I sway back and forth with the monotonous swerving of the car as we make our way through the backcountry. My brother and I were in a heated game of cow poker when we dipped down then up the little we knew so well by then- this meant we were getting close. We looked out the window to greet many familiar sights: pastures upon pastures of cows, vast amounts of numerous crops, that one house that was somehow always having a yard sale, and the chicken coop that shared the property with the oasis we approached. The smoothness of the tires met with the gravel driveway as we made our ascent to the little house on the hill.
We climbed over each other to get a better look, as if anything had changed since we'd been a year before. There it stood- our garden of eden, our comforting memory. We called it ¨the farm¨, even though nothing was raised nor grown -unless you counted the next door farmers' chickens and cows.
My brother shoved past me and out of the car in an effort to beat me inside, not caring to contain his excitement for the days that lie ahead. As I followed him into the house, I noticed the familiar rustic smell that hung in the air and clung to the carpets and furniture.
The real beauty was on the other side of the house, with the wall of windows, overlooking a hilly field covered in neat rows of brown grass. The pasture was enclosed by towering trees, bearing leaves of different shades of yellows and oranges. Beneath these trees was the creek; the moat of the fortress, where we had spent hours searching for small creatures to show off to parents and relatives.
This place contains the tribulations of my childhood, the foundation of the best family memories. The pastures where I learned to drive, eagerly speeding up and down the bumpy hills on the little green gator. The bunk beds where we slept, faking sleep when we heard footsteps of the adults upstairs. The porch where I learned to build a fire, the lake where I learned to fish, the little coffee table where we would gather for puzzles on rainy days.
Each item was an impression on who I am today, and each year in the fall we return, reliving these homely memories with the promise of more to come.