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Describing a camping trip
My first camping experience essay
My first camping experience essay
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Camping near Lake Michigan is one of the best experiences in my life. The lake has sparkling blue water and gorgeous sandy beaches. Every summer I go camping with my family. The campground is right on Lake Michigan. There are bikes, kayaks, volleyball nets, and huge fire pits. There is always an adventure around the corner.
One day Lake Michigan felt decently warm. Not like the usual temperature when I can only stand to be in the water for 10 minutes, and then I start to freeze. I invited my parents to go down to the beach with me. It was a surprisingly calm day. It was not too windy, and the water was calm and flat. I thought this would be a perfect day to go kayaking for a little while. I invited my parents to join me. At first, they were reluctant to join me on my adventure, but I was finally able to change their minds. To the left of our campground it appeared as if the land was coming to a point. We agreed that it seemed like the land stopped, and that this
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Every now and then, we passed a cute dog or found some cool shells lying on the beach. Our adventure was still entertaining, and it was a gorgeous day; how could any of us not be happy. Well, my mother who had accompanied us on this voyage was not feeling the same way. She started to get very tired of walking. Every 10 minutes we had to sit, and wait for her to rest until she felt ready to continue. That time she took to rest most likely attributed to how long this whole adventure took. Finally, we got to what we thought was the end of the land. Where we thought the ground came together in a point. From a very far distance things tend to look different than they actually are. There were five houses in a straight line that lead out to the point. Near the edge of the water the sand stopped, and we could walk no further. Right along the side of the edge of the land there was a bunch of planks of wood sticking out of the water like there had been a dock there
It was a warm rainy June night the humidity was high which made it even harder to breathe on the crammed boat. My family was asleep on the constantly rocking boat suddenly the boat shook, but my family was still fast asleep. I couldn’t seem to fall asleep so I got up and stepped out on the cold wet steel boats upper deck to get some air. When I got outside I realized that it was pouring bucket sized rain. I saw increasingly large waves crash furiously against the lower deck. Hard water droplets pelted my face, I could taste the salt water in my mouth from the spray of the ocean. Suddenly A massive wave slammed hard against the ship and almost swallowed the boat. Wind gusts started kicking up. I held onto the rail grasping it as if it were my prized possession. Suddenly I was blown
Most of the numerous inland lakes in Michigan formed as glacial kettle lakes associated with pitted outwash plains. Some of the more northern lakes in the state (like Burt and Mullet Lakes) were scoured out by glacial erosion. A few lakes along the present-day shoreline formed as hooked spits and bay mouth bars isolated estuaries along the coastline position near the ice, but farther removed from the immediate ice front. The water levels of the Great Lakes had dropped steadily. According to Etterna (2010), “The sand eroded by the glaciers has also shaped Michigan’s shorelines today. Michigan receives mainly westerly winds, causing the Lake Michigan coastline to have significant
Where is the best place to camp in michigan ? Pigeon River is the best place to camp. It has many different camp sites . It has many different sceneries from thick forests to grass fields to trout streams plus ponds that range in size .
...we found the bodies, yet the crashing blue-green water spins me into a reality that is worlds away from the sight of stiff men. I'm not sure if this is healing or forgetfulness; all I can be certain of is the bite of the water on my skin and the dropping sun. I stare at my hand under the surface of the water, fascinated by how far away it looks and by the deep blue color of my fingernails. That hand isn't a part of my body, how can it be, it is deep in the water, opening and closing experimentally as water crashes on top of it. I want to leave it there, forever feeling the numbing water, forever fighting the currents that would wash it out to the Pacific Ocean. But then my arm moves, lifts my hand, and I realize it is mine, as are my legs and toes and wet matted hair. And the water keeps falling, pounding, rushing and I just stand there, staring, watching, waiting.
The wind whispered outside my flower curtains. My Rosemary garden swayed to the noiseless tune. I sit quietly watching their soft movement, the flowers I worked hard to nurse. The rest of my yard remained parched, with time it had given defeat to the hot Alabama sky.I glared at the cracked dirt, cursing it for giving in to the pressure, praying I won't do the same .I sip the cool lemon ice tea, the cubes of ice brush on my dry lips.
According to the Webster’s New World Dictionary, the definition of style is “a characteristic manner of expression”(612). Usually words such as personal, individual, and unique also come to mind when we think of writing style. I have always associated writing style with belonging uniquely to one individual, meaning that everyone had his or her own style. After reading, “Style Toward Clarity and Grace” by Joseph Williams and “The Elements of Style” by William Strunk and E.B. White, I realized that style is not as unique as I thought. In fact, as I stated in my blog space, “writing has certain rules and elements that must be incorporated in to our writing in order to make our points clear to those we want to read it. Since these elements and rules are common to all writing, then style and good writing bring forth new meanings.”
I hear inner Strunk and White voices of “don’t overwrite”, “write in a way that comes naturally,” and so forth, going through my head. I have visions of endless Williams examples and illustrations on clarity. I see weeks of blog writings flashing through my memory. From all of this, I now own and believe in a firm and personal definition of what style is and what good writing entails. William Strunk and E.B. White’s book The Elements of Style, along with Joseph M. Williams’s book Style Toward Clarity and Grace helped lead me to this point, which is: what is the point?
When constructing a piece of writing, a student may sometimes find herself struggling to remember grammar rules or style principles. A handy reference guide would help her out immensely. William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White’s book, The Elements of Style, and Joseph Williams’ book, Style: Toward Clarity and Grace, assist writers improve their work in various ways. Strunk and Whites’ book took a simple approach, while Williams went more in-depth, with elaborate explanations and varying choices for each writing style.
The first thing to see, looking away over the water, was a kind of dull line - that was the woods on t'other side; you couldn't make nothing else out; then a pale place in the sky; then more paleness spreading around; then the river softened up away off, and warn't black any more, but gray; you could see little dark spots drifting along ever so far away-trading-scows, and such things; and long black streaks-rafts ... and by and by you could see a streak on the water which you know by the look of the streak that there's a snag there in a swift current which breaks on it and makes that streak look that way; and you see the mist curl up off of the water, and the east reddens up.
What is writing style? I started out thinking that writing style is a personal thing and that all writers have their own style. But, this way of thinking is really just a simple way to answer the question. After more careful thought, I realized that style is actually quite the opposite of personal and original. Style is a form of standardization. As writers, we all follow certain rules and guidelines to make our point. Style is these rules and guidelines.
In both of the books various elements of style are mentioned, William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White’s The Elements of Style and Joseph M. Williams’ Style Toward Clarity and Grace, clarity and concision are to be the most important. I think that in order for your reader to be able to enjoy and understand what they are reading, it has to be written clearly and concisely. I believed that everyone has his or her own style: whether the style be that of one’s hair, clothes, or writing. I always knew that having your own style did not mean that yours was the best or even decidedly correct. After I finished toiling through Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style and William’s Style Toward Clarity and Grace, I learned that there is a dress code, even for writing. Yes, you could have your own style, per sey, but you must follow the rules and guidelines necessary for good writing.
When I stepped into the large neatly organized white polished plane, I never though something would go wrong. I woke up and found myself on an extremely hot bright sunny desert island filled with shiny soft bright green palm trees containing rough bright yellow hard felt juicy apples. The simple strong plane I was in earlier shattered into little pieces of broken glass and metal when crashing onto the wet slimy coffee colored sand and burning with red orange colored flames. After my realization to this heart throbbing incident I began to run pressing my eight inch footsteps into the wet squishy slimy light brown sand looking in every direction with my wide open eyes filled with confusion in search of other survivors. After finding four other survivors we began moving our small petite weak legs fifty inches from the painful incident. Reaching our destination which was a tiny space filled with dark shade blocking the extreme heat coming from the bright blue sky, I felt my eyelids slowly moving down my light colored hazel eyes and found myself in a dream. I was awakened the next day from a grumbling noise coming from my empty stomach.
I turned off the car and took a deep breath. Looking slowly up into the pink sky, I began to watch the golden sun go to sleep. The beach seemed deserted, quiet, but peaceful. I opened my door and put my feet out on the soft sand. I started taking my shoes off, then my socks. I threw them in the passenger seat, and then shut the door. I looked out over horizon of the lake and started walking towards the still water. With each step I took, I could feel the warm sand crunch between my toes. Then suddenly, a sharp rock, but not sharp enough to break the skin.
This lukewarm water was deceiving though, because it only seemed lukewarm due to the drop in temperature and misty rainfall. The waves were rushing toward me like a bull to a matador’s red flag. My mouth tasted as if someone dumped a whole shaker of salt on my tongue. The wave pushed my further and faster as it I could feel the wave breaking on my body and there I was back at the shallows again floating in with the white wash and was ready for another wave. As I stood back up and ran back out to the deep water I saw one of my surfing mates catch the most perfect barrel it was rad. It would have been a great snap shot. I caught another wave, this one was even bigger. The thrust of the wave was twisting my body and I was pulled towards the sea
We came into Lituya at about eight o’clock in the evening, my son was with me. Approximately 10:15 there was a loud rumbling noise from up at the head of the bay. There was a slight pause, I thought that everything was over with, but some movement up their caught my attention out of the corner of my eye, and so I looked directly up and so what I observed was like an atomic explosion. This big splash came and then this huge wave, it looked like just a big wall of water.” said from the father. “I was only eight at the time, and me being a little boy, I was half asleep. He threw me a life preserver and said son pray, you’re looking at death. That was my first thought” With the Ulrich’s preparing their boat, and pray, they waited for the wave to come. “When the wave finally hit us I did feel the boat shooting upward… skyward. I had forty fathoms of anchor chains, and it started running out, off the boat, came to the end of the forty fathoms and snapped just like a string. And then we were free just on the front of the wave. We were swept up over the land over the trees. That’s where I assumed we were going to end up.” Two other boats that had been there were not fortunate enough to survive, carried out to sea and then wrecked.