Showcase

Fisherman crowded along a rivers bank

Of a beautiful, crystal clear river 

towering redwoods, 

mist rising from the water, 

sun peaking over the mountains,

picture perfect riffles and pools.

Sound of the gentle breeze

Sensation of a morning awakening

The smell of fresh coffee

The thick layer of fog

Rolling in

The sound of the distant fog horn

The gentle purr of the car

The clattering of multiple fishing poles

Means one thing

Fishing. 

The slow, dark drive to the spot

Not a thing in sight, except total serenity.

The playful splatter of the riffle

And the deranged babbling of my “friend”, Shean.

The sun crested over the mountains

As the steam rolled off the river

The redwoods towering over us as if we are ants

Then the rock tripping begins,

In partial darkness

Up and down the bank, 

walking like demented ducks

Finally, I reached the picturesque spot

A crystal clear pool, with large rocks and a perfect flow

Then, I saw it.

A darting shadow

A silvery glimpse

Of the ultimate prize

A steelhead.

I began casting, 

but that idiot Shean fell into the river

Scaring the fish

Why do I take this dude with me?

Also I’m pretty sure the fish saw me.

Just another day where I wait

Wait for that unforgettable tug

And the glory of catching the big one

Time slips away like sand through hands

It runs away like waves from lands

It goes by without a glance

Not giving even a second chance!

The waves roll by

The land stroll by

Under a sky so high

The winds cry “Oh Why”

The clouds fly by

In a rhythm time sails by

Not giving even a second try!

The mountains yawn

And dawn was gone

The fawn was asleep

In a deep sleep

There is no rose without thorns,

There is no love without hatred,

There is no beauty without ugliness,

There is no happiness without sadness,

There is no good without bad,

There are no accomplishments without failures,

There is no winter without spring,

There is no life without challenges,

There is no rose without thorns...

Last spring, I took a step outside of my comfort zone and went out for my local high school’s track & field team for the first time. 

As someone who has played an organized sport every year since middle school, it wasn’t quite as intimidating as it could have been. But my prior experience had been in soccer, football, and one year of basketball I’d rather forget. Track would be a brand new experience, and starting a sport for the first time at the high school level is always a challenge. 

That being said, track & field is a mix of running really fast in a straight line, in a circle, or in preparation for a jump or throw. It couldn’t be that hard, right? 

Wrong. The first few weeks of practice consisted of my coaches telling the team something along the lines of, “You probably think you know how to run, but you don’t.” My arms swung back too far, my knees weren’t high enough, I didn’t breathe correctly. My experience starting out of blocks and running in spikes was next to none. 

And while I’d like to categorize my athletic ability somewhere in the “average” range, at least when it comes to running, I’m not the most naturally gifted or the fastest learner. Anyone who watched me try long jump for the first time would heartily agree with that assessment. 

But the more I ran track, the better I became. My skill level grew, my confidence increased, and I felt more comfortable doing a sport than I had felt in years. I came to realize that track & field contained all the best aspects of a team sport, including the camaraderie, practices, and accumulative points. But it also contained all the benefits of an individual one, such as learning self motivation and enduring less of the stress that comes with a team dynamic. Track was different from any other sport I had played up to that point, and in a good way. 

Most of that difference could be summarized in the focus on the “PR,” or “personal record.” A PR is a new personal best in terms of a race time, distance in long jump or a throw, or height for pole vault or high jump. Because although track & field is technically a team sport (at meets, placements in events contribute points to a team total), it is at its core an individual challenge. 

At practice the day after each meet, my team (and many others as I learned) would read out, and reward with a small chocolate bar, team members who had received top-two placements in their event. But the primary focus – and source of Crunch bars – would be the list of new PRs. 

The top athletes on our team who received awards for high ranks rightfully deserved them, but in celebrating PRs, the team was also including those who weren’t blessed with the same athletic genes, who didn’t have the same experience in the sport, or who didn’t have as much time to train in the offseason. It wasn’t exactly a participation trophy, either. PRs still showcased impressive effort and work, as each new record was a level of athleticism and skill previously unreached.  

I had some disappointing times in the races at my first meet. And while I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I was motivated to top my fellow competitors and maybe move up a few spots in my school’s rankings, I was primarily focused on setting new PRs. Each PR I set was hardly an elite time, but it was an unquestionable step in the right direction towards my loftier goals. 

Eventually, those small steps in self improvement added up into higher placements in the races I ran. Ultimately, I made it to the district championships in three of my events, and I don’t think I would have made it that far without the focus on PRs. Because instead of focusing on making it from my lowly start to where I eventually wanted to be, I simply concentrated on running a faster time than I had in the previous meet – a goal that was always achievable with some hard work. 

Sports, and much of life for that matter, is a game of comparison. But what if instead of comparing ourselves to others and dealing with the resulting stress, we made comparisons to our former selves to try to become better? It’s far less stressful, always achievable, and it often leads to greater results. 

Ultimately, my track experience taught me a valuable life lesson: trying things can be a mixed bag, and you might be better or worse at some things than others. That’s just life. But if you enjoy something, you should stick with it, even if you’re terrible at it, great at it, or somewhere in between. And although comparing yourself to others can be a valuable tool, your primary focus should be on the PR: a way to measure your own work, progress, and goals. 

Focusing on PRs – whether it’s in track & field or any other part of life – builds a healthy mindset of self improvement which is both attainable and fulfilling. And with consistency, you might just see yourself flying up the rankings. 

This year’s spring sports season has arrived, and for ORCA students looking to try a new activity, track & field is an excellent option. There are plenty of events to try out as you discover new strengths and interests. And in the midst of that experience you might just learn an important life lesson as well. I sure did. 

"Living in the Forest"

Marigold carefully lifted the two sticks from the fire, and, using another stick, nudged the two fish off of the sticks. 

“It smells so good!” exclaimed Rose, who was Marigold’s little sister. 

Marigold smiled, and used a sharp stick to cut up the fish. She then put the chunks of fish onto two flat rocks that they used as plates, which they kept as clean as possible. Marigold and Rose began to eat together.

Marigold and Rose had been on their own for four years. They had no idea who or where their parents were. They had been abandoned in the forest, and didn’t remember anything about what their lives had been like before. It was never very safe and they were always worried that something dangerous might happen. However, they had found ways to live in the forest by themselves. Marigold had been six years old when they were abandoned, and Rose had been a year old. Marigold was now ten years old, and Rose was now five years old. 

Marigold now chewed her last bite of delicious smoked salmon, stood up, and looked at the sunrise. She knelt down next to the river and drank, and then went back to Rose and sat down next to her. Rose curled up next to Marigold and dozed off. Marigold pulled the hood of her blue jacket over her head, covering her long black hair.

Suddenly, Marigold looked up. She heard the snapping of twigs in the forest behind them. Rose woke up and looked over into the forest. 

“Marigold?!!” she said, her voice panicked. 

Marigold looked over and felt her heart racing. Behind them, their yellow eyes glinting in the morning sun, were a pack of wolves. 

“RUN!!!!” yelled Marigold. 

Marigold and Rose leapt to their feet and began running as fast as they could away. But Rose was only 5 years old, and Marigold was tentwelve. Rose wasn’t able to run as fast. Marigold looked over at her side, but Rose wasn’t there. Marigold looked over her shoulder to see Rose falling behind. 

“Marigold! Help!!!” yelled Rose. Marigold turned around, dashed towards Rose, grabbed her hand, and pulled Rose forward. 

They shot through the forest with the wolves behind them. Rose, half crying, panted, “I-I’m so tired!” Marigold was getting tired too. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tree with branches near the bottom that they could climb up. “Just a little farther!” said Marigold. Rose took a deep breath and pushed through her exhaustion.

They flung themselves toward the tree and began to climb, Marigold beneath Rose, making sure she didn’t fall and pushing her up when she couldn’t reach the branches. When they got to the top of the tree, they looked down to see the wolves looking up at them. They also saw two tiny wolf pups that were panting heavily. The other wolves looked up at Marigold and Rose one last time, and then started running back to where they came, leaving the little wolves behind. 

The wolves took a few steps after them, but then they seemed to decide that they couldn’t catch up. They sat down together side by side at the foot of the tree, both looking sullen. Rose slowly began to climb down the tree. 

“Rose! What are you doing?” said Marigold. 

“I can’t leave those pups there!” said Rose. 

Marigold hurried down the tree after Rose. The wolf pups looked up at Rose. Marigold stood next to Rose, slightly apprehensive. Rose knelt down in front of the white wolf puppy with brown streaks in her fur and big brown eyes and gently picked it up. The pup began to lick Rose’s face. Rose laughed and hugged the pup. “I’ll name her Maple!” The other wolf pup, who was white with streaks of black in her fur and had leaf-green eyes, ran over to Marigold and nuzzled her head against Marigold’s cheek. 

Marigold laughed and rubbed the puppy’s head. “I’ll name you… Willow,” said Marigold.  

Suddenly, the puppies started whining and hid behind Marigold and Rose. Marigold and Rose looked up and saw the wolves, who were slinking back through the trees, growling and snarling. Marigold and Rose scrambled back up the tree. Maple was tucked into Rose’s sunset-gold bag, and Willow was curled up in Marigold’s leaf-green bag. 

Soon, the wolves slunk off again. “What are we going to do?” asked Rose, reaching into her bag to pet Maple. “If we come back down, the wolves will keep chasing us back up here. We won’t be able to do anything! Get fish, drink water, nothing!” 

“Don’t panic yet…” said Marigold. She peeked into her bag to check on Willow. Willow looked up at her and tilted her head. “I have an idea,” said Marigold. “We can carefully go from tree to tree, collecting wood and leaves. Then we can make a sort of treehouse that we will actually live in!” 

Rose looked impressed. “Yeah!” she said. But then she said, “But… again, what about food and water?” 

Marigold thought for a moment. “Hmm… oh! We could weave thick vines together and make a loop at the end for worms to fish with from the trees! We might be able to weave leaves and twigs together to make water buckets to put in the loop too.” 

“Good idea!” said Rose. 

Marigold gathered several large sturdy sticks and several leaves. She then carefully put one of the ends of one of the sticks in between two branches that slanted upward on the tree. She repeated this process several times, until there were six large sticks hanging off of the side of the tree. 

“Stay here,” said Marigold. “I won’t go far.” Marigold hurried down the tree and up the next one, where she was about six feet away from Rose. Marigold grabbed hold of another stick and wedged it between two branches, repeating the process until there was a sort of bridge across the trees. Marigold then grabbed some sturdy vines and tied them around the sticks and branches, holding the bridge in place. Marigold repeated the process she had started on the other tree, collecting large sticks and tying them to the trees to expand the bridge. Marigold then made her way across the bridge towards Rose. 

Rose hugged her. “Great job!” she said. 

“Thanks!” said Marigold. “Now, we have to make the fishing rope. Grab the thickest, longest vines you can find and bring them back to me.” 

Rose and Marigold climbed up and down the trees, collecting vines and meeting back at the bridge. They then braided the vines and tied the ends together, and finally made the loop that could hold worms for fish bait, fish, and water buckets made from sticks, leaves, and vines. Marigold and Rose high-fived each other. 

“Now, go collect sticks and vines that we can tie together to make water buckets,” said Marigold. Marigold and Rose once again split up, collecting sticks and vines, which Marigold tied together one by one until they had a makeshift water bucket. They did this several times until they had several water buckets. Marigold then instructed Rose to gather big leaves and vines, so that they could make a roof above the treehouse floor, and to also collect more large sticks if she could. They collected leaves, vines, and sticks, and Marigold and Rose expanded the treehouse floor and tied together leaves, which they then tied onto the trees to make a roof. 

Marigold then said, “We’ll carefully go back down the trees to collect moss for the floor. Then it will be more comfortable to sleep on.” The two of them made their way back down the trees. 

“Take Maple out of your bag, and put the moss you collect in the bag instead,” said Marigold. Rose lifted Maple out of her bag and set her on the ground. Marigold did the same with Willow. With the little wolves hurrying after them, Marigold and Rose picked as much moss as they could, then put Maple and Willow back into their bags and went back up the trees towards the treehouse floor. They pressed the moss onto the bridge. 

Marigold and Rose were now getting tired. 

“One more thing,” said Marigold. “We need to make it so that Maple and Willow don’t fall off the side of the bridge. Gather sticks and vines.” So they climbed up and down the trees, collecting vines and sticks. Marigold and Rose then tied the sticks to the bridge and onto the trees so that there was a railing.

Now Marigold, Rose, Maple, and Willow had a pretty good tree house. Marigold and Rose took Maple and Willow out of their bags again and set them on the treehouse floor. Maple and Willow watched with interest as Marigold placed one of the water buckets into the loop on the vine rope and lowered it towards the river. Marigold waited for the bucket to fill up, and then brought it back up. Marigold, Rose, Maple, and Willow all gulped down the water, and Marigold soon had to dip the bucket again. 

Marigold filled several buckets with water from the river and lined them up on the floor beside the railing they had made for Maple and Willow. Marigold then found some worms, tightened the loop on the rope, and put a worm in the rope. She waited for a few minutes with the worm in the water, and then pulled the rope up to see a fish clutching onto the loop with its mouth. 

After catching four fish, Marigold and Rose piled sticks onto the very top of a tree and carefully started a small fire. They cooked the fish and extinguished the fire, and then made their way back to the treehouse, where Maple and Willow were sitting side by side. Marigold pulled the flat rocks they used for plates out of her bag, then rummaged around and found two more flat rocks that she always kept in case one got broken. She pulled her sharp stick out of her bag and cut up the fish into chunks, pulling out the bones, and then gave one rock plate with fish to Rose, and then placed the other two in front of Maple and Willow. Maple and Willow sniffed the fish, and then, wagging their tails in excitement, gobbled down the smoked salmon. 

After dinner, Marigold and Rose layed down on the layers of moss they had collected. It was very comfortable. Maple curled up in Rose’s arms, and Willow curled up in Marigold’s. They fell asleep staring up at the stars, knowing that at last, they were safe in the forest.

The End

"Mia’s Adventures: Magical Friends"

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young deer. Her name was Mia. Mia was extremely intelligent, extremely kind, and extremely curious. When Mia went to Animal School, she always got an A+ on her tests. When she found an injured animal, she would bring them to her cave and help them get better. Whenever Mia found a tree that she hadn’t explored yet, she would climb up, making sure not to harm the birds, and explore the tree, and look out at the beautiful view of the mountains in the distance. 

On June 27, Mia and her mother Matilda decided to pick blackberries. Mia spotted a big blackberry but discovered that it was too high to pick. Mia got an idea, and scooped up some moss and twigs. She put them in a pile. Mia climbed on top of the pile of moss and twigs, but she still couldn’t reach the blackberry. “Let’s go home for dinner,” said Matilda. 

“I’ll be there in a moment,” Mia answered. She took a deep breath and leaped up. She quickly picked the blackberry in midair, landed on her feet, and ran off after her mother. Mia and Matilda made a blackberry pie that night.

The next day, Mia went swimming. She arrived at the beautiful, still stream. The lake had a small waterfall, and Mia loved to sit and watch the water fall into the stream. When Mia got to the stream, she took a deep breath. “Cannonball!” she yelled, and she curled herself up as she leaped into the air. There was a huge splash. When she resurfaced, she saw the waterfall. She thought that it would be fun to swim over to it and let it splash on top of her, so that’s what she did. 

Mia laughed as the water splashed on top of her head. Then, Mia wondered, What’s on the other side of the waterfall? I wonder how far away the water is from the stone behind it. Mia swam through the waterfall. However, to her astonishment, she was not facing the stone she had expected to see, but a beautiful meadow. She gasped. She saw a short, slanting cliff that she would probably be able to climb up. The air was full of the smell of flowers. Then, she noticed four animals coming towards her. For some reason, Mia felt afraid. Would the animals be angry because she had come onto their land? Mia crouched down in the grass and flowers, hoping that the animals wouldn’t see her. But they did see her. “Hello,” said a kind voice. Mia looked up. The animals were looking down at her. There was a horse, a fox, a bird, and a squirrel. 

Mia stood up. “Hi,” she said. “My name is Mia.” 

“Hi Mia!” said the horse. “My name is Amelia.” She was wearing a  white T-shirt with a sun on it, and a red skirt. She was a brown horse, with a dark brown mane and tail. 

“My name is Charlotte,” the squirrel said. She was wearing a white T-shirt with a heart on it and a blue skirt. She was riding on the fox’s back.

“My name is Stacy,” the bird said. She was wearing a white T-shirt that had the word “Magic” in gold, sparkly letters on the front, and a purple skirt. She had beautiful blue feathers. She was also riding Amelia’s back.

“My name is Taffita,” said the fox. She was wearing a pink dress. Her fur was orange, except the end of her tail and her paws. The end of her tail and paws were white. 

Mia knew that the animals were very kind, and were not going to harm her. 

“We have magical powers,” said Amelia. “I can change the weather, and I can protect myself and other animals from lightning bolts.”

“I can heal injuries, protect animals from illnesses, and get them dry if they are wet,” said Charlotte. 

“I can give other animals magical powers,” said Stacy. 

“I can change my appearance and other animals’ appearance,” explained Taffita. 

“Would you like magical powers, Mia?” asked Stacy. 

“Sure!” exclaimed Mia.

Stacy flew into the air, chirping, and then said happily, “You have powers now!” Mia waved her hooves, and her blue swimsuit turned into a beautiful sparkly white dress with stars embroidered on it. “Wow!” she exclaimed. She waved her hooves again, and began to float on a fluffy white cloud, her legs disappearing into the cloud.

“It looks like you can make sparkly and starry things!” said Stacy. 

“Watch this!” said Taffita. She waved her paws, and her dress transformed into a dress that looked a bit like Mia’s. Amelia jumped onto her back legs, and a beautiful sparkling rainbow appeared overhead. Charlotte twirled, and Mia was dry. 

Mia spent the day exploring Magic Meadow, which her new friends told her was what they had decided to call the beautiful field. 

That evening, Taffita said, “Would you like to pick some blackberries with us, Mia? We could make blackberry pie for dessert!” 

Mia had been having so much fun, she had forgotten all about how she was supposed to be swimming in the stream. However, she suddenly remembered how she and her mother had been picking blackberries the night before. “Oh no!”

Mia cried. “What’s wrong?” said Charlotte. 

Mia took a deep breath and explained, “I’m supposed to be swimming in the stream. I didn’t realize so much time had passed! I have to get home.” Mia thought for a moment, then said, “Would you like to come with me?” 

“Yes!” exclaimed Charlotte, Stacy, Amelia, and Taffita, all at the same time. 

“Race you!” yelled Amelia, and, laughing, everyone picked a partner to be on a team with. 

Amelia, Charlotte, Stacy, and Taffita had created a race track, and they all walked to it. Stacy was going to fly overhead with Charlotte on her back, Amelia would run by herself, and Mia and Taffita were going to run side by side and help each other if one of them got tired. Mia counted down. 

“5! 4! 3! 2! 1! GO!” 

Everyone started running except for Stacy, who flapped her wings and flew as fast as she could. Amelia galloped along her lane and Mia and Taffita were laughing as they ran side by side as fast as they could. Mia and Taffita won, with Amelia close behind and Stacy and Charlotte right on her tail. Then, when they reached the waterfall, they all jumped head-first through the waterfall, and swam to shore in the stream. Charlotte waved her paws, and everyone was dry.

 They raced again with the same teams, and they all went to Mia’s beautiful cave. Mia and Taffita won again, this time with Stacy and Charlotte behind them and Amelia running right behind them. Mia took a deep breath and stepped inside her home. 

“Mia! You’ve been gone a while,” said Matilda. Mia explained how she had gone through the waterfall, met the other animals, and had an amazing time. 

“You can go there every day, if you want,” said Matilda, smiling. 

“Thank you!” cried Mia. 

“Do you want to see Magic Meadow?” asked Amelia.

“We could pick blackberries, and I can reach the ones that are high up,” said Stacy, gesturing to her wings. 

“Sure!” said Matilda. 

They had a wonderful evening, and Mia and her friends played every day in Magic Meadow.

Kevin is angry, Kevin is mean.

Kevin is not at all skinny or lean.

Kevin is lazy, curled on the couch.

Kevin is nothing but a big old grouch.

Kevin catches birds, mice, and bugs.

Kevin hates receiving my big hugs.

Kevin runs up the stairs in times of spite.

If Kevin is mad he tries to give me a bite.

Kevin's my best friend, despite all this

So all of these flaws I will dismiss.

I am from a gaming console of Wii that sparked the endless endeavors in a potential nerd for occasional computer based landscapes that leads one's mind to await advance and innovations that cease to amaze, 

from a Xbox fanatic, and 

PC gamer that fancies Slither.io. 

I am from the competitive attitudes that make up hackathon techies, to the cascading hot tears, persevering and anxious sweat and frequent elbow grease that encases the idealism of over-accomplished nerds. 

I am from the makeshift forts from the aquatic waters of Nicaragua, overlooking the descending staircase of resigned shards to intrigued beams.

 I am from the crisp timbres of air to the golden hours’ whispers through the fortunate breeze that splayed their hands through our strands of cascading fondue, howling with delight from the slightest human touch to, 

the sunflower’s blissful ghost wishes, to the protective sapphire gem of life’s hydrangeas with the ladle of innocence as flowing tears. 

I am from the golden predictions of zodiacs, honoring the humbleness with occasional, indulgence of grunts and pouts at the year of the pig’s presents, with the nicknames of little and red panda at its doorstep,

 and as a symbolic meaning of a new chapter, cutting hair as thick as wallow branches, as reminders of memories as noodles and as strong as our inner hearts desires, 

from May-may’s profusely persistent persuasion

and Momo’s rock, paper, and scissors that deserves the world's attention, and Mia’s innocent tears of joy. 

I am from the red pockets of generations and the ghost of speech speaking luck into words that are audible to one's vocal cords and the flicks of patterned hands as it gives it go to make a profound beat to a song in the process of expressing one's history, culture and proud native origin.

From “everyone gets a second chance as the day renews”

and “humbleness unlocks all hearts”. 

I am from a place where religion thrives in our hearts and where we always pray our thanks for everything that we have,

 while all else is dedicated to its significance and the fear of planned life isn’t executed successfully.

I'm from the depths of a sapphire, the descendant of the taurus, the splinter of the crown, the crackling and flutes arising the loong’s legendary history with red and yellow streamers, and, 

awe inspiring sponge cake and the indulgence of overly salted seaweed’s fragrance. From the solitude of a mountain guarded by the angels of the tigers and tigress, to the greed within flowers; the grace within weeds,

and the obsolete fluttering pages of stacks of math books. I am 

from a camera shy family with a photogenic daughter on the phone, and a kingdom that will stretch over realms of history, and ancestry of haven and the bridges that link purpose to honor.

Around two-thirds of the way through my first work day — a 14-hour one, I might add — of driving a harvest tractor, the crew boss drove his service truck over to where I was and motioned for me to open my door. 

“How’s the first day going, Ryland?” 

“Pretty well,” I answered. “I’m making a lot of mistakes but learning.”

“That’s the goal,” he responded. “Just make sure that they’re not big mistakes.” 

If you’d like to know what farming is, in a nutshell, it would be that statement. Mistakes are made and things go wrong on the daily, but the key is minimizing what goes wrong and not making the same mistake twice. And in a field of farming such as harvest work, where a good number of the employees are under 18 and very inexperienced, learning is absolutely paramount. 

This summer, I was one of the many high school students across Oregon searching for a job over the break. Although I had hardly any experience with farming and am not the most mechanically-minded, I settled on a harvest job because my older sister had worked at the company I interviewed with the year prior and had a great time. 

She was coming back to work for them again that summer, meaning that when I was hired she could be my ride to the job each morning — as the entire reason I was working in the first place was to earn enough to afford a car of my own. 

Well, not the only reason. Being paid to drive a giant tractor is pretty awesome too. 

Harvest work is a very Oregon job. The state’s Willamette Valley, in fact, is considered to be the “grass seed capital of the world,” outpacing the rest of the globe in terms of production of the commodity. 

It’s also a tailor-made job for students looking for income in the summer. The harvest season runs just about as long as summer break, and unsurprisingly, most of the seasonal employees I worked with at my job were either college and high school students like myself or local teachers looking for some supplementary pay during summer. Additionally, driving a tractor on the road or in a field doesn’t require a driver’s license in Oregon, further opening up employment for younger workers as long as they can pass a tractor safety course prior to the start of the job. 

But what exactly is harvest work? 

In grass farming, at least, it involves the harvest of both the seed and the stalk, and later in the season, plowing and replanting the crop. Generally speaking, the plowing and planting is taken care of by the yearly employees, while seasonal employees, such as students like myself, man the harvesting tractors. Many run the windrowers and combines that cut the grass and separate the seed from the stalk. I was on a baling crew, which took the stalks left behind by the combines, called straw, and left it in stacks of bales to be picked up by trucks and eventually shipped overseas. 

On our crew, I drove one of the rake tractors, which flips the straw to dry it out while also raking it into big rows that make it easier and more efficient for the baler tractors to pick it up and bale it. The most experienced operator on the crew generally drove the stacker, a tractor pulling a trailer that was cleverly engineered to pick up six bales at a time and stack them vertically. 

It’s worth noting that harvest work is ridiculously fun once you get the hang of it. Driving a farmer’s $100,000 dollar piece of machinery is intimidating at first, but once the jitters fade it can be an enjoyable and even relaxing experience. Modern tractors have air conditioning, adjustable seats, and phone-compatible speakers, meaning that on days where there are few maintenance issues, the job consists of being paid to drive very slowly around a field while listening to a Spotify playlist. Not bad at all. 

It’s also surprisingly satisfying to clean up a field with a baling crew. When we arrived, the ground would be covered with straw and when we left, it was all stacked in truckload-sized stacks of bales. As one of the rake operators, it was my job to make sure all the straw in the field was raked into the rows for the balers. We took this very seriously as farmers will absolutely make fun of competitors’ fields that still have straw left behind after harvest. At least, our crew sure roasted a lot of fields. I named my tractor playlist “No Skips” as a joke to highlight that there were no skips on the field or on my Spotify. 

Whether you work on a baling crew or another type of harvest tractor job, you’ll be part of a crew, a group of tractor operators and a crew boss. It’s surprising how much camaraderie can be built over a summer and how many memories can be made. By the end of the season we had so many running jokes it was hard to keep track of them all. 

But harvest work, or tractoring as I like to call it, wasn’t just about the good times. Its challenges teach valuable lessons for those looking to succeed in the workforce. The first is responsibility, as each day starts with a maintenance check on the tractors and working as a team to get started as safely and efficiently as possible. Farmers put a tremendous amount of trust in their young employees. These machines are not cheap, and yet teenagers are trusted with servicing them, driving them on roads where they take up a lane and a half, and maneuvering them around obstacles in the fields. Tractoring takes a lot of focus and attention to detail, and while it might seem like a lot, simply paying attention is half the battle. 

However, no matter how responsible you are, things will go wrong. Learning how to deal with problems is perhaps the biggest lesson farming has to offer. 

It wasn’t my fault, but I’ll never forget when my tractor popped a flat tire in the middle of what had been a productive day. I don't know what deflated more, my spirits or the left front tire. I simply had to report it to the crew boss and make myself busy helping the rest of the crew until my tractor was fixed. 

Worse yet was my first day of work, which was also my first ever hauling a trailer. I made some bad rookie mistakes, such as nudging a fence with the implement and nearly jackknifing on a tight turn. In both cases I had to call the crew boss on the CB radio shamefaced to help fix the issue. 

Honesty was a big deal in both scenarios — you’d be surprised how many horror stories farmers have of employees who tried to hide mistakes that simply turned into bigger issues. It was embarrassing to admit my mistakes, but I had the benefit of being new and thankfully didn’t have any major gaffes the rest of the season. A big part of that was just learning how to deal with mistakes: fix them, learn from them, and then forget them. 

Learning life skills is great, but the elephant in the room remains the pay. Like any other entrance level position, your first year of harvest work will be at or close to the minimum wage. But there’s a catch — the harvest season has very long hours, ranging from 10 to 14 hours a day on average with farms working anywhere from 5-7 days a week, meaning that the money adds up fast. Many farms offer part-time opportunities as well for those looking for lighter and more flexible hours. 

The biggest hidden benefit of a harvest job is getting in touch with Oregon’s farming culture. Agriculture is one of the state’s biggest industries, and being able to talk about farming with some knowledge borders on a conversational superpower. Besides, it’s great to be a part of what makes Oregon the grass seed capital of the world. 

You might not think farming is for you. I certainly thought that. When I signed up for the job I didn’t know half of how the harvest process works. I had never driven with a trailer, greased a grease point, or checked engine oil and coolant level. I had never even had a real job. But despite some tough learning experiences, I’m happy to say I emerged the other side as a better worker, a more experienced person, and a few dollars richer. 

I’ll be back farming this summer, and hopefully you’ll consider it too.

1. German chocolate cake was invented in Texas.

2. There’s enough gold inside of the Earth to coat the planet.

3. The brand name Spam is a combination of “spice” and “ham.” And of course, blowing the chat up in live class!

4. Lemons float, but limes sink. If you try it at home the effect can be pretty cool!

5. McDonald’s once made bubblegum flavored broccoli! 

6. The first orange wasn't actually orange! It was green!

7. Despite their large shells, armadillos can run up to 30 miles per hour!

8. Cats have fewer toes on their back paws.

9. Cows don’t have upper front teeth, along with sheep and goats. But they do have molars at the back of their mouth to help with chewing, though!

10. Theodore Roosevelt had a pet hyena named Bill.

Hopefully you learned something new from these weird (and cool) facts.

Marcus Braden

The oak. Find the oak.

Marcus’ breaths came out in pants as he ran wildly through the forest, trying to escape the challenges the Sage had thrown at the others. He’d been having strange thoughts the past few days, and he just couldn’t escape them. 

Get outta my head! I-I don’t know what’s happening, but please! Just… Just get outta there! 

You don’t know what could happen if you don’t find it. You need to find it.

Marcus shook his head. But… the others! Clare! Lukas! Even Bree! They’re depending on me to find someone to save them! 

The voice came again. Just trust me. The Sage is not who you think he is. And Marcus’ head went quiet.

Marcus let out a few panted breaths. I don’t know what’s happening, but it ain’t good. His eyes glanced towards the sides of his vision, trying to find someone--anyone--that could help him--

--when he almost ran into a tree. 

But it wasn’t a normal tree. Instead of pine needles hanging from its branches, large oak leaves were slowly falling, their colors bright with the change of seasons. It stood proud and mighty, with a certain distinctness to it. He stared up at it, his eyes widening at the height. Whoa… That’s tall. A certain power radiated from it. Something that Marcus couldn’t discern, but it felt… good. Something he hadn’t felt for the last week and a half since he’d been forced into the Arena. 

The voice came again. Touch it. 

Almost instinctively, a hand went to the trunk.

A certain power overcame him, and it felt like his limbs froze right there where they were. A feeling of fear came over him as his thoughts started to dissolve, and started to form into memories. Memories that weren’t his. 

A small, ratlike man stood in front of a blanket of fog; one that looked similar to the one he’d entered into what seemed like an eternity ago. And the man started to step forward--

--when he got forcibly ripped from the tree, and he was brought back to the real world. He winced when his head got shoved into the trunk of another tree, and his vision was left spinning and dizzy. Wh-what…? 

He could barely make out the figure of a man approaching him. “Who’s… there?” Marcus groaned out, his thoughts heavy and his limbs feeling slightly disconnected.

All he heard was a small growl as the man reached him, knelt down, and looked Marcus straight in the eye. But even Marcus could see what was right in front of him, and it scared him to death. The man from the “memory” was standing in front of him, his glare enough to scare the wits out of Marcus. 

The glare from cold, bright yellow eyes.

“I’m hoping that my friend didn’t inform you of this tree, but unfortunately, I can’t let you leave with what knowledge you’ve gained. So I think it’s time we said goodbye, Marcus Braden. I’d like to say our time together over the last few days was enjoyable, but it was far from it.” 

Marcus’ eyes widened, and he tried to scramble away from the man, but his limbs wouldn’t listen to him. He was stuck. 

With a roll of his eyes, the man brought his hand out, and touched Marcus’ temple with his thumb. He snapped his other hand.

Marcus let out a scream of pure agony as he felt something inside of him snap. He couldn’t focus anymore, and his eyes started to glaze over in a ferocious, crazed look. The Marcus that’d been there had been split into millions of pieces, and scattered to who knows where. 

Marcus couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel. Couldn’t remember.

Anything.

Anything but three phrases that were stuck into him, and couldn’t quite get out. Three phrases that became his entire being.

The oak…

Sage is bad…

Multiple men…

10/14/15:

Scared. I hear noises from the dark, tangled trees surrounding me causing a sense of claustrophobia. I look behind me hoping to see the point of descent, but I have reached the place where I can’t go back. I must trek forward. I can’t see the warm sunshine anymore, all I can see is the darkness of this cave of trees that surrounds me. I hear the flap-flap of bird wings in the darkness. I know that nothing can hurt me; I don’t know why I know, I just do. I’m starting to lose my memory the deeper I go. What was even outside of these oak walls? I don’t know. I wish I could spend my time piecing together my memories, but I’m tired. I think it’s 10:00 PM, but I’m unsure so I’m going to go to sleep.

10/15/15:

A light hit my eyes this morning. It glowed like a star, I think I even heard it whisper. “Follow me,” the star said. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop my body, I was already following it. I can’t fall asleep, my body is uncontrollably following the star. I really want to rest.

10/16/15:

I’m still following it. I must have fallen asleep walking though, I don’t know how, but I must have. Anyway, I’m still following it, arms and hands are free, but my feet are not. I don’t know why this is happening, or how it happened, I’m forgetting a lot. I can’t wait to actually be able to sit down and...

Editor's note: This will be a continuing series. 

Legend says that she had once been royalty of the faeries, yet now she lay, untouched to the world, forever. In the glass case, you could see all her features clearly. No matter how many grimy fingers, feet, shoes, and whatever else humans foolishly decided to put on the case, she remained clear, impassive, and beautiful.

Her skin was a milky white, and her hair a translucent gold. 

The wings were so wide, huge, it was astonishing how they were held, as if the wings were delicate leaf skeletons.

The design was simply astounding.

Her veins made the prettiest design on the wings and were perfectly perpendicular to each other.

No difference could be seen.

Her clothing was simplistic, compared to the rest of her beauty.

The faerie was dressed in what seemed to be leather boots of fashionable taste, a blush-colored blouse with vibrantly red roses, dark purple irises, and forest green vines with thorns embroidered upon the blouse. She had on what seemed to be dark, nearly black leggings made of bark, but from closer study was just a design upon the cotton.

A crown had been placed upon her head, though it was unknown how it stayed on with her horizontal to the ground. Dewdrop, clear jewels dotted the rose gold wire crown. Small flowers dotted the space in between the jewels. 

Her face seemed to be made up, rouge dotting her cheeks. Dark red lipstick was, too, applied.

She was, incontrovertibly, beauty itself.

And a foolish girl had to break her out.

That was me.

Sunlight dapples the sandy ground

The dribble of a stream nearby

Towering trees of ageless decent

Chattering of squirrels, chirp of birds

The crunch of leaves stepped upon

And the clatter of human activity.

Crashing, building, bubbling

A dangerous collision

Ear to the gift

Of a starfish

Listen to the lullaby

The song of my adventure

Seaweed wrapping around ankles

Pulling down

Don’t leave

Don't stay

Siren hair blinding eyes

Senses clouded, diluted

Salt sea rines floating up

Bodies sinking down

Whale spouts spray through the surface

Foam of the ancestors 

Watch the 

Scuttle-waddle-hiccup

Of a crab running from fishing nets

A dangerous life to live

Is the one he walks

Sandy shores and itchy wounds

It won’t leave

Can’t escape the millimeter stones

Water of the eyes

Water of the sea

Salt blending it together

Into a fantasy

Pain and twirling seals

Bikini tops and goggle straps

Left on old beach towels

Flip flops running

Clip-clop-clip-clop

Cheap plastic molding into melted sunglasses

Sinking to the bottom

With Pepsi rings and squid ink

Dancing with the clown

Either myself or the fish

Lions roaring

Into the deep abysses of ocean trenches

Oxygen slinking through the lungs

Breathing breathy breaths

Falling through the cracks

Buoyant buoys rising

From crests and troughs

Will it be enough 

Swim back 

Backstroke your way

To that starfish

Draw lines in the sand

Thank the little man

For opening a world

Of sweet lemons and coral kingdoms

A fantasia of wonder

Throw away the wrapping paper

Ring that doorbell

You’re home.

It’s 5:30 in the morning on July 18th at a small motel in Ashland, Oregon. My dad shakes me awake. 

“What kind of people go on a 90-mile backpacking trip?” he asks. 

“Idiots,” I reply, barely awake. We fist bump. 

Around two hours later we were climbing out of the car, ready to begin. We’d be hiking from where the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) crossed through Ashland all the way to Crater Lake. We estimated it to be around a 90-mile hike, and had planned out eight days to complete it. 

Each carrying a 40-pound pack, we set out north on the trail. 

Day one of a long hiking trip can often be the best day. We were both itching to start and excited for the trip ahead of us. Or more specifically, our lunch. 

Around halfway through our hike that day, there was a resort around a mile off the trail. The restaurant there was open and we were planning on stopping there for lunch. It would be good food as well as one less meal to carry. Although less than ten miles into our hike at that point, the burger and lemonade I enjoyed tasted like the greatest meal on earth.

After lunch we hiked back onto the trail and continued on. We passed through a few meadows, but most of the day was in the shade of the forest, which shielded the afternoon sun. The trail was fairly level as well, which made the miles far less tiring. At around 3:30 p.m. we made it to our stop for the night, Klum Campground.  

Klum Campground was a rather large place, with over 30 campsites as well as bathrooms and showers. Due to the unusually hot summer, the lake nearby was nearly dry, meaning that the campground was almost completely free of visitors. My dad and I had our pick of all of the campsites, and ended up selecting the site with not one, but two tables, as well as a spigot of running water close by. A hiker passing through joked that we were ‘glamping.’ 

He wasn’t wrong, but a hot shower sure felt good after hiking almost 16 miles. 

With two tables it was easy to empty out our packs and set up camp. We each had a lot of supplies and our packs were fairly new, meaning that we were both unfamiliar with the best way to pack them. It had been a tight fit when we had first stuffed all of our supplies and food into them the night before we left. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to pack it all back in when we left the next morning. 

Our biggest piece of gear was our tent, which was too big to be carried by one person, so my dad and I split it between our packs. Despite being a party of two, we had a three person tent. We (or more specifically my dad), had spent so much on new gear in preparation for the trip that we never got to buying a new tent. 

Lesson one of backpacking: camping gear can be insanely expensive. 

The extra weight of the tent was a pain, but the extra space inside was certainly not. It was nice not to be cramped at the end of the day. My dad called it the “Taj Ma Tent.” 

We heated up some water using a JetBoil camping stove and poured it into pouches of freeze-dried food for dinner. There’s just something about piping hot food at the end of a long day of hiking -- my dinner that night somehow tasted better than my earlier hamburger lunch. 

Around halfway through our meal a hiker passing through the campsite stopped by to eat his dinner. He came by our tables and asked if he could eat with us. We said he was welcome to. 

My dad and I introduced ourselves by our real names, but he just called himself “Chef.” I then remembered the prevalence of trail names on the PCT. “Trail names” are essentially code names PCT hikers give themselves and use when interacting with others. A quick internet search reveals that this method is to both separate what happens on the trail from what happens in real life, as well as to keep names unique and easy to remember.

My dad and I figured that it was mainly an excuse to have a cool codename. And there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Chef was the first of many through hikers that we met on our trip. While my dad and I were only going 90 miles on the PCT, through hikers will go the entire 2,650 miles of it -- and usually in one long trip. To get the entire trail done while the weather permits, through hikers often average 20 to 30 miles a day, usually over the course of around three months. Chef said he was doing around 30 a day himself. 

We talked about our gear, as hikers are prone to do, and unsurprisingly Chef’s was much newer and lighter than most of what we had. Light packs are essential for anyone trying to hike that long.  

“My pack’s on the heavier side,” admitted Chef, “around 25 pounds or so.”

My jaw just about dropped. I didn’t bother telling him that mine weighed 40. 

Chef left our table after dinner, determined to get a few more miles while there was daylight. My dad and I finished up our dishes and just went to bed. With campfires still illegal in our area of Oregon, there was no reason to stay up late. I scribbled a quick summary of the day into my notepad before trying to sleep. My dad and I had also been keeping track of how many people we met on the trail (because why not?), as well as how many fallen trees we had to step over (because they are incredibly annoying). 

I tallied up the numbers and melted into my sleeping bag. I had a full stomach, had just enjoyed a hot shower, and was in a big tent in an even bigger campsite. 

This camping thing isn’t so bad, I remember thinking. 

Day 1: 24 people. 13 trees. 

We woke up at 6 in the morning the next day. I had been sleeping late all summer, but one of the perks of a mesh-sided tent is that the sun works as an alarm-clock every morning. 

We had some instant oatmeal and subpar instant coffee before packing up our campsite. Getting my gear back into my pack was a struggle but I did it. Packing out of camp took around an hour and 45 minutes, though. 

We set off on the trail, expecting a 12 mile day. However, our campsite that night would be nowhere as good as Klum Campground. It was an old mountain shelter that would likely already be full of campers by the time we got there. It would be very cramped. 

The trail that morning was a sloping downhill, which helped us go at a fast pace without getting tired. We made almost ten miles before lunch. By the early afternoon we were only a couple miles away from our campsite, but still feeling great. We talked about getting in some extra miles that day, but decided against it. We needed to refill our waters at the shelter, but if we wanted to go past it we’d end up taking a different route, one that was a shortcut in the long run but without water for the next nine or so miles.

Lesson two of backpacking: never be careless when it comes to water. 

As tempting as it was to go past the shelter we decided against it. 

But then some magic happened. Trail magic. 

Our trail crossed an old dirt road, and around a hundred yards beyond that there was a cardboard sign nailed to a tree. It read, “Trail Magic!” and next to it was a cooler filled with around ten large bottles of Powerade. A trash bag was nearby to put the empty Powerade bottles in along with another sign with a phone number to call to restock the cooler if it was empty, and there was even a guest book for hikers to sign. 

Needless to say, it was an incredibly generous thing to do by whoever had set up the cooler. My dad and I each drank a Powerade and signed the guest book (using our trail names this time), making sure to leave a “thank you” for the free refreshment. 

Fully hydrated and with some more energy, we felt confident enough to skip over our original campsite and push on the extra six miles to a much better location: Lake of the Woods Resort. 

The resort would have a much better place to camp, as well as a lodge to grab some real food. Our new route resulted in us turning from our trail onto a highway, which resulted in a fairly level, but unshaded stretch as we walked along the shoulder of the road. Having already walked 12 miles earlier that day, the additional six was extremely tiring by the end. 

We staggered into the resort area at around 5:30 p.m., making a beeline for the lodge. We dropped our packs at the door (a fairly standard practice for hikers when entering a restaurant; not many want to steal smelly backpacks anyway), and ordered a large dinner. 

A root beer, a rack of pork ribs, a salad, and a large serving of mashed potatoes later, we walked the additional quarter mile or so with our packs to the resort’s camp site. We paid a small fee, found a spot with a table and a place for our tent, and went to bed. 

When preparing for the trip, my dad and I had gone on several 20 mile or so walks, and even though our 18-mile day had been well within that range, it was much harder when carrying full backpacks. We were exhausted, but went to sleep with a full stomach and the knowledge that we had nearly halved the distance that we would have to hike the next day. 

Day 2: 4 people (those in the resort didn’t count). 40 trees.

Despite our plans to wake up early each morning during the hike, we took our time leaving camp the next day. We made our way back to the lodge for a large breakfast (with real coffee) before packing up and leaving at 11:00 in the morning. 

Thanks to our efforts the previous day, we only had under seven miles of hiking to do that day, so our late start didn’t worry us at all. Still, most of it was uphill and we were quite sore, so it wasn’t easy. 

The center of that day’s hike was the Rye Spur, which our trail nearly crested. It was grueling making it up to the top, but it provided some gorgeous views of the surrounding Klamath area. 

Our campground that night was Four Mile Lake, which had over 100 campsites, all of which were empty. We discovered that the road leading there had been shut down, presumably due to forest fire damage from last year. The trail, on the other hand, was still open. We had an entire lake to ourselves that night. 

Day 3: 0 people. 3 trees.

The next day we woke up at 6 a.m. and were hiking two hours later. We set what might have been a new record for us with five miles in two hours to start our day. That began what we liked to call our “morning push:” starting our day with around two hours of hiking at a fairly fast pace before taking our first break. 

A small stretch of trail went over a swampy area, where I saw more frogs in one place than I had ever seen before. They were all the size of quarters and just about everywhere, blanketing the trail and the surrounding area. I slowed down my pace and hoped I didn’t step on any, as they weren’t very keen on sharing the trail with us. 

Our camping spot that night was going to be somewhere in a cluster of small lakes anywhere from 10 to 15 miles from where we started that day. When we saw the first of the many lakes near the end of that day’s hike we soon discovered that not all lakes are created equal. Some were merely muddy ponds while others were nice but had no space for a tent nearby. 

We decided to stop at the first lake that we thought was worth camping by, and settled for Trapper Lake, making our day around 12.3 miles in total. We discovered that we were around halfway through our total mileage for the hike. 

Trapper Lake was the first camping spot on the trail that didn’t have running water, making it our first night where we had to use our water purifier to drink out of the lake. It was less convenient for sure, but it felt like we were finally completely immersed in the outdoors. 

Day 4: 7 people. 69 trees. 1 dog (my dad decided to start counting those, too) 

On day 5 we hit our new record for elevation on the hike: the 7582 feet above sea level on the top of Devil’s Peak. The uphill to get there was around as fun as it sounds, but the views were spectacular. We ate lunch on the top, taking in the scenery through bites of tortilla-wrapped buffalo chicken. Life was good. 

The rest of the day’s hike was downhill, so we made up for our slower ascent that morning. By 2:30 in the afternoon we had made it 9.9 miles and stopped at our campsite for the night, Middle Lake. 

We made what seemed like record time getting our camp set up at the end of the day. We were getting into a rhythm in regards to our daily routine on the trail. 

Day 5: 5 people. 34 trees. 

Day 6 was by far the worst day of our trip. 

We got a good start, putting in the usual five miles in two hours, before emerging into a burnout right as the afternoon sun was beating right down on us. 

The forest fire that had gone through that section of land was a few years old, but there was still hardly any greenery to be seen. Just dead trees everywhere, covering up parts of the trail at times to the point where it looked like a dead end.

To make things worse, there was no water along that stretch. We had a cutoff we had to take near the end of it to take us a few miles away to Stuart Falls for our campsite that night, the only water source for a few miles in either direction. 

And that didn’t seem like a big deal until we missed the cutoff. 

After a few hours of hiking in the burnout we were sure that we had missed a turn. And thankfully, we had brought a GPS with us that soon confirmed that we were around a third of a mile beyond where we should have turned onto a new trail. 

Lesson three of backpacking: always bring a GPS. 

We backtracked until the GPS showed us where the new trail began. But it wasn’t there. There was no sign, no footsteps, and no clearing where the fork was supposed to be. 

We climbed over a few fallen trees and looked until we saw what seemed to be faint indentation in the brush. We started walking along it, and the GPS confirmed that we were on the right track. 

Eventually, the trail became more and more apparent, with old footsteps and horse tracks. I even saw a sign on a tree that seemed to read the name of the trail, although half of it had been burned off and the other half severely charred. 

Suddenly, the burnt trees and brush gave way to an open meadow, with the ground covered by greenery and wild flowers. Hidden beneath the dense foliage, the trail had disappeared. 

We stopped and searched for the trail for a while. Our GPS still showed that we were on the right track, but it is still incredibly unnerving to be in the wilderness and off of the trail. “Lost” was too strong of a word to use, as we could easily backtrack to our more established, earlier trail, but it would result in a delay until we found a water source again and set us behind our pace. 

Eventually, two hikers appeared behind us. They had been on the same route as us for the past two days and had caught up with my dad and I. They were in the same predicament as we were, but after some discussion we worked up the confidence to push on. Armed with two GPS’s, our newly formed party of four went off in search of the trail, and the ever elusive Stuart Falls. 

We went around two miles without a semblance of a trail around us, guided by the black lines marking where the path should be on each GPS. Under the hot sun we were starting to go through more and more water. It was depressing, and the older lady in the group of hikers that had joined us started to voice her fears of being lost. 

Suddenly, we heard the unmistakable sound of rushing water. 

We finally came across a small stream of water, and stopped to refill our water bottles. The break served to raise our spirits as well, and we set out once again, confident we would find the falls. And sure enough, after a little while longer a trail began to materialize underfoot. We began to hear water once again, this time much louder. 

After setting up our tent in the small clearing near the falls, I plunged into the ice cold pool of water near its base. It was some of the coldest water I had experienced in our trip, but it felt incredible after a nearly 13-mile hike that day in such warm, dry weather. 

Better yet was the fact that the trail leading out of the falls was well-defined. I went to sleep confident that the worst was behind us. 

Day 6: 6 people. Over 150 trees (that’s when we stopped counting). 1 dog.

Smoke rolled in on the morning of day 7. 

There were no forest fires near us -- we had double and triple checked that before we left on our hike, but the smoke that had blown in was still a nuisance and bad for the lungs no matter how far away the source was. 

The good news was that while we still had two more days left on our itinerary, we only had a day’s worth of hiking, around 13 and a half miles, until our destination of Crater Lake. Our original plan was to spend the night at a campground only two miles or so away from Crater Lake, and then hike in the next day. 

Our original reasoning to leave such a short day on the end of our trip was twofold: on one hand, in case we fell behind in our daily mileage we could easily catch up, and on the other, the steep uphill up to Crater Lake would make the remaining two miles feel like five. 

But we were less enthusiastic about our hike following our rough outing the day earlier, and the smoke only reinforced that belief. We made the decision to finish our hike early; we’d go all the way to Crater Lake that day. 

Inspired to finish our trip, we made it 6.2 miles in our morning push. After a short break we carried on and reached our final checkpoint, where we had originally planned to camp two miles away from the lake, by lunchtime. We were incredibly tired, but ready to go the final few miles of our trip. 

The uphill up to Crater Lake was brutal. An unrelenting, steep upward climb that took up most of the remaining energy we had. 

At 12:30 in the afternoon we reached the top and looked down into the blue depths of Crater Lake. I had been there when I was very young but had no memory of it, so it was like I was seeing it for the first time. It was covered in a haze of smoke but still unmistakably majestic. 

We made our way to the visitor center at the lake, charged our phones, and called for our ride to pick us up a day early. After that we bought some food and sat down to enjoy a well-deserved rest. 

Day 7: 9 people. 70 trees. 

The car ride back was an interesting experience for me. 

The final few days of our hike had been very tough, and those nights in the tent I had been looking forward to returning to civilization: the cleanliness, the convenience, and my own bed. 

But on the drive there was a part of me that missed what my life had been like on the hike. It was hard, but simple -- a cycle of walking, eating, and sleeping, all while surrounded by the beauty and complexity of nature. 

And sure, waxing poetic didn’t distract me from harsher realities of waking up covered in cold dew or losing the trail on a hot summer day. But part of me missed all of that. 

Still, sitting in an air-conditioned car with plenty of memories and stories to share, I was glad to be back.

When you're in a fantasy world-

You have everything-

A book or two-

And the language you’ve been studying-

The language is like your own happy place-

Filled by your joy and laughter-

You keep on-

Striding-

Striding-

Striding to that very place-

But you still can’t shake off that feeling-

Of what joy the language brings to you-

Every time you learn something new-

And there’s this spark in your eye that says you learned it too-

Whether you say-

¡Adiós!-

¡Hola!-

¡Buenos días!-

¡Buenas noches!-

You know this is always going to be-

A part of you-

You know this was what you were just meant-

To do-

Whether you say-

Goodbye-

Hello-

Good morning-

Good night-

You know this is always going to be-

A part of you-

You know this was what you were just meant-

To do-

Because in a dream world-

You can do anything-

You can say anything-

And this is what I’ll say-

¡Adiós!-

¡Hola!-

¡Buenos días!-

¡Buenas noches!-

I love Spanish-

Because in a dream world-

You can do anything-

You can say anything-

And this is what I’ll say-

Goodbye-

Hello-

Good morning-

Good night-

I love Español-

Grey skies as far as the eye can see

I love to sit, watch, and drink cozy tea

The rain hits the roof at a steady pace

I think about all the nights lightning scared me

Now all I know is the bright and beautiful showcase

It’s always calm before the storm similar to love

Love hits you when you least expect

Lightning is sent from the heavens above

The power and strength we are not to forget

Who’d ever thought that it would be thunder

That reminds me of when I was younger

Blank walls begging for the reverberation of blasted music, and 

The beckoning of posters boasting past possessions and professions, and

Mirrors filled by polaroids representing recollections, and 

Shelves for all the ribbons, trophies, honorable mentions, and...

A whole life was stripped from this room when the boxes came and went,

But these walls still beg, beautify, and harmonize the echoes of hopeful footsteps, and 

One day another life will be present within these four blank walls,

With a little paint and a little pain and more than a couple pitfalls, and 

This space is evolving, ever growing, ever changing, 

Just as the souls who set foot in this very frame, and 

I suppose I find the beauty in every tear, shard, and stain, and

It's easy to see things as they are, but beautiful to see how they’ve been.

Raven and Ivy were in the living room playing when Raven heard a knock on the back door. It was raining so Raven ignored it. Later, Raven was upstairs cleaning Ivy’s room when her mom came in. “Raven, can you watch Ivy this weekend?” Raven’s mom asked. Raven’s mom was cheerful and full of energy before dad left. Raven always thought of her as the color green, not like dark forest green but summer green, but now… now her mom was a greyish blue. 

“Yeah...” Raven said, looking down, ignoring her mother, then she let out a long sigh. Ivy is 8 years old and Raven is 11.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Ivy asked as she walked into her room and sat next to Raven on her bed. 

“Raven, can you start cleaning the kitchen?” Raven’s mom asked.

“Yes ma'am,” Raven said, sitting up. Raven cleaned up Ivy’s room then walked downstairs and started cleaning the kitchen when she noticed the back door was open. Raven shut the door and finished the kitchen, then she went to bed. 

“RAVEN!” her mom yelled. Raven shot up out of bed and ran down the stairs. “What a mess! Why didn’t you clean the living room like I asked you -- I mean, you just made it worse!” her mom yelled, pointing at muddy footprints coming from the back door into the living room.

“It wasn’t me!” Raven protested.

“Raven, don't lie!” her mom said furiously. 

“My foot isn’t even close to that size!” Raven yelled as her mom made her clean the footprints and go back to bed.

That night, Raven  dreamed that someone was walking around in her house, under the staircase. Suddenly, right when the person opened the door, Raven woke up to her alarm, which read, 5:31. Raven turned it off and went downstairs to make breakfast. She made toast, eggs, bacon, and poured 1 cup of orange juice and a cup of coffee with two sugars and 3 creams. 

“Ivy, breakfast!” 

It was now 7:25. Ivy woke up and came downstairs to fill her belly, “Good morning, sissy” Ivy said, smiling. 

“G'morning,” Raven said while sipping her coffee.

After breakfast, Raven did the dishes and started thinking of her dream. Suddenly, she said without thinking, “Wanna play a game?” Raven looked down almost immediately. 

“Sure Raven, what type?” Ivy said.

“Come on,” Raven said, putting the last dish on the drying mat. She hated using the dishwasher because she thought it wasn’t sanitary. Raven ran to the stairs and ripped a small piece of the wallpaper, and sure enough there was a door. Raven ripped more wallpaper. 

“Cool!” Ivy yelled, “How did you know it was here?” 

“I had a dream about it,” Raven said, surprised the door was even there. They walked inside and there were jars of candy and tons of toys stacked on the shelves. Raven closed the door and turned on the light switch.

“We can’t tell mom about this,“ Ivy said. 

“I know,” Raven responded. 

They started playing games for about an hour before leaving the small space, but when they came out it was dark. They were confused. 

“Maybe we lost track of time,” Raven said, and Ivy nodded in agreement. 

The two girls got into bed and went to sleep. The next morning they went downstairs, into the room -- but the door got stuck. They thought they were playing a game, -- so they stayed there for about 12 hours until the door opened. 

A man stood there with a woman who was probably his wife, and they looked at each other like they had just seen a ghost. 

Ivy grabbed Raven, and they got up and ran out past the woman and man. 

“What the!?” Raven yelled as she looked at the walls. They had photos of a family Raven didn’t know. 

… And that's how the sisters were finally found. They had disappeared for 11 years, yet were discovered one day under a couple’s staircase, untouched by time. They looked the same as the day they went missing…