For as long as I can remember, I have always been interested in writing. Whether it was a childhood diary, short stories in middle school, or now, as a college student, a creative writer for class credit.
As a Creative Writing student, I came to realize that I was pushed to write about experiences and memories that would sometimes be difficult to relieve. I decided to take that challenge into a positive perspective, and write in order to keep the positive memories alive.
This piece I wrote on my own time, not for any credit or grade. Growing up, I was so fortunate to spend many summers at a cabin. As you’ll read, the cabin provided great comfort and company for my family and I, for the many years we owned it. I was saddened to discover that some of my memories from the cabin have started to fade over time. As a result, I decided to write about it, to open my mind and heart and go back in time.
That Place
I miss that place. The place that was home.
The people that made it feel that special way, I miss the wind, rushing through the thick forest of pines, the smell enveloping me in peace.
I miss the Swedish pancakes, falling apart as my fork hit the surface. I miss the fresh picked wild blueberries, only a moment’s walk away through the worn road.
I miss my grandmother, wrapping my thin shoulders in that trusty old white duvet, worn from years of use. I miss jumping into that frigid lake water, as it would awaken all of my senses of being. I miss playing in the sand, the gritty textures trapped under my fingernails, the sheets filled with it at night.
Chasing frogs and eating marshmallows over a roaring fire, the flames dancing in the night sky. Only in my daydreams do I picture myself back at that place, the 70’s décor and the tiny grill that served so many heartwarming, yet simple meals.
That place.
The only place we all truly felt alive, together, and no words of evil would escape our lips, only laughter and harmony.
The epicenter of my childhood, the deep gratitude of togetherness, the feeling of connection amongst my small kin. I haven’t felt home since I left that place years ago.
My only remaining piece of that place is a ring that holds the coordinates.
The coordinates to my youth,
to my happiness,
to my oasis. I can only dream for a place like that again. Where I could get lost in the uncomplicated bliss of childhood, of peace.