Personal Narrative: Duck Life

Of all the hobbies out there one of my most fond hobbies would have to be duck hunting. It’s something that nothing else in this word can compare to. Chasing ducks is something that’s been in my blood for three generations now. From a very young age I’ve been very into the sport. Duck hunting is a passion that comes deep from my family, from my dad to my grandfather we’ve all become obsessed with the sport. Wading through the flooded fields and timber of the Mississippi delta, and shooting ducks is something that will never go out of style to me.

Each level is amaze with obstacles. During the levels the boats sway back and forth and objects slide towards him. The game is avalable in app stores for $2.99. My scientific opinion is that I think it would be hard to make

One glorious morning my grandpa and I got up bright and early. We got ready and headed into the woods to prepare for our deer hunt. We walked through the brush as quiet as possible so that we would not spook any animals in the area. On our way to the hunting spot, we stopped in a couple areas to take in how beautiful the view was. Once we took the view in we kept moving toward our hunting spot. Finally, we reach our hunting blind and we get all set up for the hunt. My grandpa and I sat in the blind and talked quietly about how we hoped a deer would come by soon so that we didn’t have to hunt all day. About twenty-five minutes into the hunt I hear a faint noise come from behind me. My eyes lit up with excitement hoping that when I turned around

Leaves have all transformed to different colors, pumpkins are being hunted down, and the smell of Fall is brewing. October is here. It is not the costumes, carvings, or delicious caramel corn that gets me all hyped up, it is the opening day of duck season. Duck hunting is one of my most cherished times to spend with my dad, grandpa, and younger sister. I started tagging along with my dad at about three years old. At that age, rather than handling a gun, I handle some crayons and a coloring book in the back of the blind. Five years later I was able to start shooting on my own and still continue to.

Lobstering is in my blood. It is what supports my family and most of my town. I have been doing it my whole life i’ve had a lobster license since i was 8 years old which is as young as you can get one. I love summer just for lobstering season plus I like the money outcome. I hate school starting the most because it tires me out because I play football everyday except sundays and some saturdays so i have to wake up early and haul on my days off from school.

On one of those nights, when I drifted off into a nightmare, I found myself alone in a silent town that looked to be abandoned. The walls of the buildings, as well as the sidewalks had writing on them. Words such as "Mr. Piggyton" and "Play!" were drawn on with chalk. There were also random names written as well. The most troubling was the large drawing of Mr. Piggyton that was drawn on the walls of an abandoned candy store. Below that, "Let's all have some fun!" was written.

If you try to race a swarm of Yellowjackets, you are in for a world of hurt. When I was 12, my friends and I decided we would have a race amongst the magnolia trees near our house in the country. Closer to a shrub than a tree, the limbs hung low to the ground, creating a perfect obstacle course for the neighborhood kids to play in. When we decided on a set of rules and nominated a referee, we made our way to our starting positions. After we started to maneuver our way through the bows and crooked trees, I ended falling behind due to me being the slowest of the bunch. It was at this point, I heard a faint noise from under my feet and immediately stopped to inspect the ground around me only to see a Yellowjacket nest. During my slow understanding of the situation, I had managed to step on and kill at least one of the yellow bugs that were guarding the nest's entrance. The reaction was not something I had

I don't remember how I got old so quickly, or how I got in this nursing home. Well, as a matter of fact I don't remember much these days. One thing I do remember though is that no one, and I mean no one, can beat me in bingo. It seems just yesterday that I was in my room as a little kid playing bingo with my best friend, Duck the weiner dog. Maybe that's why I never lost, because I was playing a dog. Nevermind that, It's 10 o’clock now, why did I get up so early, and at noon, that's when the fun starts. At noon that's when the fun starts… did I already say that, I can't remember anymore. Noon, when the fun starts, and by fun I mean bingo. I still havent got out of bed and it's already 10:09. I can't really see well so every time I need the

Before I started going to SOTA, I had been homeschooled for the past X years. And when I transferred from homeschooling to high school, it was like traveling to a different country. During the early months of my freshman year, I felt like everyone around me was speaking a different language and sadly I didn’t have google translate. I was unsure about how to appeal to the seemingly endless crowds of unfamiliar teachers, students, and social customs. This, as I have discovered is unfortunately not just a high school thing. Even when you have survived freshman year and have some vague sense of who you are and how to be your most authentic self, one can still face the common feeling of being out of place in your current environment.

I never dreamed of being in a band, not in a million years. One day I was at the monthly Jam at Center Stage Vintage Guitars. I always had a great time jamming with the people there. And I always brought my banjo to the jams. It started out just like they usually do when all of a sudden this guitar player came up to me and said, “I got to talk to you.” I was confused and felt like a cat with no claws because I didn't know what he wanted. He looked funny because his extremely curly hair was as long as a redwood tree. He introduced himself and a bass player next to him. The guitarist was Greg Sanders and the bass player was Neill Jones. Neill looked as short as a middle-schooler, although he was twenty three.

My number one and dominate passion is deer hunting with a bow. If I could turn this into a business venture of mine, I would enjoy every single day at work and not take any days off. I think it would be an amazing idea because first off, I love to hunt. Therefore I would be doing something I love every day through hunting season and prepare throughout the spring and summer months to be ready when the first day of the season rolls around. Second, I would be traveling, learning new things and meeting new people along the way, as well as teaching others the tricks and the trades that I have used along the way. The steps I would take to start this business would be very tough but it would be accomplish able with dedication and hard work. The first

On the surface, I grew up in the classic, nuclear, Leave it to Beaver-esque family. There was a mother, a father, and two darling children. That, however, is where the similarities ended. For one thing, an interracial couple would not have gone over well in the fifties, but besides that, my parents didn’t fall into the stereotypical roles that dominate society. My mom was not a stay-at-home homemaker, in fact she worked the most hours in our house, nor did dad scrimp on chores or child rearing duties. And even though both my parents had long, and unfairly luscious hair, my dad’s was infinitely more fun to braid because I got to put matching pink bows in his beard. My sister and I were never limited either. Our parents never once told us that we couldn’t do

Looking back at my original “The frog in the Well” essay from the beginning of the class made me realize how much my knowledge and perspective expanded from before. Before I used to think that individuals think and act in different ways because of the way they were raised, but this class made me realize that it’s not only that. Individuals think and act in different ways due to many different circumstances such as background, parents, environment, and other variation that involve in this.

Mac was just a confused, anxious, and desperate man after their crash. I feel bad that he had to endure such a harsh survival on the raft and not even live to see the end of it. Although this is true, I, like Louie, would have been disappointed that he had eaten the only food supply after the crash of their plane. If I was in Mac’s position, I’m not sure if I would have eaten all the chocolate, but I would have definitely felt the need to do something. When Louie decides it is a good idea to pet a shark, the sharks attack the raft. Louie’s life is saved by Mac when he defends the sharks away with a paddle. This shows bravery and that Mac was not a coward like Louie had deemed him when he ate the food. Mac risked Louie and Phil’s lives

My Family and I were at home eating dinner. After dinner I told my mom that I had left something on top of the mountain, so she said “‘go up to get it Mary. But she didn’t want me to go alone so I went to go see if my friend was home but he wasn’t so I disobeyed my moms rules and went up by myself anyway. And it was starting to get dark so I had to get the base fast but I couldn’t find it. Now it was really dark and 2 hours had already passed and I couldn't my way off the mountain because it was so dark. And with my luck my phone died so I couldn’t call anyone for help, so I just started walking and walking after a little bit I realized I was getting nowhere so again I walked eventually I just fell and went to