Childhood Memories of my Grandparents' Home Essay

520 Words 3 Pages
When I think back to the days when I was a child, I think about all of my wonderful childhood memories. Often I wish to go back, back to that point in life when everything seemed simpler. Sometimes I think about it too much, knowing I cannot return. Yet there is still one place I can count on to take me back to that state of mind, my grandparent’s house and the land I love so much.

Their house was old. My grandparents lived in it most of their adult lives. It was white with black trimming, but most of the paint was chipped away. On the back porch was firewood all year long. No matter if it was winter; spring, summer, or fall the wood was always there. Red, yellow, purple flowers grew alongside the house all spring and summer.
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My grandparents owned 80 acres, and I would roam each and every inch. Running through the soaring weeds, and jumping over any log that would get in my path just to end up falling to the ground out of complete exhaustion.
There is something to be said about lying on one’s back in an open field hour upon hour staring up at a huge blue sky. With no one around and not another house for miles, it is a great place to be alone, to listen. In that field, I could pick up all the wonderful sounds of nature commonly misplaced by all the buzz of the city. The wind spoke as it blew across the land, whistling through the tall weeds and the colossal of trees. Crickets rub their wings composing a song for everyone to hear. I soaked in all the beauty of the surrounding landscape. There was towering groves of trees, creek beds lined with wildflowers producing delightful fragrances, and sunsets that would take your breath away. Still I walked cautiously, for all of lands beauty; trouble could still take form, whether it was running into a slithering snake or stumbling across a prickly thistle. The pond was one of my favorite places, for it was where I learned how to fish and skip rocks across the water. I would sit alongside the banks and listed to the familiar sound of the bullfrogs bellowing their presents. I think if the pond could tell a story it would be of the one that

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