The Brown Burro and Nature Essay

iii. Snow – “-stood looking across the snow swept farmyard to the huddle of stables and sheds.”

terror. The thing was almost upon me, and I had no way to escape. Still I pushed myself up and

Burro Genius is story about the life of Victor Villasenor showing how he overcame racism at school and his difficulties in reading to become a famous writer.

It had looked so far away it was hard to believe I would be on top of it in a few days. Besides in the campsites, we only saw one other group of people during the entire 12 day trek and the only human sounds were our own. Each camp was an island of civilization in a great sea of wilderness, and a wonderful solace to end the day’s hike.

“For the first time on the expedition the vista was primarily sky rather than earth. Herds of puffy cumulus raced beneath the sun, imprinting the landscape with a shifting matrix of shadow and blinding light.”

We had not gone a rod when we found ourselves in a heap, in a heavy drift of snow. We took hold of each others’ hands, pulled ourselves out, got into the road, and the cold north wind blew us down the road a half mile south, where the Strelow boys and John Conrad had to go west a mile or more. When they reached a bridge in a ravine, the little fellows sheltered a while under the bridge, a wooden culvert, but Robert, the oldest, insisted that they push on thru the blinding storm for their homes. In the darkness they stumbled in, and by degrees their parents thawed them out, bathed their frozen hands, noses, ears and cheeks, while the boys cried in pain. “My brothers and I could not walk thru the deep snow in the road, so we took down the rows of corn stalks to keep from losing ourselves ’till we reached our pasture fence. Walter was too short to wade the deep snow in the field, so Henry and I dragged him over the top. For nearly a mile we followed the fence ’till we reached the corral and pens. In the howling storm, we could hear the pigs squeal as they were freezing in the mud and snow. Sister Ida had opened the gate and let the cows in from the field to the sheds, just as the cold wind struck and froze her skirts stiff around her like hoops. The barn and stables were drifted over when we reached there. The roaring wind and stifling snow blinded us so that we had to feel thru the yard to the door of our house. “The lamp was lighted. Mother was walking the floor, wringing her hands and calling for her boys. Pa was shaking the ice and snow from his coat and boots. He had gone out to meet us but was forced back by the storm. We stayed in the house all that night. It was so cold that many people froze.” Although most of the information that was collected or the stories that were told were in South Dakota, Nebraska, North Dakota the temperatures took

We started heading into the canyon, staying on the west side. The east side was covered with snow about knee high, with trees scattered within it. The west side was mostly open fields toward the bottom of the canyon, and clumps of trees starting about halfway up.

Reflections of the foliage are visible in the lake on my left, and behind that chairlifts can be seen waiting for the first snow to fall to begin their busy work of the winter. Small houses begin to appear, as well as family-owned ski shops, quaint motels, and Munroe’s Family Restaurant as I travel further down the road. Lining the sides of the road are hundreds of evergreens and maple trees, leading me towards the mountains in the distance. The mountains are topped with white fluffy clouds, that in a few months will be showering the pinnacles with

In a thousand spots the traces of the winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie broken and strewed on the ground; some entirely destroyed, others bent, leaning upon the rocks of the mountain or transversely upon other trees. The path, as you ascend higher, is intersected by ravines of the

The ache in my chest was building, and I felt all of the darkness inside of me build. The pressure was only intensifying and I knew that I had to do something, and quick.

The hot, arid air burned into my soul as millions of needles pricked my delicate skin. Beads of sweat coursed down my face as I turned towards the window facing the barren desert surrounding me. My family and I were on an ever sought vacation to the Grand Canyon, yet we had to drive from New York to Arizona and I radiated impatience throughout the journey. Walls of heat shrouded me as I gasped for air, yet my efforts were fruitless, swallowing nothing but fire. As my lungs collapsed, I looked out the window and into the heart of the looming sun, taunting me from afar. Suddenly, my eyes gave out and sweat and tears engulfed them till they took their true form. A forest blanketed with soft and gleaming snow, blemished by the phrase: “Only 10 more minutes.” However, I was awakened from my revery by a vehement cry as I gazed into the eyes of tattered vultures, of every discrepancy, with an unforgettably shrill voice. “Who dares enter our land!” they screeched dissonantly. Trembling, my eyes flashed over the sun and I was standing in a perpetual desert, with vulture's eyes glued to me. I froze with fear, though the sun baked my skin.

“McCandless pitches his tent on a patch of hard-frozen ground surrounded by birch trees” (161)

The authors have two clearly different environments and describes them in diverse ways. Abbey writes about his surroundings as a bright, clear, calm April morning. He changed his description in the afternoon as “the wind begins to blow, raising dust and sand in funnel-shaped twisters that spin across that desert briefly, like dancers, and then collapse-elements under stress” (52). While Leopold writes about his experience with on a mountain as a “deep chesty ball echoes from rimrock to rimrock, rolls down the mountain, and fades into the far blackness of the night” (49).

Hands were wrapped around my neck. I couldn 't breathe. I felt something touch my hand and I let out a sob. I tried to calm myself down. This isn’t going to happen again. I

Payson's landscape is an ever changing experience of seasons, but my favorite has always been that first snow fall of the year. The way the snow trickles down from the foggy sky and lands on the towering birch trees, is like a scene from a movie. Little chirps eco through the canyon as the birds prepare their homes for a long-awaited winter. We sat and watched as the pine trees quietly gathered the flakes that snuck through the arms of the birch trees. The brisk powder like snow continued to pile up and slowly started to fill in our foot prints, erasing any sign that we were ever there. A few more steps on the trail lead us to one of our most memorable spots. Peering over the edge of the cliff is always a bewildering sight. The vast open valley below was covered in a blanket of milky white snow, and the sweet smelling, cool air was as refreshing as a tall glass of ice water during a smoldering desert summer night. In the distance the sound of the powerful water fall below breaking over the ice sickle reddened boulders is one that is truly breathtaking.