Growing up, some of my first toddling footsteps were along the dusty path of the John Muir Trail in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. By the age of six, I had a dream: to through-hike the 2,665-mile Pacific Crest Trail from the Mexico Border to Manning Park in British Columbia, Canada. Just over two years later I was living that dream, each day filled with new adventures and breathtaking scenery. I witnessed the brilliant colors of a desert sunset and slid down snowy passes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I strolled through fields of wildflowers and sheltered under towering pines during a three-day storm. I discovered a Blue Jay nest tucked into the crook of a Joshua Tree and scooped aquatic invertebrates out of an alpine pond. I balanced on the spine of the Knife’s Edge in Goat Rocks Wilderness and searched for wild mushrooms deep in the Washington forest. I listened for the angry hiss of rattlesnakes in the Mojave Desert and was serenaded by the bugling of the elk in the fall. Five months after setting out, I stood at the Canadian border having reached my goal becoming, at that time, the youngest to do so and learning along the way that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to. Rather than resting on my laurels, I was already dreaming of the next adventure. In the next few years, I completed both the Colorado Trail and the 3,000 mile Continental Divide Trail, experiencing a whole slice of wilderness that many will never know. I guzzled green water from desert cow troughs in New Mexico and waded through waist-deep, rushing rivers. I post-holed through miles of snow in Colorado and glissaded down steep, icy passes. I scaled 14,000-foot peaks and followed an ancient Pueblan trading route across a rocky lava field. I heard the thundering hooves of a herd of frightened elk and the sharp chirp of the increasingly rare pika, a reclusive, mountain-dwelling mammal that is being driven to ever-higher elevations by the rising temperatures below. With new trails came new life lessons. Whether parched from extreme desert heat or drenched from an afternoon thunderstorm, I learned to find beauty and joy in challenging circumstances. I became more independent and discovered that everything I really need to survive can be carried on my back. Thousands of miles on the trail also taught me to be comfortable spending time in my own company, a skill that has proved essential both on long trail runs in the mountains and during the months of isolation imposed by COVID. And, after experiencing the incredible beauty and diversity of the natural world, from the vast, sun-baked deserts of California and New Mexico to the highest Sierra Nevada and Rocky Mountain peaks, I developed a lifelong love for the wilderness. Returning home from the trail, I found ways to share my experiences and my love for the outdoors with others. I talked to people about my hikes and wrote articles about my experiences. I shared informal hikes with my friends and, later, led groups of children on hikes in the mountains while working for an Eastern Sierra day camp. My efforts paid off. Many people have told me that they were encouraged to take their own children hiking after hearing about my adventures. My early experiences exploring the mountains inspired me, helping me develop into a passionate environmentalist who is committed to making a substantive impact on the world. I plan to complete a dual major at Cornell University, studying both Ecology and Evolutionary Biology and Environmental Science, giving me the scientific tools I need to understand complex environmental problems. An Environmental, Energy, and Resource Economics minor will provide the perfect complement these majors, helping me understand the economic framework and teaching me how to use economic tools to evaluate the efficacy of proposed environmental solutions. These studies will provide the perfect combination of scientific knowledge and economic understanding that will help me tackle seemingly insurmountable environmental problems, such as the climate-driven wildfires ravaging the Sierra Nevada Mountains near my home or the disappearance of threatened species such as the pika. With the right preparation and training, I believe that I can research and discover practical solutions to the impractical problems that threaten our beloved wilderness and help preserve it for future generations.

Growing up in a small, rural town in the shadow of the towering Sierra Nevada Mountains, some of my first toddling footsteps were taken along the dusty path of the Pacific Crest Trail. These first steps on the trail instilled a lifelong love of the mountains and a passion for fitness. By the age of six, I had a dream: to hike the 2,665-mile Pacific Crest Trail from the Mexican border to Canada. Two years later, I stood at the Canadian border having reached my goal, becoming, at that time, the youngest to do so. Rather than resting on my laurels, I was already dreaming of the next adventure. Over the next few years, I completed both the Colorado Trail and the 3,000 mile Continental Divide Trail, learning along the way that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to, a lesson I have since applied to achieve both academic success and athletic records. Returning home from the trail, my pursuit of fitness led me to my school’s cross country and track teams. Learning to balance the demands of varsity sports with a heavy load of honors and AP classes, a leadership role on Student Senate, volunteer work, and other extracurricular activities has been a challenge but, as a result, I have learned essential time management and organizational skills that will serve me well in college and beyond. But even more important were the immediate benefits of fitness. Instead of making me tired, long, hard runs or workouts energize me, giving me what it takes to tackle even the most demanding days. And the endorphins released when I run or work out ensure that I face each new challenge with a smile. Fitness also gives me my sense of community. My team is my family, and we support and encourage each other through the ups and downs of training and racing. And with so many common experiences, I often feel an instant connection with other runners and hikers I meet on the track or out on the trail. I feel that same connection to driven athletes in other sports or pursuits due to the passion for fitness we share. My pursuit of fitness also led to my career goals. My early experiences exploring the mountains inspired me, helping me develop into a passionate environmentalist who is committed to making a substantive impact on the world. The next step of my journey will take me to Cornell University, where I will run on Cornell’s Division I Cross Country and Track Teams and study Ecology. There I plan to continue pursuing my athletic goals while developing a skill set that will allow me to give back to my community by protecting the Pacific Crest Trail and the many other wilderness places I have grown to love. And by applying the same grit and determination that have served me well in my athletic pursuits to my academic endeavors, I know I have what it takes to succeed.

Icy water splashed up my shins and dripped down my hair. My feet felt heavy but my spirit felt light as I raced through the ankle-deep water, surrounded by my team. Spring rains had, once again, flooded our ancient compressed dirt track, transforming it into a 400-meter oval swimming pool. Although the nearby roads and trails would provide relatively dry running, we had opted to complete the traditional “Aquaman” loops around the flooded track. “Again?” I queried as we reached the end of the first lap. “Again,” the team unanimously agreed, as we plunged in for another lap, our grins spreading from ear to ear. My cross country and track teams have incorporated the usual assortment of fun, team-building activities. We’ve shared weekly team dinners, played hide-and-go-seek and tag in the dark, and exchanged secret sister gifts. We’ve crowded into vans for long drives, played games, and shared delicious restaurant meals on road trips. We’ve bunked together at pre-season running camp and raced in costume on Halloween. But while these activities bring us together, the most important team-building moments are not the ones we plan. They are the special moments that grow organically from our team values. Although running is largely an individual sport, we live the motto “there is no I in team” and approach each new day with joy. So rather than resting, stretching, or cooling down when we finish a race, we stay on the sidelines to cheer on the rest of the team, guaranteeing that our last competitor finishes to even louder cheers than the first. We celebrate each others’ successes, such as new personal records (ice cream!) and console each other when things don’t go well (more ice cream!). One of my favorite team memories is from the day I broke my school’s record for the 3200-meter run for the first time. Two teammates helped me warm up, then walked me over to the starting area. As I ran the first of my eight laps around the track, my teammates’ cheers followed me. The entire team had carefully positioned themselves so that I could hear their cheers and feel their support the whole way around the track, for all eight laps. As I passed my teammates on the final lap, they all sprinted to the finish line to congratulate me on my new school record. But this love and support is not limited to the girls on our team. We pay it forward to other runners who might not have teammates available to support them. Another favorite memory is from the California State Cross Country Championships, where my teammates joined me on a mad dash around the course to cheer on an individual qualifier from our league who was at the State Meet by herself. For that one day, we adopted Jade as an honorary member of our team and surrounded her with our support. Some might view our team’s traditional “Aquaman” runs as a forced death march. For us, they are a joyful, carefree time, splashing through spring puddles. The difference can be summed up in a single word: attitude. So while I hope to participate in all of the traditional team-building activities when I join my new Cross Country and Track teams at Cornell University next year, I am also looking forward to bringing some of my current team traditions, like surrounding my teammates with support at our meets or splashing through puddles together on the first stormy day. And whether we are participating in a fun team-building activity or slogging through our sixteenth 400-meter repeat at the end of a hard workout, I will uplift my team with an attitude of joy.

Growing up, some of my first toddling footsteps were along the dusty path of the John Muir Trail in the Sierra Nevada Mountains and by the age of six, I had a dream: to through-hike the 2,665-mile Pacific Crest Trail from the Mexico Border to Manning Park in British Columbia, Canada. Just over two years later I was living that dream, each day filled with new adventures and breathtaking scenery. I witnessed the brilliant colors of a desert sunset and slid down snowy passes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I strolled through fields of wildflowers and sheltered under towering pines during a three-day storm. I discovered a Blue Jay nest tucked into the crook of a Joshua Tree and scooped aquatic invertebrates out of an alpine pond. I balanced on the spine of the Knife’s Edge in Goat Rocks Wilderness and searched for wild mushrooms deep in the Washington forest. I listened for the angry hiss of rattlesnakes in the Mojave Desert and was serenaded by the bugling of the elk in the fall. Five months after setting out, I stood at the Canadian border having reached my goal becoming, at that time, the youngest to do so and learning along the way that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to. Rather than resting on my laurels, I was already dreaming of the next adventure. In the next few years, I completed both the Colorado Trail and the 3,000 mile Continental Divide Trail, experiencing a whole slice of wilderness that many will never know. I guzzled green water from desert cow troughs in New Mexico and waded through waist-deep, rushing rivers. I post-holed through miles of snow in Colorado and glissaded down steep, icy passes. I scaled 14,000 foot peaks and followed an ancient Pueblan trading route across a rocky lava field. I heard the thundering hooves of a herd of frightened elk and the sharp chirp of the increasingly rare pika, a reclusive, mountain-dwelling mammal that is being driven to ever-higher elevations by the rising temperatures below. My early experiences exploring the mountains inspired me, giving me a lifelong love for the mountains and helping me develop into a passionate environmentalist who is committed to making a substantive impact on the world. I plan to complete a dual major at Cornell University, studying both Ecology and Evolutionary Biology and Environmental Science, giving me the scientific tools I need to understand complex environmental problems. An Environmental, Energy, and Resource Economics minor will provide the perfect complement these majors, helping me understand the economic framework and teaching me how to use economic tools to evaluate the efficacy of proposed environmental solutions. These studies will provide the perfect combination of scientific knowledge and economic understanding that will help me tackle seemingly insurmountable environmental problems, such as the climate-driven wildfires ravaging the Sierra Nevada Mountains near my home or the disappearance of threatened species such as the pika. With the right preparation and training, I believe that I can research and discover practical solutions to the impractical problems that threaten our beloved wilderness and help preserve it for future generations.

A thick gray blanket of smoke smothered the valley. I looked west toward the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the towering sentinels that usually guard my home in the tiny Eastern Sierra town of Bishop, now completely invisible behind an impenetrable, gray wall. With the Creek Fire raging just thirty miles to the west, I could barely discern the ghostly outline of my neighbor’s elm tree, just a few houses down the street, let alone the more distant mountains. Fueled by climate change, the Creek Fire had already brought weeks of hazardous air quality as it rapidly devoured 379,895 acres of wilderness to become the largest single fire in California history. Growing up in the Eastern Sierra, climate change has shaped many of my childhood memories. I have experienced the fear of frantically packing an emergency evacuation bag while watching the red glow of yet another wildfire inch closer to my home and the frustration of choking down lungfuls of smoke on my way to school only to learn that school has been canceled. I have hiked through ghostly beetle-killed and fire-scarred forests and past barren clear-cuts with mountains of discarded timber stacked up like funeral pyres. But I have also experienced the rare joy of ice skating on Tenaya Lake in Yosemite, usually inaccessible and snow-bound in winter. And I have known the excitement of spotting the increasingly rare pika, a reclusive, mountain-dwelling mammal that is being driven to ever-higher elevations by the rising temperatures below. I have walked through vibrant fields carpeted with a potpourri of wildflowers and have witnessed the burgeoning new life of a landscape recovering from fire. These early experiences exploring the mountains and watching climate change in action inspired me, helping me develop into a passionate environmentalist who is committed to giving back to my community and making a substantive impact on the world by working to address climate change and other environmental problems threatening the world today. The next step of my journey will take me to Cornell University, where I will study Ecology and Evolutionary Biology with a minor in Environmental Economics. There I hope to gain the scientific knowledge I need to understand complex environmental problems while learning how to use economic tools to evaluate the efficacy of proposed environmental solutions. With the right preparation and training, I believe that I can help tackle seemingly insurmountable environmental problems, such as the climate-driven wildfires ravaging the Sierra Nevada Mountains near my home or the disappearance of the pika. But I realized long ago that I don’t have to wait until college to start making a difference. I am a founding member of my school’s Environmental Club, which has worked to raise student and community awareness about climate change and other environmental issues. Together, we have organized marches, rallies, and community events and have participated in community clean-ups. These actions might seem small, but “the ripple effects of small things [can be] extraordinary.” (Bevin) So while I hope to tackle the world's environmental problems someday, for now, I will continue to act locally to be a “pebble in the pond” (Cook), knowing that the ripple effect of my actions may bring about a tidal wave of change.

Growing up in a small, remote, rural town in the shadow of the towering Sierra Nevada Mountains, some of my first toddling footsteps were taken along the dusty path of the Pacific Crest Trail. These first steps on the trail instilled a lifelong love of the mountains and, by the age of six, I had a dream: to pursue my love for the outdoors by through-hiking the 2,665-mile Pacific Crest Trail from the Mexican Border to Canada. Two years later, I stood at the Canadian border having reached my goal, becoming, at that time, the youngest to do so. Rather than resting on my laurels, I was already dreaming of the next adventure. Over the next few years, I completed both the Colorado Trail and the 3,000 mile Continental Divide Trail, learning along the way that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to, a lesson I have since applied to achieve both academic success and athletic records. Returning home from the trail, I joined the cross country and track teams. As a varsity athlete in the remote Eastern Sierra, I regularly traveled between four to six hours each way to attend my cross country and track meets, sometimes twice in a single week. Waking up at 2 a.m. and loading into the school vans was a normal part of our routine, and returning home after midnight was not uncommon. Our demanding travel schedule was only part of the equation. I also spend 15-20 hours per week training or at practice. Learning to balance the demands of varsity sports with a heavy load of honors and AP classes, a leadership role on Student Senate, volunteer work, and other extracurricular activities has been a challenge but, as a result, I have learned essential time management and organizational skills. I learned to take advantage of every spare minute, identifying studying and other work that could be completed in the car. I also learned to plan ahead for larger projects and assignments that required internet, which I often did not have while traveling. I know these skills will serve me well in college and beyond. My early experiences exploring the mountains inspired me, helping me develop into a passionate environmentalist who is committed to giving back to my community and making a substantive impact on the world. The next step of my journey will take me to Cornell University, where I will study Ecology with a minor in Environmental Economics. There I hope to gain the scientific knowledge I need to understand complex environmental problems while learning how to use economic tools to evaluate the efficacy of proposed environmental solutions. This skill set will help me give back to my community by protecting the Pacific Crest Trail and the many other wilderness places I have grown to love. And by applying the same grit and determination that have served me well in my athletic pursuits to my academic endeavors, I know I have what it takes to succeed.

A thick gray blanket of smoke smothered the valley. I looked west toward the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the towering sentinels that usually guard my home in the tiny Eastern Sierra town of Bishop, now completely invisible behind an impenetrable, gray wall. With the Creek Fire raging just thirty miles to the west, I could barely discern the ghostly outline of my neighbor’s elm tree, just a few houses down the street, let alone the more distant mountains. Fueled by climate change, the Creek Fire had already brought weeks of hazardous air quality as it rapidly devoured 379,895 acres of wilderness to become the largest single fire in California history. Growing up in the Eastern Sierra, climate change has shaped many of my childhood memories. I have experienced the fear of frantically packing an emergency evacuation bag while watching the red glow of yet another wildfire inch closer to my home and the frustration of choking down lungfuls of smoke on my way to school only to learn that school has been canceled. I have hiked through ghostly beetle-killed and fire-scarred forests and past barren clear-cuts with mountains of discarded timber stacked up like funeral pyres. But I have also experienced the rare joy of ice skating on Tenaya Lake in Yosemite, usually inaccessible and snow-bound in winter. And I have known the excitement of spotting the increasingly rare pika, a reclusive, mountain-dwelling mammal that is being driven to ever-higher elevations by the rising temperatures below. I have walked through vibrant fields carpeted with a potpourri of wildflowers and have witnessed the burgeoning new life of a landscape recovering from fire. These early experiences exploring the mountains and watching climate change in action inspired me, helping me develop into a passionate environmentalist who is committed to tackling the world’s environmental problems by finding scientifically-grounded solutions that account for our economic realities. My intended major in Biological Sciences, with a concentration in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, will give me the scientific tools I need to understand complex environmental problems. I plan to complement my major with an Environmental, Energy, and Resource Economics minor to learn how to use economic tools to evaluate the efficacy of proposed environmental solutions and to explore the necessary compromises between competing political and economic interests. With the right preparation and training, I believe that I can help tackle seemingly insurmountable environmental problems, such as the climate-driven wildfires ravaging the Sierra Nevada Mountains near my home.

A thick gray blanket of smoke smothered the valley. I looked west toward the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the towering sentinels that usually guard my home in the tiny Eastern Sierra town of Bishop, now completely invisible behind an impenetrable, gray wall. With the Creek Fire raging just thirty miles to the west, I could barely discern the ghostly outline of my neighbor’s elm tree, just a few houses down the street, let alone the more distant mountains. Fueled by climate change, the Creek Fire had already brought weeks of hazardous air quality as it rapidly devoured 379,895 acres of wilderness to become the largest single fire in California history. Growing up in the Eastern Sierra, climate change has shaped many of my childhood memories. I have experienced the fear of frantically packing an emergency evacuation bag while watching the red glow of yet another wildfire inch closer to my home and the frustration of choking down lungfuls of smoke on my way to school only to learn that school has been canceled. I have hiked through ghostly beetle-killed and fire-scarred forests and past barren clear-cuts with mountains of discarded timber stacked up like funeral pyres. But I have also experienced the rare joy of ice skating on Tenaya Lake in Yosemite, usually inaccessible and snow-bound in winter. And I have known the excitement of spotting the increasingly rare pika, a reclusive, mountain-dwelling mammal that is being driven to ever-higher elevations by the rising temperatures below. I have walked through vibrant fields carpeted with a potpourri of wildflowers and have witnessed the burgeoning new life of a landscape recovering from fire. These early experiences exploring the mountains and watching climate change in action inspired me, helping me develop into a passionate environmentalist who is committed to tackling the world’s environmental problems by finding scientifically-grounded solutions that account for our economic realities. My intended major in Biological Sciences, with a concentration in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, will give me the scientific tools I need to understand complex environmental problems. I plan to complement my major with an Environmental, Energy, and Resource Economics minor to learn how to use economic tools to evaluate the efficacy of proposed environmental solutions and to explore the necessary compromises between competing political and economic interests. With the right preparation and training, I believe that I can help tackle seemingly insurmountable environmental problems, such as the climate-driven wildfires ravaging the Sierra Nevada Mountains near my home.

Even with my eyes squeezed shut tight, I could still sense the 472 spider legs as they slowly advanced up my purple nylon sleeping bag towards my head. After an exhausting, 20-mile day, the postage-stamp-sized patch of bare ground we now called home had seemed like a palace. Too small for a tent, we tossed our sleeping bags down on a crinkly Tyvek tarp to camp for the night. But then we started noticing thin black shadows scuttling across our tarp. Spiders. Lots of spiders. Hundreds of spiders, and now a small army steadily marched toward us. Our “palace” was actually a spider hollow. After months on the trail, I had definitely learned to find joy in the most challenging circumstances, but now I simply wanted to hike on. “Mom? I think we need to keep hiking.” At the age of six, I had a dream: to through-hike the 2,665-mile Pacific Crest Trail from the Mexico Border to Manning Park in British Columbia, Canada. Now, two years later, I was living that dream, each day filled with new adventures and breathtaking scenery. I witnessed the brilliant colors of a desert sunset and slid down snowy passes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I strolled through fields of wildflowers and sheltered under towering pines. I discovered a Blue Jay nest tucked into the crook of a Joshua Tree and scooped aquatic invertebrates out of an alpine pond. However, the trail also naturally brought its share of challenges: the intense desert heat, the freezing rain, hail, and sleet of mountain thunderstorms, and long days of hiking. Now it brought a new challenge. Spiders. Reluctantly I packed up my backpack, loathe to leave camp after such a tiring day, but eager to escape Aragog’s hollow. We hiked into the night, but somehow the lateness of the hour didn’t bother me. Moonlight glistened on the nearby creek, and bright pinpricks of starlight pierced the darkness of the sky. The cool night air washed over our skin, and we settled into a familiar rhythm, just one foot in front of the other on the warm, dusty brown trail. At night, the Pacific Crest Trail was very different than it appeared during the day, and I developed a new appreciation for the other mysterious nocturnal creatures who made the trail their home. Bats swooped in and out of the trees, scooping up insects. A mountain scorpion skittered across the path, alerted by our footfalls. A coyote yipped in the distance and I thought about the larger creatures that shared the night: bears, wolves, and mountain lions. The magic of each discovery lightened my sluggish steps, easing the pain of my first 28-mile day until we eventually found a new spider-free camp. Finding the joy in difficult circumstances became my superpower, strengthening me through the rest of the Pacific Crest Trail that summer and other challenging experiences throughout my life. It helps me smile through my sixteenth 400-meter repeat at track practice or enjoy the gale-force winds in my hair on the tenth mile of my long run. Whether tackling a 30-mile day, a 14,000-foot peak, or simply a mountain of homework, I have learned to see challenges as opportunities and face each new challenge with joy.

If a journey of 1,000 miles begins with a single step, you could say my journey in STEM began with my first toddling step along the John Muir Trail in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. These first steps on the trail instilled a lifelong love of the mountains and, by the age of six, I had a dream: to pursue my love for the outdoors by through-hiking the 2,665-mile Pacific Crest Trail from the Mexican Border to Canada. Two years later, I stood at the Canadian border having reached my goal, becoming, at that time, the youngest to do so. Rather than resting on my laurels, I was already dreaming of the next adventure. Over the next few years, I completed both the Colorado Trail and the 3,000 mile Continental Divide Trail, learning along the way that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to, a lesson I have since applied to achieve both academic success and athletic records. My love for the outdoors has grown into a passion for the environment. The next step of my journey in STEM will take me to Cornell University, where I will study Ecology and Evolutionary Biology with a minor in Environmental, Energy, and Resource Economics. There I hope to gain the scientific knowledge I need to understand complex environmental problems while learning how to use economic tools to evaluate the efficacy of proposed environmental solutions, a skill set that will help me protect the Pacific Crest Trail, the Continental Divide Trail, and the many other wilderness places I have grown to love. And by applying the same grit and determination that have served me well in my athletic pursuits to my academic endeavors, I know I have what it takes to succeed.

A thick gray blanket of smoke smothered the valley. I looked west toward the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the towering sentinels that usually guard my home in the tiny Eastern Sierra town of Bishop, now completely invisible behind an impenetrable, gray wall. With the Creek Fire raging just thirty miles to the west, I could barely discern the ghostly outline of my neighbor’s elm tree, just a few houses down the street, let alone the more distant mountains. Fueled by climate change, the Creek Fire had already brought weeks of hazardous air quality as it rapidly devoured 379,895 acres of wilderness to become the largest single fire in California history. Growing up in the Eastern Sierra, climate change has shaped many of my childhood memories. I have experienced the fear of frantically packing an emergency evacuation bag while watching the red glow of yet another wildfire inch closer to my home and the frustration of choking down lungfuls of smoke on my way to school only to learn that school has been canceled. I have hiked through ghostly beetle-killed and fire-scarred forests and past barren clear-cuts with mountains of discarded timber stacked up like funeral pyres. But I have also experienced the rare joy of ice skating on Tenaya Lake in Yosemite, usually inaccessible and snow-bound in winter. And I have known the excitement of spotting the increasingly rare pika, a reclusive, mountain-dwelling mammal that is being driven to ever-higher elevations by the rising temperatures below. I have walked through vibrant fields carpeted with a potpourri of wildflowers and have witnessed the burgeoning new life of a landscape recovering from fire. These early experiences exploring the mountains and watching climate change in action inspired me, helping me develop into a passionate environmentalist who is committed to tackling the world’s environmental problems by finding scientifically-grounded solutions that account for our economic realities. My intended major in Biological Sciences, with a concentration in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, will give me the scientific tools I need to understand complex environmental problems. I plan to complement my major with an Environmental, Energy, and Resource Economics minor to learn how to use economic tools to evaluate the efficacy of proposed environmental solutions and to explore the necessary compromises between competing political and economic interests. With the right preparation and training, I believe that I can help tackle seemingly insurmountable environmental problems, such as the climate-driven wildfires ravaging the Sierra Nevada Mountains near my home. But I realized long ago that I don’t have to wait until college to start making a difference. I am a founding member of my school’s Environmental Club, which has worked to raise student and community awareness about climate change and other environmental issues. Together, we have organized marches, rallies, and community events and have participated in community clean-ups. While these actions might seem small, “the ripple effects of small things [can be] extraordinary” (Bevin) so I will continue to be the “pebble in the pond” (Cook) knowing that the ripple effect of my actions may bring about a tidal wave of change.

A thick gray blanket of smoke smothered the valley. I looked west toward the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the towering sentinels that usually guard my home in the tiny Eastern Sierra town of Bishop, now completely invisible behind an impenetrable, gray wall. With the Creek Fire raging just thirty miles to the west, I could barely discern the ghostly outline of my neighbor’s elm tree, just a few houses down the street, let alone the more distant mountains. Fueled by climate change, the Creek Fire had already brought weeks of hazardous air quality as it rapidly devoured 379,895 acres of wilderness to become the largest single fire in California history. Growing up in the Eastern Sierra, climate change has shaped many of my childhood memories. I have experienced the fear of frantically packing an emergency evacuation bag while watching the red glow of yet another wildfire inch closer to my home and the frustration of choking down lungfuls of smoke on my way to school only to learn that school has been canceled. I have hiked through ghostly beetle-killed and fire-scarred forests and past barren clear-cuts with mountains of discarded timber stacked up like funeral pyres. But I have also experienced the rare joy of ice skating on Tenaya Lake in Yosemite, usually inaccessible and snow-bound in winter. And I have known the excitement of spotting the increasingly rare pika, a reclusive, mountain-dwelling mammal that is being driven to ever-higher elevations by the rising temperatures below. I have walked through vibrant fields carpeted with a potpourri of wildflowers and have witnessed the burgeoning new life of a landscape recovering from a fire. These early experiences exploring the mountains and watching climate change in action inspired me, helping me develop into a passionate environmentalist who is committed to tackling the world’s environmental problems by finding scientifically-grounded solutions that account for economic realities. My intended major in Biological Sciences, with a concentration in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, will give me the scientific tools I need to understand complex environmental problems. An Environmental, Energy, and Resource Economics minor will help me learn how to use economic tools to evaluate the efficacy of proposed environmental solutions and to explore the necessary compromises between competing political and economic interests, providing the perfect complement to a degree in the Biological Sciences. After graduating, I plan to continue my education by pursuing further study and research in graduate school, focusing my studies on the impact of climate change on forest ecology. These studies will help prepare me for a career with the forest service or another research institution committed to addressing the impact of climate change on our national forests. With the right preparation and training, I believe that I can help tackle seemingly insurmountable environmental problems, such as the climate-driven wildfires that have ravaged the Sierra Nevada Mountains near my home.

“Why?” Curiosity is the force driving my education and that one simple word, why, is the key that has unlocked worlds of knowledge for me. Even before I entered my first classroom, the word why helped me explore my world. “Why is the sky blue?” “Why do we have seasons?” “Why do bears hibernate in winter?” Each question led to knowledge, but that knowledge led to more questions. As much as I have learned from asking “why?”, I have learned even more by asking “why not?”. My natural curiosity led me to explore the outdoors and, at the age of 6, I had a dream: to thru-hike the 2,665 mile Pacific Crest Trail from the Mexican Border to Manning Park in British Columbia, Canada. When people told me it couldn’t be done by someone my age, I asked “why not?”. Just over two years later, I stood at the Canadian border having accomplished my goal and already dreaming of the next educational adventure. Along the way, I found answers to many of my whys and discovered my passion for learning about ecology and the natural world. Asking “why not” also gave me the courage to apply to the college of my dreams, Cornell University, where I will be studying Ecology and Evolutionary Biology next year. There I will study to find answers to my questions. And, I expect that I will also find a whole new set of questions to answer. Satisfying my curiosity in an endless cycle of asking and answering questions is, for me, what education is all about, whether I am in the classroom, at home, or exploring the world around me. That cycle did not begin in the classroom, although my life has been enriched by the many patient teachers who helped me find answers to my questions and inspired me to ask new questions. And I know that the cycle will not end when I finish my formal education at Cornell, but will instead be the driving force in my lifelong educational journey.

A thick gray blanket of smoke smothered the valley. I looked west toward the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the towering sentinels that usually guard my home in the tiny Eastern Sierra town of Bishop, now completely invisible behind an impenetrable, gray wall. With the Creek Fire raging just thirty miles to the west, I could barely discern the ghostly outline of my neighbor’s elm tree, just a few houses down the street, let alone the more distant mountains. Fueled by climate change, the Creek Fire had already brought weeks of hazardous air quality as it rapidly devoured 380,345 acres of wilderness to become the largest single fire in California history. Growing up in the Eastern Sierra, climate change has shaped many of my childhood memories. I have experienced the fear of frantically packing an emergency evacuation bag while watching the red glow of yet another wildfire inch closer to my home and the frustration of choking down lungfuls of smoke on my way to school only to learn that school has been canceled. I have hiked through ghostly beetle-killed and fire-scarred forests and past barren clearcuts with mountains of discarded timber stacked up like funeral pyres. But I have also experienced the rare joy of ice skating on Tenaya Lake in Yosemite, usually inaccessible and snow-bound in winter. And I have known the excitement of spotting the increasingly rare pika, a reclusive, mountain-dwelling mammal that is being driven to ever-higher elevations by the rising temperatures below. I have walked through vibrant fields carpeted with a potpourri of wildflowers and have witnessed the burgeoning new life of a landscape recovering from fire. These early experiences exploring the mountains and watching climate change in action inspired me, helping me develop into a passionate environmentalist who is committed to tackling the world’s environmental problems by finding scientifically-grounded solutions that account for economic realities. My intended major in Biological Sciences, with a concentration in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, will give me the scientific tools I need to understand complex environmental problems. But I also plan to study data science by pursuing a second major or minor in an applied economics field such as Environmental and Resource Economics to learn how to use data and economic tools to evaluate the efficacy of proposed environmental solutions and to explore the necessary compromises between competing political and economic interests. The Future Leaders in Technology Scholarship will help me achieve my goals. With the right preparation and training, I believe that I can help tackle seemingly insurmountable environmental problems, such as the climate-driven wildfires ravaging the Sierra Nevada Mountains near my home. My intended majors will combine my interests in ecology and environmental economics, giving me the perfect combination of scientific knowledge and economic understanding that will help me research and discover practical solutions to impractical problems.

Even with my eyes squeezed shut tight, I could still sense the 472 spider legs as they slowly advanced up my purple nylon sleeping bag towards my head. After an exhausting, 20-mile day, the postage-stamp-sized patch of bare ground we now called home had seemed like a palace. Too small for a tent, we tossed our sleeping bags down on a crinkly Tyvek tarp to camp for the night. But then we started noticing thin black shadows scuttling across our tarp. Spiders. Lots of spiders. Hundreds of spiders, and now a small army steadily marched toward us. Our “palace” was actually a spider hollow. After months on the trail, I had definitely learned to find joy in the most challenging circumstances, but now I simply wanted to hike on. “Mom? I think we need to keep hiking.” At the age of six, I had a dream: to through-hike the 2,665-mile Pacific Crest Trail from the Mexico Border to Manning Park in British Columbia, Canada. Now, two years later I was living that dream, each day filled with new adventures and breathtaking scenery. I witnessed the brilliant colors of a desert sunset and slid down snowy passes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I strolled through fields of wildflowers and sheltered under towering pines. I discovered a Blue Jay nest tucked into the crook of a Joshua Tree and scooped aquatic invertebrates out of an alpine pond. However, the trail also naturally brought its share of challenges: the intense desert heat, the freezing rain, hail, and sleet of mountain thunderstorms, and long days of hiking. Now it brought a new challenge. Spiders. Reluctantly I packed up my backpack, loathe to leave camp after such a tiring day, but eager to escape Aragog’s hollow. We hiked into the night, but somehow the lateness of the hour didn’t bother me. Moonlight glistened on the nearby creek and bright pinpricks of starlight pierced the darkness of the sky. The cool night air washed over our skin and we settled into a familiar rhythm, just one foot in front of the other on the warm, dusty brown trail. Our flashlights beamed off the trees and ground, bouncing with each stride, trees, ground, trees, ground, and then, a spider-web! Spanning at least four feet, the reflective gossamer strands stretched tree to tree, across the trail. Perched on the center of the web was a massive creature with dull silver tinsel hair and eight green eyes. Despite my earlier fear, now that I no longer had spiders crawling on me, I found myself fascinated by her. Who was this creature? How did she accomplish this engineering feat, constructing a web all the way across the trail? A miracle. Carefully sidestepping the web, we continued down the trail. The Pacific Crest Trail at night was very different than it appeared during the day, and I developed a new appreciation for the other mysterious nocturnal creatures who made the trail their home. Bats swooped in and out of the trees, scooping up insects. A mountain scorpion skittered across the trail, alerted by our footfalls. A coyote yipped in the distance and I thought about the larger creatures that shared the night: bears, wolves, and mountain lions. The magic of each new discovery lightened my sluggish steps, easing the pain of my first 28-mile day until we eventually found a new spider-free camp. Finding the joy in difficult circumstances became my superpower, strengthening me through the rest of the Pacific Crest Trail that summer and through other challenging experiences throughout my life. It helps me smile through my sixteenth 400-meter repeat at track practice or enjoy the gale-force winds in my hair on the tenth mile of my long run. And it will help me face new challenges in college and beyond. Whether tackling a 30-mile day, a 14,000-foot peak, a complex environmental problem, or simply a mountain of homework, I know I can bring out the joy in every moment.

A thick blanket of smoke smothered the valley. I looked west toward the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the towering sentinels that usually guard my tiny hometown of Bishop, now completely invisible behind an impenetrable, gray wall. With the Creek Fire raging just thirty miles away, I could barely discern the ghostly outline of my neighbor’s elm tree, let alone the more distant mountains. Fueled by climate change, the Creek Fire had already brought weeks of hazardous air quality as it rapidly devoured 379,895 acres of wilderness, becoming the largest single fire in California history. Growing up in the Eastern Sierra, climate change shaped many of my childhood memories. I experienced the fear of frantically packing an emergency evacuation bag while watching the red glow of yet another wildfire inch closer to my home and the frustration of choking down lungfuls of smoke on my way to school only to learn that school has been canceled. But I also experienced the rare joy of ice skating on Tenaya Lake in Yosemite, usually inaccessible and snow-bound in winter, and the excitement of spotting the increasingly rare pika, a reclusive, mountain-dwelling mammal that is being driven to ever-higher elevations by the rising temperatures below. These experiences with climate change have inspired me to tackle the world’s environmental problems and have fueled my interest in studying ecology, an interest I pursue at every opportunity. Whether by studying for my AP Biology or Environmental Science classes or exploring the Sierra Nevada Mountains on a hike or a run, I am constantly learning new things about the natural world. I am excited to further this interest in college, and believe that a Biology major and Economics minor will give me the perfect combination of scientific knowledge and economic understanding that will help me research and discover practical solutions to impractical problems.

A thick blanket of smoke smothered the valley. I looked west toward the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the towering sentinels that usually guard my tiny hometown of Bishop, now completely invisible behind an impenetrable, gray wall. With the Creek Fire raging just thirty miles away, I could barely discern the ghostly outline of my neighbor’s elm tree, let alone the more distant mountains. Fueled by climate change, the Creek Fire had already brought weeks of hazardous air quality as it rapidly devoured 379,895 acres of wilderness, becoming the largest single fire in California history. Growing up in the Eastern Sierra, climate change shaped many of my childhood memories. I experienced the fear of frantically packing an emergency evacuation bag while watching the red glow of yet another wildfire inch closer to my home and the frustration of choking down lungfuls of smoke on my way to school only to learn that school has been canceled. But I also experienced the rare joy of ice skating on Tenaya Lake in Yosemite, usually inaccessible and snow-bound in winter, and the excitement of spotting the increasingly rare pika, a reclusive, mountain-dwelling mammal that is being driven to ever-higher elevations by the rising temperatures below. These experiences with climate change have inspired me to tackle the world’s environmental problems and have fueled my interest in studying ecology, an interest I pursue at every opportunity. Whether by studying for my AP Biology or Environmental Science classes or exploring the Sierra Nevada Mountains on a hike or a run, I am constantly learning new things about the natural world. I am excited to further this interest in college and believe that a double Biology and Environmental Science major and Economics minor will give me the perfect combination of scientific knowledge and economic understanding that will help me research and discover practical solutions to impractical environmental problems.

At the age of six, I had a dream: to thru-hike the 2,665-mile Pacific Crest Trail from the Mexican Border to Manning Park in British Columbia, Canada. Just over two years later, I stood at the Canadian border having reached my goal, becoming, at that time, the youngest to do so. Rather than resting on my laurels, I was already dreaming of the next adventure. In the next few years, I completed both the Colorado Trail and the 3,000 mile Continental Divide Trail, learning along the way that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to.

Covid kitty. Pandemic pet. Comfort Cat. Although we rescued my Siamese cat, Frodo, from our local animal shelter during the Covid-19 pandemic, I think you could safely say that he rescued us instead. I first spotted Frodo's photo on a community message board during a run. My grandmother had just died. Isolated from friends and family during a difficult time, my family needed a furry friend. Abandoned on a local highway, Frodo needed a home. And so, Frodo joined our family. Daily dispensing kitty comfort through purrs, snuggles, and homework "help," Frodo has become our family's true essential worker. @sierra.burror