Yosemite National Park

Imagine a place in California where giant rocks touch the sky. They have names like El Capitan and Half Dome, and they stand like sleepy gray giants watching over everything. Waterfalls leap from their tops, singing a rushing song as they splash into the river below. My trees are some of the oldest and tallest in the world. They are called giant sequoias, and they are so big you could play hide-and-seek behind them for hours. I am a land of giants, a place of wild wonder where eagles soar high above deep, green valleys. I am Yosemite National Park.

For a very, very long time, I was not called a park. I was a home. The first people to live with me were the Ahwahneechee people, and they called my beautiful valley 'Ahwahnee,' which means 'big mouth,' because the valley walls look like the mouth of a bear. They lived here for thousands of years, fishing in my clear rivers and gathering acorns from my strong oak trees. They respected me and knew all my secrets. Then, new people started to arrive. In the year 1851, a group of explorers walked into my valley for the first time. They stopped and stared, their eyes wide with surprise. They had never seen waterfalls so high or cliffs so grand. They knew right away that I was a very special place that needed to be cared for.

More and more people heard about my beauty and came to visit. They worried that my meadows would be spoiled and my giant trees would be cut down. They knew a promise had to be made to keep me safe. A very important person, President Abraham Lincoln, heard their worries. On June 30th, 1864, he signed a special paper called the Yosemite Grant. This was a promise from the whole country to protect my valley and my giant sequoia trees forever. It was the very first time land in America was set aside just for people to enjoy its nature and beauty. I felt so proud, knowing I would be safe for children just like you to visit one day.

One of my best friends arrived a few years later. His name was John Muir, and he loved me more than anyone. He wasn't just a visitor; he made me his home. He would climb my tall granite mountains and sleep under the sparkling stars. He walked through my forests and wrote down everything he saw, telling the world about my magic. He wrote, 'The mountains are calling, and I must go.' His powerful words helped everyone understand that it wasn't just my valley that was special, but all the wilderness around it, too. Because of him and others who cared, on October 1st, 1890, I grew even bigger and officially became Yosemite National Park.

Today, I am still here, waiting for you. My promise to stay wild and beautiful is still being kept. Black bears wander through my forests, eagles build nests on my cliffs, and quiet deer drink from my streams. I am a place where families can hike on winding trails, camp under the moon, and listen to the stories I tell through the rustling leaves and the roaring waterfalls. I am a reminder that nature is strong and wonderful. Come visit me, and you can hear the wind whisper through my tall trees, telling you the story of this amazing land.