and when we did Felipe looked at me and asked, “Are you still going on it?” I chickened out because of how tall it was and decided to go on different rides.

Imagine the first thing you ever see in this world is death.When I was born, I wasn’t alone. I had a twin we were May and Fay,But Fay didn’t make it past the first minute of life.We spent two years mourning her death when we finally decided to start fresh we moved to Wingsinton Oklahoma.

I looked forward to this trip every single year. Driving to get there was almost better than the camping trip itself. The road had big hills that made your stomach drop on the way down, and I always pretended I was on a roller coaster. At the top of one of those hills, there was a wooden sign, painted brown with yellow letters, all in capitals, that said “WICKLUND’S CAMPGROUND”. The driveway was a simple, downhill dirt road that had a bend at the bottom of the decline. Driving around that corner, you could always see the lake sparkling through the thin line of trees because the sun was always shining. It was cloudy that day.

I first worked for Summer at Saints last year, as a volunteer unsure of what this experience would entail. Between the first drop-off and the final pick-up, I was quickly impressed, and to some extent intimidated, by its ability to transform. The timid became unafraid, the wild became calm and the rancorous became kind. The experiences of being a volunteer, and seeing these children mature, even in the smallest ways, has been the most rewarding experience at Summer at Saints.

The camp is located in Morton, Mississippi, surrounded by a vast, yet calm lake and countless trees. At the camp we stay in large cabins filled with twin bunk-beds and a peaceful atmosphere. This year, I discovered a trail that goes around the whole camp and it was quite fun hiking through it with my friends. Although, before we get to the camp there is a pre-determined schedule to which we must abide. We

A summer of 1974.My friend Randy and I were playing hide and seek in the woods,then I heard a strange noise it sounded like a saw chopping something.Later that night we left to the cabin so I told Randy about the noise I heard he told me ‘’Let’s go explore the noise you heard.’’Ok’’I said.When we were walking we saw a light in the distance.

Comfortably nestled right at the intersection of Highway 79 and Interstate 45 is an easily passed over town, with just four stop lights, named Buffalo. To the thousands that mindlessly drive through every day, it may not seem like much, but between those four stoplights and down the countless backroads, is where I have learned many lessons, had many laughs, and ultimately become the person that I am today. The people of Buffalo, as well as my family are the reason I have been able to grow and excel and become successful throughout High School.

I opened the eyes, more exhausted than ever. Not really. I was just on a hangover. Good ol' Jake. Smuggled three six packs of beer from the kitchen to our cabin last night and we both had four each. I threw my sleeping bag to the other end of my bed, and climbed down the stairs of mine and my friends bunk bed. Just as my feet reached the ground, I realized that Jake had drunk another bottle and he'd left it on the ground, in the middle of the room.