I guys this is my common app essay that I've been working on a bit. Any suggestions or comments would be helpful! Oh and I know the title is lame, I just made it up. Does it actually need a title?
Thanks!
Erin
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I twisted in my sleeping bag, burrowing deeper into its red and blue folds. To my left, my sister was snoring lightly; the little puffs of air escaping from her lips turned misty-white upon contact with the chilly September air. Outside our tent the faint crackle of the dying fire blended with my parent's whispers as they picked up the campsite before bed. The thought that next year I wouldn't be participating in my family's annual Bar Harbor camping trip tradition loomed over my pillow, inducing symptoms of insomnia. In my half-dreamlike state I began to relive the memories of the many yars spent here.
Twenty years ago my parents and another couple, the Smiths, began the practice of camping at Mount Desert Narrows every Labor Day weekend. The tradition was only broken once: when I was born. My birthday, August 29th, was a bit to close to Labor Day for my parents to consider taking me on such an adventure. In the 17 years since both families have faithfully returned to our special camp site; not even the rain or a broken down car could keep us away.
Melissa and Casey, the Smith children, often joined my younger sister, Kristen, and me in exploring the rocky coast of the campground, building forts under picnic tables, and competing in Uno tournaments for hours. Together we shared many adventures, but some are especially vivid. I'll never forget the time Casey, who possesses some pyromaniac tendencies, went a little overboard with the lighter fluid resulting in a small explosion which launched a small rock into Melissa's nostril.
As the years passed and we continued to return to Mount Desert Narrows, mini traditions sprouted. One may argue that a group of teenagers don't belong on the hayride, but Melissa, Kristen, and I always make ourselves a seat between the many toddlers and parents who crowd into the splintered wooden seats.
Clamming is my least favorite tradition, but I would stick it out to help Melissa, a lover of all seafood, find buckets of clams. In the past, we have been successful clammmers; apparently the muddy sand bordering the water-front campsites is highly sought after real estate for the little buggers. However, our success didn't come for free. Once, Casey parked his bike what he thought a responsible distance from the rising tide's grasp. Unfortunately, he had judged inaccurately and while we had been distracted by our quest for clams the frigid Atlantic advanced and swallowed his bike. My sister has also fallen victim to a clamming-related accident. While trying to gather the metal buckets brimming with freshly plucked clams, the pot tipped and crushed her middle finger. This resulted in the loss of a fingernail and her inadvertently flipping people off for the next few weeks while trying to show them her injury.
Of all our traditions at Bar Harbor, there is one that we don't often mentionin a casual conversation. This highly secretive ritual involves dancing, a fire, and the infamous "camel song". That is all I can divulge at this time, who knows who could end up reading this?
In the morning, after I wake up, we will pack our cars, make our usual stop at "The Danish Treat" for some ice cream, and then we will set off on our three hour drive home. I realize now that though I will miss camping next year, when I'm off to college, I will be ready for the change. I'm lucky to have a strong family to support me through my new adventures, and maybe even include in my new traditions. Finally, warm and comfortable in my sleeping bag, I begin to drift off to sleep.
In my half-dreamlike state I began to relive the memories of the many years spent here.
Twenty years ago, my parents and another couple, the Smiths, began the practice of camping at Mount Desert Narrows every Labor Day weekend.
My birthday, August 29th, was a bit too close to Labor Day for my parents to consider taking me on such an adventure.
In the 17 years since, both families have faithfully returned to our special camp site; not even the rain or a broken down car could keep us away.
One may argue that a group of teenagers doesn't belong on the hayride, but Melissa, Kristen, and I always make ourselves a seat between the many toddlers and parents who crowded into the splintered wooden seats.
... muddy sand bordering the water-front campsites is highly sought after real estate for the little buggers.---this is great writing!
Once, Casey parked his bike at what he thought a responsible distance from the rising tide's grasp.
My sister has also fallen victim to a clamming-related accident. --this is so funny!
Of all our traditions at Bar Harbor, there is one that we don't often mention in casual conversation.
