ENG 101

Luke Klegraefe

 

25 September 2018

Take a walk.

It rained the night before.

“Mom, is it okay that I only have running shoes?”

“You should be fine, I don’t think these trails are too steep.”

It was not “okay”. This was actually a mountain we were to climb.

Looming over us at Orris Road Parking Lot was a mammoth. It’s sheer size commanding our entire vision. The damp dirt softened itself into the traction of my blue and neon yellow track sneakers as we made our way up the path to the Welch and Dickey Mountain trail. Fresh smells of pine and dew from the rain the prior night invaded my nostrils, surprising my body. After the initial surprise, my body grew accustomed, and came to enjoy the tangible genuinity of this environment. The trail thus far was gentle to my chronically weak knees, but the fresh air and the scent of nature got my endorphins racing…

 

I was happy.

 

I didn’t particularly want to come to Waterville Valley. There was nothing particularly exciting here. But I was particularly interested in finishing up the main campaign of The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim, New Super Mario Bros. U, or anything else honestly. The drive to New Hampshire rocked my stomach like I was on a boat, my siblings were practically mosquitoes buzzing around me, and two hours was a long ways to sit in a car for me. The hike, however, made up for all of that.

Romanticism lasted all of but 45 minutes, as we came upon our first and greatest challenge. The once gentle trails morphed into some entirely foreign beast. For about 30 yards in front of us was one slick sheet of marble white rock, approaching our impending doom – a cliff – at a 45 degree angle. Trees found their ways into the sheet like hair follicles, spread sporadically across the plane.

It rained the night before. Well, it sure did rain, and it changed the entire rock face to a sheet of ice for my track-running blue and neon yellow sneakers. But, we persisted.

Approximately four slow, safe and sound strides onto the ice I lost my balance, and violently tumbled down the slope.

 

I am now falling to certain death.

 

I managed to extend my arms and, in a close call, latched myself to the base of a tree. “I’ll be right there, honey!” my mom yelled to me. How sweet of you, Shirley, but I wasn’t about to let my mom come and save me, I’m fourteen years old, gosh darnit! Not to mention the countless mountains I’ve scaled while comfortably laying in my bed playing Skyrim. I found my footing, and sidled up the slate slowly. Not trying to flex, but I didn’t need my moms help, thank you very much. Surely, I made way back to Mom. Together, we secured a laugh from that quick scare, and both of us, like snails, made our way up the face of Mt. Welch…

Confidence exuded from my pores, I quickly scaled small cliffs with ease. I found myself taking a lot of pictures to remember this climb.

As we neared the top of Mt. Welch, the sun appeared through the clouds, welcoming us with its warmth. Climbing the final small cliff to the top, I felt accomplished, as did my mom, who had been winded for some time since I found my stride. We cemented ourselves on a nearby ledge, and ate granola as we watched the sun breach the clouds like a whale coming up for air.

Sure, the hike was intense at some points, but that was just what I needed in my life – some excitement, something to get my blood racing. I had never realized how much I took nature for granted before I scaled Mt. Welch. Fresh air, the warmth of the sun, the chatter among-st the birds… not everyone can experience that day-to-day. With the constant damaging of our environment due to deforestation, air pollution, and poor recycling practices, our day of reckoning may be sooner than we anticipate. Although it is still easy to forget how beautiful and sacred nature is, I make it a point to travel when I can, and take as many pictures as I can while I’m there. Not everything can be forever, but make what you have last.

 

So, take a walk.

After our rest, we made way down the other side of Mt. Welch, only to be reminded that this trail summited two mountains. We apprehensively made for the bottom of Mt. Welch, and courageously scaled Mt. Dickey. Again, the same fresh smell of pine encompassed me. And, as birds chirped and chattered, critters climbed and crawled, I felt one with not only nature, but myself as well.

It doesn’t matter where, when, or for what reason. Take a walk, breathe in the air you have, enjoy being outside. You never know what adventure lurks around the corner, prepared to change your life.

My hometown was a magical, sprawling, and bustling place filled with interesting shops and people with stories written on their faces… it was a great place to grow up.

Laci’s style was a true mirror of her personality – quirky, loud, and a bit unorthodox – the bright colors and patterns helped her express herself.

Mr. Brown taught us like we were all toddlers, he truly lacked respect for us as learners.

The room was as if a jail – the walls, floor, and ceiling all gray, pattern-less, and plain.

After receiving the snap of the ball from his center, he strides to the right. Grass snakes it’s way between his cleats and tufts of it are separated from the dirt and he lifts his feet. The thousands of fans cheering, he confidently calls for his tight-end to block the rampaging defensive-end who is gearing to delete him from existence. He cocks his right arm backwards just as his wide-receiver breaks free from cover. Sweat dripping down from the wide-outs forehead, his eyes lock on the pass, which is illuminated by the setting sun, and energized by the roaring crowd. As the ball approaches he can feel the wind of it approaching. He extends his hands outward towards the sun and feels the coarse skin of the football latch to his flesh. He immediately falls under the weight of the world… or the corner-back guarding him. The crazed fans continue to bellow, but they fade in his head. He looks for the referee, who doesn’t move the marker. It’s 4th and 1 now and they’re out of field-goal distance.

E. Shelley Reid’s Writing Spaces: Reading on Writing Vol. 2 discusses ways in which one can improve his/her own writing skills. She weaves interesting narratives into each and every one of her tips, I resonated personally with her “try something” idea, and her take on the audience, it’s purpose, and how to manipulate it. In my writing career, I’ve seen too many colleagues (fellow students) live and die by the “five paragraph essay”. Teachers would drill this in their heads from day one of writing education. Although I think, like crutches, they help get people moving, I think they are exactly that – a crutch. The more someone uses crutches, the less their muscles need to work hard, which makes them even more reliant on crutches. For writing, the “five paragraph essay” is useful to start, but the more you use it the more crippled your creative mind becomes. Furthermore, the less tactics you can employ visually to engage with your audience. Speaking of audience engagement,  as a writer who puts pen to paper as stream of consciousness, I find myself struggling in actively keeping my audience engaged. Her idea of thinking like you are “writing a thank-you note” (Reid 10) compels me to consider who my audience is over what is my ultimate idea I need to vomit on to the paper. Another aspect Reid touches on is the art of balancing your points with your evidence. I feel pretty comfortable with this point in my own writing, but far too often is it just easy to just rattle off your arguments and think about examples later. That eventually leads to an imbalance where you’re struggling to find proof to support your claims so-to-say.

On my end as a writer, I can implement everything Reid discussed to a certain degree. However, I find that my writing style doesn’t lend itself to any particular format. For as long as I can remember, every essay, memoir, poem that I have written was produced very quickly and without any edits. Although that sounds very immature, I have found most of my work is received pretty well – through Creative Writing classes and AP English Language classes. For the most part I can keep things concise and to the point, which I find is a great aspect of my writing, however I can run on for sentences like this paragraph if the paper so calls.

Literature is art, when I write I want the audience to understand the inner workings of my unfiltered brain. I also feel that with every work I put out there – so long as I am passionate about the subject – is a piece of me. If I am especially passionate about the unfair treatment of hamsters as domesticated pets in today’s society, I can discuss it in detail for as long as my brain sees fit. For me, that is why my writing can be hit or miss, it really just depends on how interesting my stream of conscious is to the reader. However, I am happy with my work so long as it is true to my being, and delivers a message I want to be spread. The rest of the pieces of the puzzle will fit in as they see fit.

Proper papers are
predictable. I must do
something new today.

I think one of the most interesting things you can do in a piece of art is to surprise your audience in any way possible.

Luke

Carrying Nick over my shoulder, I walk down the steps of C29 and out towards the parking lot, I can see the ambulance in the distance. I pat Nick on the back, “How you doing bud?”. He groans in response… I bet he’ll be fine. That’s what he gets for eating a 24″ sub, three dough boys and about four more beers than he should have had. He’s always been one to eat ’til he drops. As I approach, the EMT rushes up to us, panicked, “What took so long!? You called 30 minutes ago!”. Loading Nick into the stretcher, “The game went into overtime and I payed good money for those seats, he could wait”. I bet he’ll be fine.