What is in Oklahoma? Is there even anything to do in Oklahoma? Why would anyone want to go there? If I was asked these questions a year ago my response would carelessly be: Absolutely nothing, nope, and I am not sure. Now, if I was asked, I would say that it is straightforwardly one of the utmost beautiful states I have ever perceived. Driving the twelve hours it takes to get from Minnesota to Oklahoma My father, two brothers, and I had a time-consuming, mind-numbing journey but was well worth it. My expectations were not tremendously high, so I can say I learned one lesson for sure: do not downgrade a place you have never gazed upon with your own eyes. I hurdled out of the grimy, dirt-layered bed of, my dad’s friend, Jason’s crème colored
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Ironically, since it was midsummer and I wasn’t so physically in shape, the trail’s inclines and declines caused my body to externally ache all over—I knew I would surely feel it the next morning. I felt as if the stony trail desired my absence and wanted to tumble me over the edge of the steep hill beside it. I was in the interior of the pack at an incline when I heard a twig snap and a screech coming from my youngest brother, Andy, as if Michael Myers arose from the woods and asked him what his last words were. “SNAKE!” he yelped as he fell backwards almost creating a domino effect on the rest of us. Seeing nothing, I searched for the snake on both sides of the tall, scorched golden grass and rocks for approximately thirty seconds until I realized my brother was insane—there was nothing near us. We all decided it would be best just to forget about so we continued up the hill. When we got to the top of the mountain, there was a bench made of various sized slate grey, oval rocks; it was ancient and slowly deteriorating but surprisingly stable. It looked like the Native Americans put it together before Columbus took all their land in 1492. As I assembled myself onto the bench, I admired the opening of the trees that was roughly ten feet wide; I was seeing the world at just the right
Ironically, since it was midsummer and I wasn’t so physically in shape, the trail’s inclines and declines caused my body to externally ache all over—I knew I would surely feel it the next morning. I felt as if the stony trail desired my absence and wanted to tumble me over the edge of the steep hill beside it. I was in the interior of the pack at an incline when I heard a twig snap and a screech coming from my youngest brother, Andy, as if Michael Myers arose from the woods and asked him what his last words were. “SNAKE!” he yelped as he fell backwards almost creating a domino effect on the rest of us. Seeing nothing, I searched for the snake on both sides of the tall, scorched golden grass and rocks for approximately thirty seconds until I realized my brother was insane—there was nothing near us. We all decided it would be best just to forget about so we continued up the hill. When we got to the top of the mountain, there was a bench made of various sized slate grey, oval rocks; it was ancient and slowly deteriorating but surprisingly stable. It looked like the Native Americans put it together before Columbus took all their land in 1492. As I assembled myself onto the bench, I admired the opening of the trees that was roughly ten feet wide; I was seeing the world at just the right