When I think back to the days when I was a child, I think about all of my wonderful childhood memories. Often I wish to go back, back to that point in life when everything seemed simpler. Sometimes I think about it too much, knowing I cannot return. Yet there is still one place I can count on to take me back to that state of mind, my grandparent’s house and the land I love so much.
Their house was old. My grandparents lived in it most of their adult lives. It was white with black trimming, but most of the paint was chipped away. On the back porch was firewood all year long. No matter if it was winter; spring, summer, or fall the wood was always there. Red, yellow, purple flowers grew alongside the house all spring and summer.
When I entered the door to the foyer the smell of coffee always filled the air. It seemed like all my grandparents did was make coffee. If I smell coffee, I instantly think of my grandparent’s house, and that makes me feel safe and warm.
My grandparents owned 80 acres, and I would roam each and every inch. Running through the soaring weeds, and jumping over any log that would get in my path just to end up falling to the ground out of complete exhaustion.
There is something to be said about lying on one’s back in an open field hour upon hour staring up at a huge blue sky. With no one around and not another house for miles, it is a...