yet another boring essay

A Trip on “Sideways Eight” in Tahoe (yet another boring essay)

Idle once again, gazing at the mountains surrounding the sunny California side of Lake Tahoe, I eagerly await for my father to get the key for the rental boat. Finally, he told me to hold the keys while he carried our bright red cooler of food. On the keychain were the numbers 00. Excitedly, I then proceeded with my two brothers and my parents to hop onto the boat. Unfortunately, the adventure had to be delayed a little longer. We all had to hear more instructions and safety tips from a crew member. Of utmost importance were the instructions to radio in when we approached the buoys. Using the boat’s radio, we were to radio in “Sideways Eight coming into the dock.” It took me a few seconds to figure out that was a catchy way of saying boat number 00. These crew members knew how to make their job and our adventure fun! As we pulled away, our instructor called out, “Drive it like you stole it!” We were off!

Intensely observing the deep water of one the clearest lakes in the world, I felt the cushiony, soft carpet between my toes. My father sat down in the driver’s seat. He drove the boat out into the spacious open water; our journey had begun.  Spinning around to view the dock, which was becoming smaller, I detected something in back of the boat: a large inner tube. Realizing we had possession of a giant inner tube, my brother, James, and I pleaded to my parents, to ride on it. When they finally gave in, James and I unhooked it and jumped on it; the boat took off without us. Lengthy and durable, the tow line, which was attached to the boat and the tube, became taut, and we, clinging to the handles, jerked. As we gave the thumbs-up to go faster, I felt the bounce of the waves much stronger than when I was on the boat. The freezing water splashed, and the wind whipped at my face. Bobbing in the wake, I pondered, What if we went outside the wake? Attempting to go outside the wake, I fell off. Once safely back in the boat, I dried off and lived to tell the tale.

Slightly later, my family and I found a compact, picturesque island that was steep with rocks and cliffs. On the top of the tiny mountain, a tiny, rock, one-room house proudly stood. Without thinking, we excitedly jumped in the freezing water and swam to the shore. Climbing up to the top, we felt the hot sun beating down on us. It felt good against the cold water clinging to my back. My bare feet were jabbed with rocks. Planting one foot after the other, I reached the top and bolted into the tiny house. Inside a fireplace humbly sat and nothing more showed itself besides the walls: not even a roof. Climbing down is always harder than climbing up. Being my second time climbing on the small mountain, I noticed more details. Oddly enough, at some points organic stair-like rocks lead down from the mountain. Thinking of how amazing they lead down the hill, I thought to myself how God made them.

Once we returned back to the boat, my stomach started rumbling. My parents decided it was time for lunch. As we ate food from our cooler, our boat drifted slightly. Eating my dry sandwich of turkey, tomato, and lettuce, I crunched on the crispy lettuce. As I took another bite, I felt the texture of the tomato in my mouth. Another bite showed me slimy turkey. Combining the three flavors into my mouth made me want more. Juicy and soft, the tomato especially punched the tangy zing into my mouth.

In conclusion, this story reminds myself of how God made every little detail. Noticing the little things is just one lesson that I learned on that trip. From the icy splash, to the rocky touch of the mountains, God made everything so thoroughly. Because God crafted the microscopic things, we are blown away by His awesomeness. Listening to the plunge of the waves against the bow, smelling the clean air, taking in the whole experience forced the goodness of God on me. Every wave has a purpose; every rock has a place; even the atoms of a sandwich tell the story of God’s creation.

At first, I enjoyed writing this essay until it got monotonous; my teacher make me make multiple revisions. Yeah.