My favorite place
A small home makes a big impact
Fresh air blew through the open window of the quaint, red house as my sister and I sat on the faded shag carpet. The sun beamed high in the air as multiple birds scurried around in the garden. Steam made its way into the living room from the kitchen, followed by the comforting smell only grandpa’s macaroni and cheese could make. As usual, Dad rustled through the sports section of the newspaper on a plush rocking chair. Amy eventually grew tired of the endless amount of Barbies and coloring books, and ran toward the office to fire up the Dell computer. Tall piles of folders and paper made it difficult to see anything but the top of her blonde head.
Grandpa made his way into the room, filling the doorway with his 6’2 frame and settled onto the bright orange lounge chair. Just like every other day, I immediately sat on his lap for him to read me a story. He held the book with his big, calloused hands while looking through his glasses as thick as the bottom of a Coke bottle. Mom held the large video camera to us, creating a scene I would later watch on a dusty VHS tape ten years later. My mind was as clear as the country air surrounding the beloved house. There was a surplus of love and comfort in the ordinary red house located on a single gravel road in Cokato, Minnesota.