Personal Narrative: Round Rock

My mind will often wander to all the places I've lived in and all those I would love to travel to, or visit again. I think of the streets of Santa Fe, how fresh it would be compared to the over 100 degree temperature of were I am now, the hot dry heat of El Paso, Texas, a place I often come back to, the soil were my roots are permanently ingrained. El Paso has grown significantly in the past 10 years alone and is now the sixth most populous city in Texas (World Population Reviw). It's far from it's days when it was widely known as “El Chuco,” or “ChucoTown,” nicknames whose origins and meaning have long been debated, but no matter how much of the new generation is unfamiliar with these terms the history lives on through the streets and current

I am not from San Antonio. I am not from Texas. I’m from California. Where no one twangs, or drawls, or even says hi to the stranger standing in line at the grocery store. Texas, half way across the U.S and what seems like a whole other country compared to California. It is a completely different place that I could have ever imagined living and calling home. I came to Texas to find myself. I didn’t know that when I came here, but it is what ended up happening.

Growing up in rural North Carolina was both a blessing and a curse. My hometown, Fallston, North Carolina, is a tiny town way off the beaten path. Most people speak with a southern accent, are devout christians, vote Republican, think camouflage is a normal fashion pattern, and adore country music. But while I was a child, none of these things were a problem. I never realized how close-minded everyone was or how there were no opportunities for success; I was too concerned with the three most important events of the year: the Fallston FunFest, the Belwood Tractor Pull, and the Cleveland County Fair. However, as I grew older, zeal wore off and reality set in. I started to realize how conservative and restrictive it was. What little Fallston offered,

Down in Dallas county there is a place called Balch Springs. Most things you might hear about Balch springs wouldn’t raise a brow on a sober man’s face. Crime rate is a little higher than average and the people working class. Some men and women down in Balch Springs are honest folk, others are as dishonest beyond sin. There’s nothing of interest to say about my origins. Never was no pedigree. No prodigy either. My mother was an easy woman with a taste for powders, and I don’t mean makeup. My old man was a drunkard that walked out on my ma the moment he caught wind she was pregnant. I was raised in a run-down little street, with run down people. Most who worked their fingers down to stubs and died in debt.

Today my Hilarious Fiend Jasper and I will be leaving Dupree around 2:00. We will be traveling 2 hours 20 minutes and One Hundred Forty Five miles. To Rapid City South Dakota

I was raised alongside my brother in the suburbs of Denver, more specifically, the city of Highlands Ranch. Whether the residents of Highlands Ranch care to admit it or not, it is one of the least diverse areas in the country. It is mainly composed of middle to upper class conservative white families where the most change they’ve had to deal with is to that of the seasons. Don’t get me wrong, Highlands Ranch is great place to live and an even better place for a kid to grow up in; its safe, full of resources, and an all around pleasant area. However, concerning diversity and the open-mindedness of the area is lacking. Thus I am extremely lucky to have had the parents that I did, for the lessons they’ve taught my brother and I concerning how to treat others different from ourselves were especially valuable.

Where I come from it's taking pride in your yard, knowing every single one of your neighbors, and leaving doors unlocked because there isn’t a thing to worry about. I find comfort in that small town feel, and I am more than proud to be from good ol’ Warrenton, Indiana. Here, we are just a wee bit shy of being big enough to be on a map, but we have a name and we have town lines. Within those lines nearly two hundred people have found a home, and thanks to Mr.Dave Gruible our community is steadily flourishing. There are now three subdivisions on the rise in addition to the church, salon, family restaurant, and campgrounds that nestled into the area years ago.

The pleasures of Rapid City were in my sights when I asked Malory to make the 2-hour trip with me.To begin our trip to Rapid, we would get in my cobalt, and drive to the Dupree Cenex to fill up on snacks, drinks, and gas. Mallory would get Root Beer and Pringles. I would get M&M’s and Cherry Sprite. We would get in the car, after we filled it up with gas, put on our favorite music, and truly start the trip.

Our yearly pilgrimage to our deer lease in Menard, Texas starts every year on the first Friday in November. To get there we head four hours north thru the sprawling metropolis of San Antonio, full of its traffic and impatient drivers. Upon leaving the city limits of San Antonio, we head west towards Kerrville and the landscape starts to change drastically. No longer are we driving on flat land but now the car is climbing small hills and the road winds. We drive in this direction until we reach the vast acres of ranch land located on a lonely farm road between the small cities of Junction and Menard. If you drive too fast down the winding road, you will miss the old metal gate that is almost hidden by brush trees. My husband is the hunter, yet I love to come with him, because this is the place, where I disconnect from the fast paced life of city dwelling and feel reconnected once again to nature and I find peace and rest here in this cactus and dirt oasis.

The sun began to creep up behind the towering pine trees as I sip on my torrid coffee. I glance at my watch which reads 5:45 am, I gather my tackle box that's overflows with hooks and line and stick in underneath the damp boat seat. The water glistens in the morning sunlight, I aboard the scent of pine needles which is always prominent the crisp air of Northern Wisconsin.

After growing up in Memphis, Tennessee, I did not know much about the rest of the country. My family would venture into North Carolina or Florida for various summer vacations, however, I often felt stuck in the “Memphis bubble.” I attended my first year of college at Rhodes College, which was located near my house. That year forced me to realize that I have a desire to experience different cultures and perspectives, and as a result, I decided to transfer to TCU. Fort Worth has provided a drastically different culture that I appreciate, but I still want to experience life in California, Colorado, the Pacific Northwest, the Northeast, and abroad after I graduate college. It is a goal of mine to spend time in every part of the country and visit

This “short cut” may have lessened the mileage, but it sure did not lack hardships. The ‘Hole in the rock” route lead to months of unimaginable pain and trials, not to mention the 1800-foot-deep Colorado River gorge to bring their wagons down. Few pioneer companies demonstrated more courage, faith, commitment, and endurance than this one. No pioneer company ever constructed a wagon road through more inhospitable, unforgiving, rugged terrain. This faithful group of 250 men, women, and children, with their 86 full-sized wagons and over 1,000 head of livestock had been called to embark on this journey to a new life in San Juan, Utah and they would- No matter the cost.

I have lived in the same good old town of Hazleton all my life. It's not a very big town, you could easily miss it if you weren’t paying attention. A massive number of 256 people live here. Most of those people are nosey too. Not much happens in Hazleton, but when it does everyone knows about it. The biggest event in my town had to be the Hazleton Railroad Wreck of 1897. A train ran right into the river because a washout caused the tracks to slide. I used to go to my Grandpa’s house and play by that river all the time in the summer. Overall, not a very exciting place, but it's where I grew up and it's where I love to be.

I am from a small town in Western Kentucky. It’s a nice town, where most of the people are friendly, and generally know who you are. At the start of last summer I really started thinking about where I wanted to go to college. Most of my friends were staying close to home, attending small colleges, that don’t offer many opportunities for the future. I seriously considered sticking with them and just choosing the "easy" way. Then I started thinking about what I wanted to do with my life. I don’t really want to stay around the region I live in now, there's not anything wrong with it, it's just not for me.

Every second I thought, “One second closer to the game,” but then I remembered, “We still have three hours to go.” We were driving, and Brayden, my brother, would name every license plate that passed by, as I was sitting in the back surrounded by luggage that felt like bricks. On the way there, we had to stop, what felt like 100 times. We were in a town and we had to stop to get gas, when Brayden yelled, “Hawaii license plate!” and it was a bright red Prius in the far lane that was speeding by on its way to Kansas City. We were halfway to our annual road trip to Kansas City and then I took a nap for two hours and awoke when we were in the large city of Kansas City.