I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh salt air as I roll down the window of my Nana’s
old red car. With the air I inhale, I can taste the saltiness of the ocean. The familiar smell of pine trees and fresh rain immediately brings me comfort and creates a flood of memories from years past. I take in my surroundings as we make the long, two-hour drive from the airport to my Grandparent's house in the small town of Seabeck, Washington. I point out the old water park where I used to go as a kid on hot summer days and the hospital where I was born as if I don’t pass by them every year when I visit. The whole car simultaneously holds our breath as we pass over the Tacoma Bridge—and even though I always run out of breath before we get to the end, I tell everyone that I made it so I can make a wish.
As we get closer to our destination, I stare in awe at the breathtaking view of the mountains towering above the clear ocean water. I look around at the trees that showcase all the shades of green you could imagine and the vast array of plants and flowers that dot the outline where the forest meets the shore. I listen to the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks and the chatter from fishermen docking their boats for the evening. The cold air hits my face and an overwhelming feeling of calm sweeps over me.
We finally arrive and drive up the old stone path to the house. There are so many memories from my childhood everywhere I look. There is the old tire swing that used to hang from a tree in the backyard before it broke a few years ago. There are huge piles of dirt on the side of the house that my Papa used to tell me were elephant graves so that I would stop running up and down them. There are different shapes and sizes of seashells that I would bring home from the beach when I was little that still line the stone steps up to the front door.
The forest surrounding my Grandparent's home looks like it could go on forever, making it feel like I’m in my own little world. The constant rain leaves everything glistening as if it were made of glass. Deer roam through the forest and occasionally prance up to the house just to eat my Nana’s roses, which she is, of course, very fond of.
Memories fill the halls and every room, from the piano in the living room, where my Nana taught me to play worship songs, to the staircase where my Aunt and I would ride the spare mattress down the steps until bedtime. The kitchen always smells like freshly cooked food, and you can count on my Aunt to fill the house with music for us to dance to. We play Scrabble on the dining room table until one of us quits from losing, and then we pick a movie from my Nana’s collection of old John Wayne DVDs to stay up late watching. My time there is always filled with love and laughter, and I fondly anticipate my trip there every summer.
I was born not far from my Grandparent’s house, and although my parents moved us away after a couple of years, Washington has always felt like home to me. I adore every part, from the constant cover of clouds and rain to the rocky path from my Grandparent’s house to the beach.
The stress and responsibilities of life begin to pile up as I grow older, and I look to my time with my family as an escape from reality. I know that no matter what's happening in my life, I can find peace at my Grandparent's house in the blooming and serene state of Washington.
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