My Side of the Mountain - BONUS WORKSHEETS - Grades 5 to 6 - eBook ... - Free Printable

Certainly! Below is a sample alternate ending for *My Side of the Mountain* written in the first-person style, matching the tone of the original book by Jean Craighead George. It’s approximately two double-spaced pages long and imagines a different outcome where Sam's family does not arrive at the end.

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Alternate Ending

The wind howled through the pines like an old friend calling my name. I sat on the edge of the treehouse, legs dangling over the side, watching the stars blink awake one by one. The fire below had burned low, leaving only embers that glowed red and orange in the dark. I was alone. Not just physically—though that was true enough—but in a way that felt deeper, more real than ever before.

I’d been thinking about it all day: the silence of the woods, the sound of the stream, the way the squirrels chattered when they thought no one was listening. But now, with the night settling in, I realized something I hadn’t before. I wasn’t afraid of being alone anymore. In fact, I liked it. I liked the quiet. I liked knowing that every bird call, every rustle in the underbrush, was mine to hear, mine to understand.

And yet… I missed them.

Not the people who came to see me—the ones who stared with their eyes wide open, as if I were some kind of animal or myth. No, I missed my father. Just him. When he visited last spring, he didn’t say much. He brought me a new knife and a letter from my mother. That was all. But I could see in his face—just for a second—that he was proud. Not of what I’d done, exactly, but of who I was becoming.

So when the newspaper stories started appearing—“Wild Boy Lives Alone in the Mountains,” “Boy Builds Treehouse High in the Trees”—I knew they would come. I knew someone would want to take me back. But I also knew that I couldn’t stay forever. Not really. The forest wouldn’t let me.

But this time, nothing happened.

No car engines rattling down the dirt road. No shouts from the valley below. No footsteps crunching through the leaves. Nothing.

At first, I was confused. Then worried. And then—relieved.

It wasn’t until weeks later, when I saw a man walking slowly along the ridge, that I realized it might be my father. He wasn’t carrying anything. No bags. No tools. Just a worn leather satchel and a hat pulled low over his forehead. I watched from the shadows of the pine, heart pounding like a drum.

He stopped near the base of the hill, looked up at the treehouse, and smiled. Then he turned and walked away.

I waited until the sun dipped behind the mountains before climbing down. I found his footprints leading into the woods, and beside them, a small package wrapped in oilcloth. Inside was a note, written in my father’s handwriting:

> _Sam,
> I’ve seen you live. I’ve seen how you move through the world. You don’t need me to tell you how to survive. You already know. I’ll come back when you’re ready. Until then, keep your head high and your knife sharp.
> —Dad_

I folded the note carefully and tucked it into my pocket. For the first time, I didn’t feel abandoned. I felt… chosen.

That winter, I taught myself to make snowshoes. I learned which berries stayed edible under the ice. I built a small shelter beneath the roots of an ancient oak, just in case the cold became too fierce. And every morning, I wrote in my journal—not just about what I ate or what I hunted, but about what I felt. About loneliness, yes, but also about peace. About belonging.

Spring came early. The birds returned, and so did the scent of wildflowers. One day, I heard voices. Not shouting. Not curious. Just quiet talking. I peeked from behind a boulder and saw two figures standing near the creek—a woman and a young boy. They looked lost. I stepped forward, holding out a piece of dried venison.

“You’re hungry?” I asked.

They nodded.

“I can help,” I said.

And so I did.

Over the next few days, I showed them how to find clean water, how to start a fire without matches, how to read the sky. They left after a week, thanking me with a bundle of cloth and a tin cup. But they didn’t ask for my name. They didn’t care who I was. They just needed help.

That’s when I understood: I wasn’t just living in the wilderness. I was part of it. And maybe, just maybe, I could help others become part of it too.

Now, I still climb to the treehouse every night. I still watch the stars. But sometimes, I leave a little food out for the raccoons. I hang a rope ladder so that anyone who needs shelter can reach it. I don’t know if my parents will ever come back. Maybe they won’t. But I’m okay with that.

Because I’ve changed. I’m not the boy who ran away from home. I’m the boy who chose to stay. Not because I have to. But because I want to.

And that makes all the difference.

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Explanation of the Solution:

This alternate ending reimagines the conclusion of *My Side of the Mountain* by exploring a scenario where Sam’s family does not show up at the end, and instead, only his father visits briefly and respects Sam’s independence. This change allows Sam to grow into a self-reliant, compassionate individual who chooses solitude not out of rejection, but out of purpose.

Key Elements Included:

- First-Person Narrative: The story uses "I" consistently, mirroring the original book’s perspective.
- Tone & Style: The language is simple, reflective, and grounded—just like Sam’s voice in the novel.
- Character Development: Sam evolves from a boy seeking escape to a young man who understands responsibility and connection.
- New Characters & Settings: A lost woman and child are introduced to show Sam’s growing role in the natural community.
- Themes: Independence, nature, empathy, and personal growth are emphasized.
- Length: Approximately two double-spaced pages (ideal for the assignment).
- Imaginative Yet Plausible: The ending stays true to Sam’s character while offering a hopeful, realistic alternative.

This alternate ending honors the spirit of the original while allowing Sam to find fulfillment on his own terms—without forced reunion or external resolution.