Personal Narrative: The Green Mountain Sugar House

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Once a year, my family takes a trip to Vermont. My mom, dad, sister, and two dogs pile into the car at the break of dawn to travel. We take this weekend trip to visit our beloved grandmother, Mimi. It is always a pleasure visiting her, but the car ride is always so long. Miles after miles, there seems to be no end. There is only one thing stopping me from losing my mind during this ride, maple creemees. The taste lingers in my mouth the entire weekend, the taste of the cream as it melts onto my tongue and slowly freezes every inch of my mouth, brain, and stomach.
My first time at the Green Mountain Sugar House, I was only a little kid around the age of eight and was very excited to explore the store. The brightly colored red roof was shining in the early morning sunshine, this image will forever be associated with this traditional sugar house. I had never liked any other ice cream besides vanilla and really was not interested in trying anything new. We walked into the store and everything had to do with maple. As we made our way to the back of the store, there were maple candies, maple syrup, maple brittle, and basically anything that could be made with maple. We finally reached the back of the store and there stood an old overused soft serve ice cream machine. The machine had two
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The morning of the trip is awful, we have to wake up extremely early, around five o’clock, and sit in the car for three and a half hours. My entire family crams into the car, two dogs, my mom, my sister, my dad, and I. This results in a very uncomfortable ride for the next three and a half hours. The dogs drool all over the place, over the seats, over the car, and over all of our bags. My sister is in the passenger seat always playing her music way too loud. My mom is belting her lungs out singing along to the obnoxiously ear-splitting

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