I miss my grandparents’ farm house a great deal. I miss the delicious, home cooked meals my grandma made for lunch every Sunday. I miss playing with Rascal and Ginger, a cheerful border collie and a protective mutt. I miss cruising around on the Kawasaki Mule with my brother and uncle. I miss riding on the wheel cover of the gigantic tractors while my uncle drove and count the hay bales in the fields. I miss playing pool upstairs with the entire family. I miss all the cats, even though I’m allergic to them. I miss everything about the farm house, especially the ones who owned it. My grandparents’ farm house in the little town of Beechwood, Wisconsin was a very special place to me. I spent most of my childhood at that house and created many memories there as well. Every Sunday, my family and I would go to 9:30 church service, then after hurry to my grandparents’ house for the lunch awaiting us; salty mashed potatoes, corn and a different meat every time. Every week I would look forward to lunch after church at the farm house.
As soon as lunch was completed my brothers and I scrambled out of the patio door to enjoy the rest of the day which included many things; riding on the Kawasaki Mule, playing with the dogs, playing pool upstairs, or just exploring
…show more content…
Every fall, when the weather was getting cooler and the crops began to die, it was time to take all the hay in the fields and turn them into hay bales. When that would occur, my uncle would have to go count all the bales to see how many he has to sell. He would always wait until Sunday, when my older brother, Nick, and I were over because he knew we loved to ride with him while he counted. Stored in the big barn were a dozen tractors we could drive out to the fields. My favorite tractor was the little red one with only three wheels. When we would all get on and start to move, I felt like I was on top of the
Imagine your first home. The place where you lived right after you were born. Where you took
There is one house in summerville that makes me sad every time i pass it. It is the house that i used to live in and it still looks the same as when we left. There is also another house that makes me laugh for a weird reason. It is a house that my dad helped work on, and it looks horrible and I joke with my dad every time i see it. There is one beach that i like going to and i have so many memories about it. The beach is called folly beach and it is covered with people everyday. This place is one of the best places I have ever been so therefore i love
Papa was already ready, and we started to go into the wagon. When we started to move I was so excited. The ride took way longer then I thought it would so I started playing with the dirt on the wagon floor. By the time I looked up we were in Strawberry, I felt the excitement rushing up to my head. We were one of the first wagons there so we were in the front.
Do you have a very important memory that you are sure will never leave your head? Well, um.. I do! This memory that i’m about to tell you about is very, very important to me. Every year we used to go to my Pawpaw’s for thanksgiving. It was so much fun. We would all get to his house and go inside. My Pawpaw basically lived in his garage! When we would get to his house, guess where he was! His garage! We would go say hi and what for more people to get to his house. My Mawmaw would make the best food ever! When more people got to there house we would go inside and eat. They had two tables and the kids would sit at one and the adults would sit at the other one. Well, it was time to get my food. I got my food. One thing that I got was mashed potatoes
My childhood growing up in Kansas was like a whole other world compared to my life now. Kansas is where one goes to watch the wheat grow, not raise a family. No one could convince my dad otherwise though. Recently divorced and newly married, he brought his two children from his previous marriage, my brother and me, to Kansas to be with his young pregnant bride. There awaited a promising new job and a whole new life for us all.
I remember taking baths in the kitchen sink after a long day outside, riding the four-wheeler with my aunt, and playing with the kittens. The farm was my second home, and it still is. There are a lot of memories I have because of the farm, but one memory that always sticks out is during harvest season. I spent full days in the tractor with Grandma and in the combine with Grandpa. I remember refusing to get out, even for lunch.
I walked downstairs to the basement of my grandpa Jack’s. His house was in boxes. his memories, life, and possessions neatly sorted into cardboard boxes. I slowly walked to the closest portion of his life. It was labeled Keegan. My mom walks over with tears in her eyes.
For many years I would pass by the house and long to stop and look at it. One day I realized that the house was just that, a house. While it served as a physical reminder of my childhood, the actual memories and experiences I had growing up there were what mattered, and they would stay with me forever.
I don't have a lot of fantastic memories of childhood. There were no spectacular family adventures, no unique family projects that taught some sort of moral lesson, no out-of-the-ordinary holidays. We ate family meals together, but most of the time the children and adults lived in different worlds. The kids went to school, did homework, and played; the adults worked. I was lucky, though. When I wanted a little of both worlds, I could always turn to Grandpa.
Being raised in a small town lower classed city called Cleveland Texas, my goal was to make it out of the rural area. The blue house is what I called my childhood home, even though most of the blue paint was chipped off and you mostly seen wood with a few areas of chipped blue paint. Before, getting to the house you had to go about a half mile down a red dirt clay road before getting to what looked like a small blue shake. Living in the home was a total of ten people, which included myself, mother, father, three siblings and three older cousins that stayed with us at the time. There were three small bedroom that did not include any type of closet, a full sized bed, and two dressers with a small TV with the fat back attached to it. It also had
Childhood is a time when significant events can and will leave impressions on oneself. It is not out of the ordinary that a large event will at least somewhat shape the mind of a child whether they realize it or not. One event that may have altered me somewhat was when I had to move from my old abode of Baileyton, Tennessee to Morristown to live with my grandparents. This was the result of my mother’s eventual passing after a losing battle with Cancer. Experiencing the “real world” so early may have changed how I think about and come to certain conclusions. I do not think this change in my life was necessarily a negative one, as I got to experience a lot of new things that I may have never had the chance to do. Sure, I had to grow up a bit earlier than your usual child, but I also probably reached a stage of maturity before most.
It was a normal afternoon after school when I returned to my house after a busy
Going on a road trip with my family means the world to me. We drove to another state during summer vacation, and it was by far the best road trip I have ever been on. My family and I were able to go to many fun places. We ate so many exotic and delicious foods as well. Yet most importantly, I spent time with my family and their friends. It was the day when my family and I went to California for our summer vacation.
grandmother’s house because it made me feel safe and warm. There was a smell of
As adults, we often use the scientific method, or process of elimination to help explain things that we cannot. Although, as children, we immediately jumped to conclusions no matter how otherworldly or outrageous our explanation. Whether we believed the sound coming from your closet was some type of terrifying monster, or the old woman that paced the side-walk kidnapped children and turned them into soap, explanation was left to our imagination. I can remember quiet a few thoughts like this, but one in particular has always stood out. It was a story my Grandpa told me one summer. A story about how the sound that the trees made when the wind blew was not the cracking of their branches, but was of them weeping.