The California landscape was defined by only one thing in the mid 1800s, gold. Gold was the lifeblood of the California landscape and the currency of the land. Gold drew miners from across the nation and the world. One such miner, known simply as George to his friends and as George L. Lewis to anyone else that had a concern with him, was determined to make a quick fortune through hard work and perseverance. George had worked hard in a factory for almost as long as he could remember and didn’t have a dime to show for it. He decided that he would go to California in order to make his fortune and he would return a rich man. He was not disillusioned about the work that he would have to do, or the hard nights that he would have to persevere through,
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When he saw the faces of men that had hope in their journey to California, but were now distraught with fear as they gazed upon the poor souls who had been mining everyday for months, he did not lose hope. Hope was too important to him, it was the only reason he woke up every morning. It was the only reason he worked until his back ached and he was drained of energy but he kept working. Hope was the only reason that he believed he could succeed in this landscape of crushed dreams. So George worked everyday in order to sustain his hope. He worked tirelessly for hours at a time. “You don’t really think that people like us are ever gonna get lucky enough to strike it rich do you?” That’s what he had been told by another miner after yet another day of hard work. “No matter what,” he said to himself on a rainy day, “I will make it through. I will make it through.” Even despite this, it came as no surprise when he eventually resigned himself to walk through the streets with his head hung and hardly a single spark of hope in his heart. No one survived the landscape of despair that he had taken refuge in. However, even though he couldn’t see it, there was still hope left for
When he saw the faces of men that had hope in their journey to California, but were now distraught with fear as they gazed upon the poor souls who had been mining everyday for months, he did not lose hope. Hope was too important to him, it was the only reason he woke up every morning. It was the only reason he worked until his back ached and he was drained of energy but he kept working. Hope was the only reason that he believed he could succeed in this landscape of crushed dreams. So George worked everyday in order to sustain his hope. He worked tirelessly for hours at a time. “You don’t really think that people like us are ever gonna get lucky enough to strike it rich do you?” That’s what he had been told by another miner after yet another day of hard work. “No matter what,” he said to himself on a rainy day, “I will make it through. I will make it through.” Even despite this, it came as no surprise when he eventually resigned himself to walk through the streets with his head hung and hardly a single spark of hope in his heart. No one survived the landscape of despair that he had taken refuge in. However, even though he couldn’t see it, there was still hope left for