Our summer trips to Colorado seemed to take forever. I was an eager four year old child who couldn't wait to get to my secret place. Every child has a special place: it might be a fort made out of sheets and couple of chairs, or maybe it's an easy chair that serves as a stage coach or a fighter plane. Maybe its a bed that becomes a ship protecting you from sharks. My special place was at my grandparents farm.
My childhood was spent on military bases or in suburban neighborhoods. There were great places to play, but no place could match the old root cellar on my grandparents' farm, known as the "secret place". I really don't know who named it the "secret place" because it the place, it was what I did there that was secret. The place wasn't secret; what I did there was secret. I am the thirteenth grandchild and I am sure that many of my cousins spent hours playing there. In fact my mom spent a few hours there as a child. To me in my four year old's mind, it was all mine and no one else knew about the wonders it held.
The root cellar is about 100 feet away from my grandparents house with a tomb like entrance. It was built on November 24,1937. I know this interesting fact because it is written in cement above two heavy wooden doors that open from the center out. I would open the doors and find a short stair case that led me to another set of doors. I opened up the second set of doors and I was inside the root cellar.
The root cellar is made all of cement and has an oval shaped ceiling. Along the walls of the root cellar are wooden shelves that have sections for everything from cans of dried up paint to canned cherries with four inches of dust on them. There are old vases, broken tools and pictur...
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...nts' house. She spent many hours with me making cookies and teaming up on my brother. I told her all my secrets and dreams. When I had to go back home, she would always write me letters. They were actually written by my grandpa. My mom tried to read them to me, but I wouldn't let her. However, I didn't know how to read, so I finally had to give in and let her read them to me.
I spent many memorable summers at my "secret place." I will cherish those times and memories forever. Even though the root cellar was only a huge mound of dirt with a wood pile and a tree, to me, it was whatever I wanted it to be for that moment in time. It could be a bakery, a battle field or a castle. Having an imagination then, has helped me now to have an open mind to see things from other people's point of view and to be able to imagine the possibilities in any real life situation. .
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