This is the place

This is my childhood home. Indulge me, if you will, and follow a tour of my memories of this wonderful place.

This is the giant boulder in our front yard. I used to climb up the back and slide down the front. It was ENORMOUS when I was young.

This is the place I grabbed ahold of the electric fence and couldn't let go. My dad had to come rescue me and even got shocked himself in the process of prying my hands off the wire.

This is the place I nose-dived into the pavement after a fatefully long and fast bike ride when I was about eight years old. My teeth were never the same again.

This is the place where my dad would come home, hang up his coat, and find me hiding inside.

This is the addition to the house I helped my dad design and draft on his office computer one Saturday afternoon.

This is the place we planted our garden in the spring and chased the cows out in the fall.

This is the tree I loved and climbed until my mom cut the lower branches to prevent me from doing so again.



These are the steps I jumped off endlessly as a child. They were SO tall back then!

This is where I rode my bike and scooter for so many years. We loved the potholes that would form and were always so disappointed when the road crews would eventually come fill them in.



This is the stenciling on my bedroom wall I loved, loved, loved as a teenager.

This is the manger I had to fill each day with hay for our cows to eat.

This is the gate to the pasture my dad made. I can still hear the distinct metal-on-metal sound the lock makes when it slides back and forth.

It's interesting the memories we accumulate throughout the years. The sound of a cupboard door closing, the smell of a bedroom closet, the feel of a winding, country road. There are many familiar things I will miss from my childhood home.