Where Memories are Made
There is always a place that people can feel at peace. My place smells of the
forest and of cinnamon. It is my home away from home. Camp. Whenever something bad happens, My family and I go there to find solace. Memories are born in the roots of our camp, eventually turning into blooming flowers. Although some of those flowers have wilted and left us sad, we keep on growing new ones. Happiness
flows in the river of life. At my camp that river flows long and strong. My grandparents are the owners of the camp. They love the camp because Grandfather built it the way Grandma wanted it with open spaces and room to move around. Now she is able to come to camp and work there.
When my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer, he spent a lot of time at camp with Grandma. It was the one place that I think that he felt at peace. He loved watching the bass that swam through the cool crisp water, jumping out of the lake and dancing in the moonlight. He could go there in the winter, spring, summer, and fall. Our camp was like a second home to him. It made him fell better to be able relax at camp and go fishing with his family. The camp also gave us comfort because we knew that he was happy there.
Since my grandfather passed away, we still visit the camp. There is still so much to do, so no one can even consider being bored. Whenever we are there our
grandma makes cookies for us all and then she talks to my mom and my aunt. She comes outside to watch us swim. Grandpa had installed solar panels so that Grandma can cook and see at night without having to light the lamps, which helps to great extent when it is pitch black out.
My grandfather loved the camp with all of his heart because the camp has helped us out in times of need and sorrow. That is why it is my favorite place in