I wrote this for a college English grammar assignment last semester. (My older sister and I are taking Bible college classes by correspondence from Landmark Baptist College of Haines City, Florida.) I hope this imaginary, descriptive account based on true occurrences will lend some insight to the ways of the Eskimo people and the Arctic tundra.
Proverbs 21:31 The horse is prepared against the day of battle: but safety is of the LORD.
It was early spring. The lone Eskimo man hunted for caribou on the vast, snow-covered tundra. The constant hum of his snow machine's motor was carried by the frigid air. Two weeks ago, the world would have been dark at this time of day. However, as the sun's span widened across the horizon each day, the land was growing brighter. The sky was clouded and rendered more snow to the land as the mighty wind, rushing unhindered across the tree-less landscape, swirled the shower about. These elements, however harsh, were no hindrance to the caribou hunter. When he was a boy, the men of his family -- father, uncles, aapa -- had expertly taught him to take notice of the barren tundra's every significant landmark, indistinguishable by the untrained eye. Traveling along, his dark, narrow-shaped eyes peeking out of his fur parka. he scanned the frozen wasteland for dots on the landscape -- indications of the hunted animal. Pulled behind his machine was a large sled which was waiting to be laden with two or three caribou to feed his family. He could already taste the hot, steaming bowl of delicious caribou soup his wife would prepare for him when he would returned home. Successful and proud. That was how he would feel as he walked into the door of his home.
Suddenly, the man’s snow machine sputtered and died. He quickly bounded off and he struggled to restart it, but to no avail. After some time, disappointed and upset at the turn of events, he began walking back to his village. His mukluks crunched in the snow at a steady pace. As the wind began to blow with ferocity, he pulled the hood of his parka around his face more tightly, sensing the need to retain body heat. In mere minutes, his range of view greatly diminished until nothing was discernible; he could see only a gray-white blank, like a curtain, in every direction. Surely any man, however experienced, could lose his direction in such a storm. Fear gripped his heart but determination held his senses. He plodded on, leaning into the massive gusts of wind that carried snowflakes. The frozen crystals stung his face and caused tears to fill his eyes, blinding his vision. His head pounded from the blasting cold.
After agonizing hours of confusing trepidation, the frozen and exhausted man saw a glimmer of light far in the distance to his left. The wind had abated slightly for a mere moment, enabling him to see the streetlight from his village. With a thrill of fear, he realized that otherwise he would have passed the village to wander endlessly in the blizzard. His eyes lit in hope. His steps quickened as he neared the village. His breath issued from his mouth in white puffs. He felt such gratefulness as he realized he was safe from the hand of the Arctic. He walked through the streets to his home thanking God for deliverance. As he opened his front door, the warmth from within hit the Eskimo man’s frozen face, bringing sensation back to his flesh in a sharp, tingling manner. As he greeted his wife and she asked him about his hunt, a short grunt and brief reply were his only outward indication of irritation towards the unsuccessful trip and the unfortunate weather. Tomorrow he would ask a friend to drive him across the tundra to the place where his machine broke down. Tonight he would rest.
It was early spring. The lone Eskimo man hunted for caribou on the vast, snow-covered tundra. The constant hum of his snow machine's motor was carried by the frigid air. Two weeks ago, the world would have been dark at this time of day. However, as the sun's span widened across the horizon each day, the land was growing brighter. The sky was clouded and rendered more snow to the land as the mighty wind, rushing unhindered across the tree-less landscape, swirled the shower about. These elements, however harsh, were no hindrance to the caribou hunter. When he was a boy, the men of his family -- father, uncles, aapa -- had expertly taught him to take notice of the barren tundra's every significant landmark, indistinguishable by the untrained eye. Traveling along, his dark, narrow-shaped eyes peeking out of his fur parka. he scanned the frozen wasteland for dots on the landscape -- indications of the hunted animal. Pulled behind his machine was a large sled which was waiting to be laden with two or three caribou to feed his family. He could already taste the hot, steaming bowl of delicious caribou soup his wife would prepare for him when he would returned home. Successful and proud. That was how he would feel as he walked into the door of his home.
Suddenly, the man’s snow machine sputtered and died. He quickly bounded off and he struggled to restart it, but to no avail. After some time, disappointed and upset at the turn of events, he began walking back to his village. His mukluks crunched in the snow at a steady pace. As the wind began to blow with ferocity, he pulled the hood of his parka around his face more tightly, sensing the need to retain body heat. In mere minutes, his range of view greatly diminished until nothing was discernible; he could see only a gray-white blank, like a curtain, in every direction. Surely any man, however experienced, could lose his direction in such a storm. Fear gripped his heart but determination held his senses. He plodded on, leaning into the massive gusts of wind that carried snowflakes. The frozen crystals stung his face and caused tears to fill his eyes, blinding his vision. His head pounded from the blasting cold.
After agonizing hours of confusing trepidation, the frozen and exhausted man saw a glimmer of light far in the distance to his left. The wind had abated slightly for a mere moment, enabling him to see the streetlight from his village. With a thrill of fear, he realized that otherwise he would have passed the village to wander endlessly in the blizzard. His eyes lit in hope. His steps quickened as he neared the village. His breath issued from his mouth in white puffs. He felt such gratefulness as he realized he was safe from the hand of the Arctic. He walked through the streets to his home thanking God for deliverance. As he opened his front door, the warmth from within hit the Eskimo man’s frozen face, bringing sensation back to his flesh in a sharp, tingling manner. As he greeted his wife and she asked him about his hunt, a short grunt and brief reply were his only outward indication of irritation towards the unsuccessful trip and the unfortunate weather. Tomorrow he would ask a friend to drive him across the tundra to the place where his machine broke down. Tonight he would rest.
