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Some importance of research methods
Assignment on scientific research methodology
Scientific method
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As adults, we often use the scientific method, or process of elimination to help explain things that we cannot. Although, as children, we immediately jumped to conclusions no matter how otherworldly or outrageous our explanation. Whether we believed the sound coming from your closet was some type of terrifying monster, or the old woman that paced the side-walk kidnapped children and turned them into soap, explanation was left to our imagination. I can remember quiet a few thoughts like this, but one in particular has always stood out. It was a story my Grandpa told me one summer. A story about how the sound that the trees made when the wind blew was not the cracking of their branches, but was of them weeping. I can vividly recall that summer day at my Grandfather 's house on his farm. I sat next to his catfish pond with a fishing pole in hand, watching my bobber gently move across the water as a light wind blew. It was hot, humid Tennessee day and there was no better way to spend it than relaxing next to the water. I heard movement behind me and turned to see my Grandfather hobbli...
J.R.R Tolkien's action packed, fantasy driven, inspiring novel The Hobbit shows the message that everyone must know, that you should never give up even if all hope seems to be lost. It shows setting of evergreen forests with villages scattered along the paths of which they must take and mountains just on the horizon. The read must go along with bilbo baggins a hobbit that does not realize there is more to him than just being a baggins and that he will live up to his family's name. Even after gandalf tells him that he will embark on a great adventure he still doesn’t believe he is anymore than just bilbo. Therefor this story is inspiring and shows that with the setting, character, and theme combined make this story a great read.
I can distinctly recall spending many early mornings with my mother as a very young child. Endlessly engraved in my memory is aroma of coffee and sprinting down the stairs to my basement to collect my mothers’ uniform from the dryer. And then with a kiss laid upon my forehead, she would drop my siblings and I off at my grandparents’ home to begin her ten, sometimes twelve hour shifts as an ultrasound technologist. Then just as I can vividly recount my mother’s morning routine, I still can picture the evenings I spent with my mother to the same caliber. Simply put, my mother is a wonderful cook. And thus, each evening she would prepare a different meal. And while the meals always varied, her superior cooking skills never faltered. Despite her hectic work schedule, never once did I witness my mother skip cooking dinner for myself, my four elder brothers, or my father.
That was almost ten years ago. Growing up without a TV meant that my source of entertainment came often from stories that lived within my family. That particular one was the first my father had ever told us. It was about his first night sleeping outside as a twelve-year-old Boy Scout. He had packed his gear into a canoe with a friend of his and the two had set out to sleep on an island on the lake by the camp. As I listened to his dramatic retelling of the frigid and hair-raising night, I craved an adventure like this for myself. Soon after that night, I began
Imagine walking down an ancient path amidst a forest of tangled and twisted trees, some of which have existed since before a time even great grandparents can remember. The air echoes with sounds of life, and the fragrance is that of cedar or juniper… or something not quite either. The living things that dwell here, bridge a gap in time that many are totally unaware of and for the reasons about to be explained, may never become so. The beauty that surrounds this place is unexplainable in the tongue of man, yet its presence can be felt by all who choose to behold it. At least for now…
We were so excited when we saw the campfire was lit and and next to it were a giant back of marshmallows to make s'mores. When we all gathered around the fire and we were all into our third or second s’more my dad told us he was gonna tell a story about a ghost that lived in the campsite. We all gathered close and closer to the campfire as he got deeper into the story. We could feel chills flow through out arms and legs filling us with hope he was just trying to scare us, but when we heard a loud crashing and snapping of a tree go crashing down near the river we all jumped. We all thought that tree fell because the story was true and there was some ghost that was out to get us.
Tolkien, J. R. R. The Hobbit, Or, There and Back Again. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1996. Print.
As a child growing up in a rural county, I didn’t have soccer practice or dance recitals; no play dates or playgrounds. I had trees to climb, woods to explore, bikes to ride and adventures to be had. I had bare feet in the grass, wincing on the gravel driveway, rocks digging into my soles. I had walnuts to crush, plums to eat, flowers to pick, bugs to catch. I had my little brothers to bug me, my mom to take care of me, my dad to laugh with me and my grandparents to hold me. I had books to read, worlds of words to get lost in. I had Saturday morning cartoons, Sunday morning church, and fireflies to catch every night.
As I walked through the door of the funeral home, the floral arrangements blurred into a sea of vivid colors. Wiping away my tears, I headed over to the collage of photographs of my grandfather. His smile seemed to transcend the image on the pictures, and for a moment, I could almost hear his laughter and see his eyes dancing as they tended to do when he told one of his famous jokes. My eyes scanned the old photographs, searching for myself amidst the images. They came to rest on a photo of Grandpa holding me in his lap when I was probably no more than four years old. The flowers surrounding me once again blended into an array of hues as I let my mind wander……
In early times, like today, people tried to find ways to explain things that they did not understand. There was a time when mice and rats were thought to have grown from cheese left in the corner, frogs were believed to grow from pond scum, and maggots were thought to come from rotting meat.
It’s funny how things that you used to do as a kid can change the course of people’s lives. Myself, when my parents told me and my brothers and sisters that we were going to the cabin meant a week of solid fun. My family has a cabin up on Camano Island, which is about 20 minutes north of Everett, right off of the I-5 interstate. My family would go up there during the summer with my cousins and grandma, and go swimming when the tide was in, build sandcastles when the tide was out, only to have them washed away when the tide came back in, build forts with the new driftwood that came in each year, explore the wrecked ship down the beach in one direction from our cabin, and scour the dunes that were north of our cabin. The dunes were the best part going to the cabin. We would always try to get there by walking along the wood that had been washed up and once we got there, we would race up the hills and jump down into the sand pits below. Another things that we all used to love doing, were to see who had carved messages into the sides of the dunes. There were all sorts of messages, love message from husband to wife, boyfriend to girlfriend. ‘I was here’ messages, and then there were simply names. That is what we always used to do. Every year, my two cousins, dad, three siblings and I would climb up into the dunes and carve our names into the wall using sticks. This was done over and over again for about 8-10 years. Over the last couple of years we did this we noticed that we could see a house at the top of the dunes. This was something that we never noticed before and when we asked my dad, he said that he never noticed it either. We thought nothing about it at the time, carved our names in the wall and went back to the cabin. Later on we heard from other people who lived up there that there was a big concern by the people who live in that house that all of the messages that people had carved along with the natural erosion of the hills has caused the hill side to be dangerously close to being pushed back far enough to where the house might fall down.
I stopped walking and looked up at the faint stars. The seagulls were flying overhead. They were screeching and swooping at the water. I started to wish I were one of them, flying free without any restrictions or limits. I listened to their voice, the screech. Deep down in I could understand what they were saying. I can't explain it, but I was so in love with the moment I thought I saw things as they did. I was in company of animals that had no concept of time, and no worries, and I was contempt with that. I closed my eyes and the faint sun warmed my face, as if shining only for me. The warmth made ...
When I think back to the days when I was a child, I think about all of my wonderful childhood memories. Often I wish to go back, back to that point in life when everything seemed simpler. Sometimes I think about it too much, knowing I cannot return. Yet there is still one place I can count on to take me back to that state of mind, my grandparent’s house and the land I love so much.
The familiar smell of soft cookies and homemade cooking are common thoughts when people think about their grandma's house. Great feasts and family gatherings play a part in everyone's grandmother's home. But when I really think about my grandma's house only one word comes to my mind: fun.
There is only one place in this world I would go to find the meaning of life, my childhood home. In my memories, that house has always been my sanctuary. Safety brings a touch of tranquility, free of twisted negativity that would clear the way of finding the meaning of my life. My house opens a door to a whirlwind of deep love for everything it stands for and distaste for the way it looks. When you 're living in an unseemly house, surrounded by people who thinks its an eyesore, was when I learned the superficiality of the people around me. That house became my heaven as well as, my hell. I was caught between my appreciation for my own home and the approval of others, but as I grew up I found out what I should treasure more is the simple joys of life.
It was a calm, overcast day, and I found myself resting at the side of a large oak tree, admiring the beauty of the woods that surrounded me.