English 380 Winter 2008

Sample Journal Entries

Daniel Casas

It is a cold afternoon and I am with my English class hiking in Poly Canyon. Two and a half years have passed and until now I realize the beauty of the nature that has been always around me.

Roads and trails full of life, spooky woods, attractive animals and mysterious winds that presage a long life without worrying about any superficial stuff.

The air that here flows revive you in such a way that you'll like to stay here forever.

I can not certainly conclude that living in these circumstances makes you forget about the outside world or inspire you to think more about it.

I do not understand all the conflicts in the world. Imagine if each and every person meditate just for a few minutes in a place like this. If this happened everyone might be more relaxed, happier, and all these good vibes will be reflected in the peace of the world, but the reality is other and we have to learn to deal with it. At least, I can do it.

Enough of staying inside, I don't want to be warm anymore. The snow looks like its a lot of fun. I want to go outside and explore. I wasn't expecting there to be a lot of snow on the ground when I made this trip, and I know it will soak right into my feet. Oh well.
I walk out the door and with every step I take, I feel the my feet grow colder. I cross the road and hop a gate into a snowy patch. I know I shouldn't be here, but I want to explore. I come across a tree that has been cut down. The only remains of such a mighty redwood is its stump and a few cut pieces that are waiting to be hauled off. I sit here wondering what was this open pasture. I perch my self up onto the stump and gaze about. This land does not seem right there are too many trees around for this void to exist. I begin to walk through the snow and feel the topography of the ground below. There are certain points where the snow has been packed and my foot rest atop the icy snow, and then there are the other points where my foot sinks through the powder. The snow began to get too deep for my comfort levels so I decided to stop and excavate a little. I was not prepared for the snow and I did not have gloves, but I was on a mission to see what was once in this opening. I began to kick the ground with the heel of my shoe to break up the icy top layer of snow. Then my hands starting lifting the snow up and aside. I shook of the cold and dealt with the fact that my fingers were now numb. I kept pushing and moving and scraping snow about. As I was reaching under the icy layer I felt a very hard material. It was a concrete cinder block. I then moved away more snow saw even more. Then I stopped. I retreated. I knew all too well that this site was going to be a home some day. That discovery just sunk me into a state of sadness. The fun of exploring nature had come to a screeching halt. The adrenaline that had kept my fingers and feet from feeling the cold ended. I began to shiver. I went back into the cabin and sat by my fire to warm up.

-Derrick Homer

Riding to Class

As I stepped outside and unlocked my bike, I glanced up at the sky. The swirls of grey cloud hung heavily in the sky. Puddles of evidence suggested that rain had poured over night, but for now it was tranquil. The clouds seemed almost tired, as if they were taking in a deep breath before the exertion of another downpour. As I rode towards campus they exhaled and a crisp breeze swept over me. The damp heavily laden leaves on the walkway sluggishly reacted to its pull, ultimately nestling themselves with others, taking sanctuary pressed up against a rain gutter. It would not be long now. The drooping clouds would have to be wrung out, I stepped into my classroom, hoping it remained dry longer than I expected. I thought little of the weather as the class progressed, not until the waning minutes did the prospect of ride in the rain soak back into my subconscious. Simply put, I wasn't prepared for rain. Wearing only a light sweater and jeans I was little more than a mobile sponge. Mounting my bike I cursed it for its lack of a rear wheel mud guard. I assumed a furious pace, which did little to help my cause. As I reached my apartment, I was drenched, and my back played host to several varieties of mud, cast up by my tire. I felt as heavy and miserable as the clouds had looked, I swore under my breath, "I should have brought that damn jacket!"

Nate LaHue

1/26/08

As I rode up the first lift oft the day at Badger Pass, rode off and snapped into my snowboard bindings I was put in good spirits by the fresh snow, purifying the world.   It lay heavily on the trees and as the wind came up in the day mounds of snow would fly into the air off the trees, swirling in the air and then sinking to the ground, as if it were a miniature snow storm.

I started this first run of the day, and the run we would do many times by getting up speed on the groomed run, tucking into a tight turn, launching off a ledge trying for maximum air, and landing (not always staying up), in a sheet of fresh powder.   I would then turn back onto the run to regain speed and then head off in search of an area of untouched powder, as a prospector looks for signs of gold even on route taken many times.   The contrast of groomed run and powder made the ability to jump into the powder and come down as if floating on a cloud.   The feeling of gliding stealthily through trees is one that would not seem possible to match and is beyond my writing skills to describe.   I can only think of it as walking on clouds. As I pushed myself I fell many times that day.   Each time I would have to crawl, my body sinking into the deep powder, until I could find a place to right myself

Heather Bestwick

English 380

January 12, 2008

Big Bear Mountain

It's Saturday afternoon and I'm currently at Big Bear Mountain with ten of my closest friends.   I'm sitting on the porch of the cabin we rented for the weekend and thinking about how hurt I got snowboarding today.   However, I did have tons of fun.   I just sat down out here and already I'm starting to get cold; I believe it is 19 degrees out here.   I feel the crisp breeze on my cheeks and when I breathe in the air is very cold.  

The snow surrounds me; I see it on top of the trees as I look out around me.   The snow looks so heavy on the trees branches as if they will break from the weight of the snow at any second.   As I look to my left I see a dwarf snowman with branches for arms and a scarf around its neck.   We made that snowman yesterday.  

I realize that I am hungry when I smell delicious Mexican food cooking;   we are having tacos tonight.   When I look in the window I see the girls in the kitchen and the guys in the living room watching the New England Patriots game on TV.   How sad that the sexes would be separated in that way; girls in the kitchen and guys on the couch!

English 380 - Submitted Journal Entry

January 12 th , 2008

The sun struggles to peek through the dense clouds that inhabit the pale blue sky at seven o'clock this morning.

The chirping of the birds fill the air, but not one of them can be seen in sight. I assume they are in their nests, singing wake up calls to one another as their early day begins - chirping seems to be a much more pleasant sound than that of my annoying alarm clock that serves only to make me want to get back into bed and forget about the awful noise it makes. The chirps are peaceful and sound so full of joy.

The plants are covered in dew - tiny droplets of water that beg not to be disturbed are perfectly placed on lush green surfaces. It's tempting to touch a leaf and watch the water dribble down its edge, though the neatness of these water droplets appears to be a terrible thing to disrupt.

Puddles of water line the edge of the street, where it meets the curb. The murky water is still, but full of leaves that have blown in the wind. Looking at the trees on my street, they are all still, as if they are resting for the long day ahead.

Nature is calm at this hour of the day - much like myself. Perhaps nature too, is half asleep...

Jillian O'Connor   Lake Arrowhead-

Even with the wind, the snow is still featherless and quiet. There are white bluffs passing by as the snow sticks effortlessly to its surroundings. There is nothing visible sight because of the drifts of fog and the trees creating a canopy effect that only allows snow in. The road is untouched and it is still too early for anything to corrupt it. In this type of storm everything is like a moment frozen in time. No movement, no animals, all stiff motionless trees. It is simply the wind making its way through the stillness of the air.

Rain,

Nothing more than water falling from the sky

Water is the essence of life

Necessary for our survival

The rain drips on any possible thing it can

Every branch and leaf on a tree

Every plant I walk beside

Whatever can get wet, will

Every direction I turn

Every object I see gets wet

Including myself

As I walk through the rain I ponder

The Love-Hate relationship between man and water

We shield ourselves from the rain

But desperately need it

The skies turn gray, full of clouds; the sun is nowhere to be found

Yet I like what I see

Something about the wetness, darkness, or unclear skies

Working together, change the scenery

It's kind of pretty, in an ugly way

I am sitting here under this dome surrounded by the fresh smelling air and a sky set with pink cotton candy clouds. Birds fly over my head as I look up in this dome of medal. I sit in the structure almost as if I am hiding from the nature that exists around me, something that I unfortunately take for granted. It's a wonder why I do not come here more often to get away from the everyday chaos that exists at campus. I want to walk here everyday following the trickling creek in the opposite direction of its stream to lie my thoughts around something that is immaterial in a way. I want to escape from the everyday world of my cell and my computer to a setting so natural, so quiet and calm...a place where shadows develop in the deep valley I am sitting in and the pink sky still radiating overhead as the darkness ensues around me.

Cassandra Carlson

                                                                        Neils E Nesse

Feb 3rd

I was driving back home from an errand at madonna plaza and saw a nice patch of green grass and thought I'd see if I could get over there to take a walk in it. I'm not sure if there is actually a trail through the area but I guessed there would be since the land didn't seem to be developed in any way and it was within city limits. I got very turned around trying to find a way to it that I gave up and just headed toward morro bay. The generally open landscape in that direction seemed even more inviting anyways. I ended up finding recreational land use area across from Cuesta College. At first all I saw was a golf course and campgrounds, not very awe inspiring. I ended up walking on the road seperating the golf course and a coastal live oak community. The area was nearly completely desolate of people which was a nice change even from my walks in poly canyon. I saw one small group of people at a picnic table but never crossed paths with anyone else throught the walk. I saw a hawk of some kind perched on a feeder. I decided to come up to it hoping that it would scare it off so that I could see it in flight to better identify it. I felt guilty immediately after deciding this, like I was acting like the sort of imatient child who will poke at a fish tank just to see the fish move. My guilt was relieved when the hawk was very quick to leave at the slightest motion on my part. It felt more like it didn't care for my company more than it was afraid. I see now from my land guide that it was a red-shouldered hawk. All of the trails were wet and this was satisfying for me. For me inconviences like this make a trip more rewarding. To have to endured something, even if so mild as wet and muddy socks, makes the trip meaningful to me. Our ancestors had to connect to nature in a way that was more then observational. They had to be active in problem solving to stay alive. It sounds silly but by being forced to think about my path to avoid slipping or ending up ankle deep in a puddle I feel connected somewhat to that past.

~Freddy Lewis

            When I came home from winter break I was expecting the hills around SLO to be green.   They were definitely greener than when I left, but not as much as I had expected.   It was a shock my first year at Cal Poly when I came back from winter break and discovered that the hills weren't yellow anymore, but a bright green. I am sitting in the lab, looking out the window at the rain. It's been raining more frequently the last few days. The wind and the rain always seem to increase when I go to bed every night. Maybe because it's just quieter?   Anyhow, the hills north of campus are a light green in most places, with bushy patches that are more brown and some areas that are bright green.   It's surprising that the areas that were black and brown from the fires a few months ago are green.   I had expected them to be barren for at least a year or so.   Maybe grass is just very resilient.   It is hard to tell what areas were in the fire and which ones weren't.   Places that I remember being black and brown look like nothing had ever happened to them.   Maybe I just don't remember things right.   That is one skill I am hesitant to pick up during this class.   No matter how many hours I've stared at the mountains back home I couldn't draw an accurate picture of their skyline or color or even how far away they look.   Maybe because they change so much over the year all I get is impressions.   At any rate, I'm not sure whether I prefer not knowing exactly what they look like.   I don't think I would enjoy remembering that much detail.  

Keigo Fukugaki

Snow of Shaver Lake 1-19-08

I can feel the wind through my knees. Cheeks burn with the cold and I can see how red they are through my eye lids. The only thing separating me from the snow is a quarter inch of rubber and a layer of leather on my feet. Slowly the snow seeps through my unweathered shoe. The cold is frightening to all the senses yet, refreshing to the dull senses. Tracks of shoes, animals, automobiles, and the wind all become evident through the snow. It is as though snow is an agent of time that tells a story of the characters and their lives. Once again the cold wind blows, cold enough to clear my previous thoughts. I am left with a clear head, where i notice the smell of snow. Its a smell only the coldest of airs can hold, much too light and clear for any other air to contain. The odor is the odor of future running brooks and life. The purity of the white snow contains all the colors of the spectrum, slowly burning into its surroundings, nurturing and signaling for the life to sprout beneath it.

The cold has now reached every part of my body, now i am one with the snow. The fright of the cold has dissipated now that I understand the beauty of the cold. It is not the snow that is melting into my shoes, but the shoes that is melting into the snow to let the cold reach to my toes.

The sky seems more blue as it sits in contrast to the snow covered trees. With no cloud in sight, the sky seems closer to me draped on the tips of the snow covered evergreens.

Alive

            Immediately encompassed by the blanket of fog I step out into the heavy salt air, grab my board and set off towards the water. I can feel the cold sand dance between my toes, feel the rush of the brisk ocean breeze against my face, feel the wave of serenity come flowing over me. In the distance I hear the waves crashing in succession - almost as if they are applauding my arrival. A few birds squawk in the distance, puncturing the constant lull of tumbling waves.

            Finally I job into the ocean. But before the cold water can crawl up my body, I dive into the coming wave, beating it to the punch. What a shock! From the second my head submerges, an explosion of senses awaken and kick into overdrive. I hop on top of my board and start paddling. I start paddling past the mushy washed up white water, past my fears, past my worries.

            I am all alone.

            I am the sky.

            I am the ocean.

            I am alive.

01/27/08

"Nature has perfections, in order to show that she is the image of God; and defects, to show that she is only his image." - Pascal.

During the first few weeks of class, we read several works, including soft and hard pastorals, which illustrated the duality of nature.   Today, driving back from Los Angeles with my boyfriend, I bore witness to this polarity.

It had been raining off and on for days.   My school work and tests had been bogging me down throughout the week.   Then, I had to go back to Los Angeles for the weekend to help my mother move into a new apartment.   Everything seemed weighted by monotony and responsibility.

The gray clouds blotted out my high spirits along with the sun's rays.   When we left the house, the rain had just begun again:   a steady pitter-patter on the roof of the car.   The streaks of water down the windows blurred my view of the bleak landscape, and washed away all my desire to be on the open road.

The rain came in spurts:   pounding and then subsiding somewhat.   The rhythm was slightly hypnotic, putting me into a sort of lazy stupor.

Then came what is normally my favorite part of the drive, when the freeway verses towards the coast and the ocean comes into sight.   Even though the rain sounded temporarily stifled, I sat hunched in the passenger seat, my outlook dismal.

Suddenly, my boyfriend told me to look up.

An amazing vision spread before my eyes.   Above, the sun had broken through its prison and managed to part some of those massive clouds.   To the left, from top to bottom, from sky to sea, was blue.   The water glimmered and rippled like a sapphire bathed in light.   To our right, the rolling hills, the bushes and the trees, were green.   But this earth was not just any old green; it was all the shades of green that come with new life after a spring rain.   It was so beautiful, I wanted to cry.

Then, I looked straight ahead.   A perfect rainbow arched across the sky.   Beyond it, darkness prevailed.   The thunderheads owned the skies and the terrain remained swathed in a scale of grey.

It was like nature was presenting me with a mirror image of the battle within my soul; that constant struggle of fulfilling all my endless obligations, but finding time to live my life to its fullest.   All the responsibilities of my family life were back in Los Angeles.   All the responsibilities of my school life were ahead in San Luis Obispo.   Both were desolate.   But, in that one moment, when there was nothing but that moment, there was light and hope amid the gloom.

Sun versus rain.   Light versus dark.   Freedom versus responsibility.   Not everything is black and white.   Sometimes, opposites attract and blend.   Sometimes, what you find in the middle is harmony.

Jennifer Levy

Shayne Wallace

21/1/08

It's raining hard and the sky isn't even filled with clouds.   There are places in the sky where the clouds are mere whisps and even some places where the deep blue sky shows through.   The wind is blowing at a steady pace causing the clouds to drift across the sky, blocking blue sky as they come and revealing it as they leave.   And still the rain comes down, it sounds like chatter, the raindrops talking to each other as they hit the ground, whispering their words so I cannot make out the meaning, but I know they're talking about me, laughing at my misfortune.   For the rain is keeping me from cycling, from riding to the coast and gazing at the ocean.   I hate the rain.

            Britton Birtcher

January 9, 2008

ENG

Journal Entry #1

            There are sounds of horses cantering in the background, their hooves stomping in a seemingly playful manner; birds, that I can't identify by their song, are out chirping in the crisp air; and the distant "hmm" of an airplane in fight all make up the hubbub that resound around us as we sit after our hike through Poly Canyon. The ground is still fresh from the recent rain. The muggy scent of mud is surprisingly refreshing, compared to the horses "natural smells" that served as our aroma on our way here. As I look at my paper, and look all around, the sounds, smells, and people all become white noise that fades into the background of my thoughts.

            Sitting in this nearly thirty-year-old structure, I look around and see the mix of man and nature all around us. The bolts that hold a man's masterpiece together are comparable to tree-roots that hold Nature's great work to the ground. The line between what is purely man and what is purely nature is a blurred subject. The horses, although animals more inclined to instinct than anything else, are still domesticated, taught to behave by human hands. The birds all around compete with the sounds of an iron bird, better known as a plane or jet. Another situation that comes to mind when analyzing man and nature are the Eucalyptus trees around the area. We learned on our hike that the trees are a topic of controversy. Some people consider the trees to be more parasitic and insist they "liter" the area, while others see nothing wrong with the trees presence. Just examples of the questionable grey area around what are nature's best interest and what is man's?

            The extremely cold temperature of the cement brings me back into the moment, away from my thoughts as I glance around at my classmates. As uncomfortable as it is, it is still enjoyable to sit and watch what's going on around me. We all struggle to stay focused as the cold digs a little deeper into our skin. Some of us look at each other with our jacket/sweater hoods up with the question, "has it been twenty minutes yet?" written all over our chilled faces. I begin to wrestle myself to focus again, but it is ultimately useless. I should've brought a blanket. Lesson learned.

The View from my Front Porch                                                           January 21, 2008

            The earth is clean from today's rain, and everything seems fresh and alive.   The colors in the early evening light are a bright dessert for my eyes.   The sky is a mellow blue and gray mix of clouds.   In the northeast the cloud cover breaks just above the horizon and a glimpse of light blue sky with pink and white clouds is visible.

            The mountains in the distance match the sky, an interesting medley of grey/bluish brown and black.   Contrasting against that backdrop are the few trees with red, green, and orange leaves- all bright from their recent shower.   Trees of every color stand before me:   tall, dark evergreens, greenish brown palms, a couple of orange trees heavy with fruit even now in winter (how I love San Luis Obispo)- yellow-greenish shrubbery, and a single plant with purple blossoms.   It is a beautiful day.

Melissa Hassler

As I set out into the grey foreboding dusk, I am cautioned by the lore of the dancing Eucalyptus Trees.   However, I ignore the warning and press on through Poly Canyon in an attempt to capture the magic of the transition period from day to night; calm to storm.   I shuffle down a trail towards the creek and settle into a mysterious grove of oak trees which fringe the massive roots of the Eucalyptus.   The trees provide a covering from the rest of the world; creating a sanctuary of stillness and bare earth scattered with decaying leaves and seedpods.   The ground is saturated with moisture from the last storm and small drainage streams erode the hillside, flowing into the now gushing creek.   The surge of water over the boulders procures a sound of youthful exuberance, and this sweet nectar nourishes the new tufts of green sprouting along the hillside.   Fallen branches are proof of the raging conditions and all other forms of life continue hibernation until the storm passes.   My hands begin to cramp from numbness and I am suddenly aware of the chill and growing darkness.   I am forced to leave this haven and retreat to the warmth of my apartment.

Rachel McDowell

February 3rd, 2008

I sit twenty five feet up in the branches of the great live oak, on the deck of the tree house. Inside is drenched by rain that’s fallen through a gash in the roof. I’m enjoying a break in the weather that probably wont last long enough to finish writing this entry. The hike up was easier than expected, aided by two new gaps in the fence and enough fresh grass to allow evasion of the worst mud.

I’ve moved indoors. The intact half of the roof keeps the drops that penetrate the canopy from blotting my words. What do we need for shelter? This makes the cabin at Walden a McMansion by comparison. No lake, but the occasional stream flows within view, down the middle of a gully covering the underground watercourse that allows this tree to grow so large. The lichen coating its elephantine limbs now is bright green. The slope that tilts almost to vertical just above the uphill edge of the canopy bursts with new vegetation, hastening to stabilize and clothe itself before it’s undermined from below by slumpage or eroded from above by runoff.

On the way here I noticed water sheeting off driveways and pouring out of drainage pipes embedded in the sidewalk, gathering in the gutters and racing down the gentle slope of the street. All that water from these tiny municipal lots, looking for a place to go because it cant soak into the ground or find its natural channels. Further along the flow increases and suddenly disappears with a roar. Tucked under the lip of the sidewalk a grated storm sewer opening three concrete squares wide. This is where the stream draining the whole valley between Poly Mountain and our Alta Vista hill must once have run, starting at the top near the Admin building, going by the site of the PAC, under the track and practise field, down to Palm Street, then California, then Monterey then Santa Rosa, before emptying into San Luis Creek.

Beyond the sewer opening, the water flowed toward me, a thick foam-edged meander crossing Grand Ave. next to the parking kiosk.

Its been raining for weeks. The one sunny day I remember since the funeral in Paso Robles was Thursday the 31st: Focus the Nation Day. May it be remembered as a historic one.

Focus the Nation Cal Poly slideshow

Steven Marx

Although it is directly in front of the business building, the waterfall area is cleverly secluded behind the rock formation, the tall bamboo shoots reaching towards the sky and the bushes directly behind me. The diversity of vegetation in this area amazes me. Within this small area there lies palm trees, oak trees, bamboo and various other flowering plants and trees. Somehow the palm trees seem out of place.

The pond itself is fairly large which captures a steady stream of water coming from the waterfall. When I first arrive here, there were a good number of birds fluttering about which have since disappeared upon my intrusion. I cant help but to think how much the rock formation looks like Bishops peak. It is even pointing in its direction, as if it is aspiring to tower over the town just like its big brother Bishop. How did this massive rock get here in the first place?

On this cold, clear Saturday afternoon in the middle of winter, it is quite peaceful here on campus in front of the business building in this secret spot. It does however, feel quite lonely compared to the hustle and bustle of a normal weekday afternoon. Maybe its the empty pool that makes it seem so barren. What it needs is a few lively coy fish swimming about in the pool. They would be nice company on this chilly afternoon.

Posted by Freddy Lewis

11:30 Thursday Afternoon.   The light chirping of distant birds is relaxing.   It is like my own personal bird orchestra on a clear day. The sky is a beautiful light blue.   I am surrounded by hills.   A smooth brown mountain stands impressively before me.   It seems to sit atop a base of bushy green trees.   At its base are some of the most expensive houses in San Luis Obispo.   The mountain is a perfect background.   It is just in its right place.   In fact, I can't imagine anything beyond it, even though I know there is.   To me, in this moment, the world ends with that mountain.   It is very impressive.   It reminds me of the painting we viewed in class.   The one that depicted a majestic, mountainous Yellowstone Park.   The one where the people in it were just mere accessories, only adding to the painting and taking nothing away.   They both remind me just how insignificant humans are on Mother Earth.   We are only accessories for her grand beauty, like earrings or wristbands. We are so small compared to her greatness.   I can see Bishop's Peak to my distant left.   The rocky slope is unique to the area that I sit in.   I see nothing else like it.   Most of the hills and mountains in my direct area are so smooth and casual.   But not Bishop's.   It is rocky and rugged.   It is a representation of masculinity accompanied by a harem of beautiful, feminine, rolling hills.   The cool breeze is becoming more powerful.   Maybe that is my cue to go.   So until next time, and because I kind of like cliché's, I bid you adieu.

Dustin Pritchard

Everything seemed so peaceful.
                As the sun slowly began to sink deeper and deeper down into the pale blue sky, there was a noticeable temperature change.  The wind has picked up, slightly, thus providing a refreshing breeze to one’s face.  An unidentifiable bird chooses to be vocal and grace silence with a frequent note.  Horses meander about.  Their trots are slightly muted, thanks to the soft, mushy ground.  Seeing as we have had some recent rain, the dominate smell of dirt engulfs the canyon.  Wet, musty dirt.  This rain has offered the beginning process of life.  A rebirth of nature.  The once dry, dull, and damaged plant species show signs of fruitfulness.  The declining sun casts colors of red, blue, orange, pink, and purple into the evening sky.  Clouds dance quickly across the sky.  Nature is in constant motion with the breath of life, rain that is, giving way to another cycle.  Everything just is.
Everything is peaceful.

Kellen Parmentier

As I ride up on the Gondola overlooking the snow-covered mountain, I listen to my fellow riders as they discuss the diversity of the mountains surface.   According to them, the mountain is a volcano and has fumaroles, which are small slits in the rock surface, which spew steam.   In the past these fumaroles have created underground caverns that trap the deadly sulfuric gases released from the mountain.   While these blemishes in the mountain are often well gated off, they have caused a few deaths in a recent year when workers were adjusting the gates.   This information was all new to me and brought an eerie light to the mountain that I adore, especially since the area that they pointed out as being the deadly fumarole was right in the middle of my favorite snowboarding run.   As I ran this new information through my head and gazed upon the beautiful mountain in awe, I thought of Thoreau and his theories on how we should live life.   What would Thoreau think of what I am doing right now?   Although today is the coldest of my three-day snowboarding getaway, it is not snowing heavily and the temperatures are not unbearable.   Regardless of the aforementioned and the fact that I come to this mountain to be one with the elements and play in natures pure and flakey gift, here I sit locked away in the protective shelter of the gondola as it propels me to the top of the mountain.   I did have the choice to ride the ski-lift and be exposed to the cold and snow, but rather I chose to sit in comfort alongside some of my fellow riders and chat.   Our hundreds of dollars worth of stylish snow gear is more than enough to shield us from the weather beyond the protective windows of the gondola, but the picky creatures that we are wish to experience this beautiful mountain in optimal comfort and nothing less.   Are we bad people for doing this?   Does our desire to share with one another and be warm as we venture up the mountain make us bad people?   Are we not connecting enough with nature and taking in all that it has to offer?   I think that we are human and are capable of benefiting from nature in many different ways.   I ride a gondola up in comfort with friends whom I learn valuable information from and I snowboard down in amazement of the ability to do so.   So, what's wrong with that?  

Jill Cordova  

I sit here in the park near my house, with the clouds still clashing angrily above me. Given a moments solace from the constant battering of rain that has been pounding the Earth for over a week. Able to venture outside in only a slight drizzle that lightly hits my face and coats my hair in slick water droplets. I notice an Oak tree bracing itself in the wind. The wind, strong by human standards, has been a constant unrelenting force since the storm moved in. The oak, however, is stronger. Outside of the leaves and the thinner branches, the tree stands firm. Taking the beating of the wind and rain in stride. For this is the lifeblood of the tree. In an area where the tree has to struggle for life in dry and hot temperatures for what seem like endless agonizing months. The tree braces itself in the unrelenting wind, but underground, unseen, it greedily sucks water from the Earth. Gaining strength in its ultimate fight for survival. A fight that has lasted for centuries. Based on the green leaves and relative ease at which the oak was handling this vicious storm, it was winning.