Personal Narrative: A Happy Place

1322 Words 6 Pages
Head down Chapel Hill Street then take a left onto Hummingbird Lane and at the bottom of the hill you'll see my home away from home. The drive to my grandparents was memorized before I knew how to get back to my own home (hyperbole). This is the place where me and my brothers, Brandon and Gavin, would run and explore with no cares in the world. Everything from the pond, in the enormous front yard, to the dirt road and pine trees in the back, have memories from baby years to now. This has always been my happy place; all my senses begin to tingle as I enjoy this lovely place.

I was always close to my grandparents, so going to their house was always a treat. As we drove down the steep hill, to the left was a wooded area, that I would never dare
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The dark, myrtle green canoe, ten feet long and two feet wide, would glide across the water, splashing water upon my grandpa Alvin and I. Row to the left, row to the right, we were trying to go as fast as the speed of light. As the summer went on, the pond began to smell like old, moldy water. When this smell came around, we knew canoeing season was over. The pond was petite, only an acre or two, but we still attempted to fish even though fish were nonexistent. The fishing line would fly over the water (personification) and you could see the reflection of it on the bottom, similar to the reflection off a mirror (metaphor). On the opposite side of the pond was an enormous wooded area. It was filled with infant trees and elderly, diligent and fierce tree. There were large oak trees, with gigantic leaf's, birch tree with bark as smooth as a baby's bottom, and many others that made it seem like a forest of green on other side on the pond. When Fall came around, the trees would all change colors. The view from the drive way looked as though it was an unrealistic …show more content…
The smell of fresh baked cookies, mixed with the smell of cranberries, which reminds me of my grandma. The fresh smoke from the wood fireplace a constant reminder me of my grandpa. It has the old rustic feel to it. The stairs are open with no railing or wall on the left, as you go up to the second floor. We always dared each other to jump off the stairs to complete for being bravest. The living room filled with everything. There were two recliners, which we all knew were grandmas and grandpas, not for us kids. They are soft and full, comfy, but with the imprint of each grandparent in them. The couch was only meant for three, but we would squeeze as many on as possible, cuddling up all nice and cozy. The floral print couch, worn from all the years that it was kept around. Around the entire living room were little nick knacks, that my grandma had set-up. The house was nowhere close to being childproof, but we learned at a young age not to play with things that are not ours. The glass cabinet has never moved and is always filled with a large snow-covered nativity séance. The "little people" were always in the same place. I remember sitting around with my mom, Shannon, and grandma as a kid, making up dramatic stories about the "little

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