I Essay 2 Draft 1

            I have never seen the Grand Canyon. Or Mount Rushmore. Or the beaches of Hawaii. Still, I was blessed with many awesome experiences growing up. My parents sought to give me and my two sisters a rich childhood. Or perhaps they were living out the rich childhood they always wanted for themselves; I'm not sure. It may be from them that I inherited my natural desire for an interesting life. We seemed to always be on a quest to escape the norm, the mundane. Family vacations were an important part of this quest; thus, we took many of them.

             When I was small, my parents took our family to Niagara Falls each year. I leaned on the rail of the skyline as my dad explained the sights to us again, “the rounded one is called the Horseshoe falls, the small one there is the American falls.”  I wondered why America got the dinky waterfall when the rest belonged to Canada. Later, we visited the museum that memorializes all the people and things which fallen over the ____ foot drop, whether intentionally or no. There was also a boardwalk area that I remember well for its many fun activities: mini-golf, haunted houses, little shops. Once when we were out, a storm blew threw raining hail the size of golf balls. We were stranded at a fun house. The employees waved us in good-naturedly, and let us kids run through the maze again and again.

            Another important tradition was the yearly vacation to the beaches of Wildwood. My dad’s grandmother paid for a timeshare there, so my dad's whole side of the family would come together. The beaches of Wildwood are very wide and shallow; thus family friendly. My sisters and I would several hours swimming every day. I don’t recall ever being taught to swim, although my parents always stayed close during high tide. Every evening of the week involved a different activity: shopping along the boardwalk, playing minigolf, or riding the theme park rides. Our visit often coincided with the week of my birthday, so a celebration was usually part of the week’s events. The vacation in Wildwood was a yearly tradition until my great grandma passed away when I was 11. Even after that, my immediate family has continued to make day trips there in the summer, often to celebrate my birthday.

            One place we visited so often, I know its roads by heart. This is the Amish country of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. To this day, my family will stay in the same hotels and eat at the same restaurants that I visited at six or seven years old. My mother knows the area so well she could give a guided tour. There are so many fun things to do there, none of which are very expensive. You could visit the petting zoo, take a scenic train ride, or go on one of “Abe’s buggy rides” through the country. We must have walked miles through all of the different little shops full of homemade goods. I stepped inside another store to the sound of a cheery doorbell's jingle. The smell of cinnamon flavored candles and dusty antiques filled the air. “Don't touch anything!” my mother hissed at us. I always wondered how simply touching, especially something so innocent as a stuffed doll or wooden toy, could be so dangerous.

            When we reached middle school ages our parents decided to try something a little different. We joined my mom’s side of the family visiting a dude ranch in upstate New York. We always went during the first week of October when the trees were just changing to beautiful shades of  orange and yellow. The ranch was a self-contained resort, so three kids like us could run freely with little worry to our parents. Group rides went out several times a day at the ranch. Since I'd never had the opportunity to take lessons as a kid, I gladly rode every single one, no matter the difficulty level. When I wasn't riding, we could take a hay ride down to the lake to go fishing or paddle-boating. Equipment was available to play mini-golf, ping pong, or tennis whenever we waned. There was also a pool with a water slide for the hotter days. Those years both of my parents worked paper routes in the early mornings, so our allowance came in the form of rolled quarters. Most of this was spent in the tiny arcade near the Chuck wagon. I'm not really sure what my parents did all day.

           

            Camping, on the other hand, my parents actively participated in. My mom grew up camping herself, and the campground we live near today is the same one my parents frequented when they were first dating. We went camping a couple times every summer. Upon arrival, my sisters and I would pour out of the truck, instantly looking for trouble. My dad handed us  spoons or something and told us, “Now you girls dog over here while we work on the campsite. If you work hard, you might reach China by the time we're ready.”

“Really?” I exclaimed.

My dad wandered by an hour later and leaned his ear near the hole.

“Oh, I think I can hear them! They're speaking Chinese. Better hurry up, you've almost reached them.”

When we got a little older we were shooed off. I guess even digging to China can interfere with campsite preparation. We grabbed our mountain bikes and took off. My sisters and I knew every path and hiding place of the 130 acre campground. It was usually after dark when my dad would come looking to bring us back for dinner. He'd find us deep in the woods battling Indians. Or riding our dirt bikes along dangerous mountain roads. Or at the swamp catching frogs.

            There were actually several different trucks my family went camping in during my childhood. We never had much luck with cars. Daddy brought home something different every couple years, just to patch us through. The huge brown suburban had been around a couple years when we set off to go camping in a new area far from home. On the way there, it overheated and caught fire. I stood along the highway, watching the flames char the seat I had been sitting in, and asked my mom to please come away. She was still in the truck, frantically throwing camping supplies out. Much of the gear, things my parents had used since they were young, was lost.

            Although my family loves our traditional places, I have still been blessed to plenty of variety while growing up. I have visited many important historical sites along the east coast such as Gettysburg and Jamestown. I have hiked through the beautiful terrain of Virginia, Pennsylvania, the Carolinas, and New York. I have seen the Natural. Bridge and the Delaware Water Gap. In each place we visited, the trip usually began by checking into a tiny motel room. I carefully unpacked my possessions, imagining that I had just moved to a new place or that I was on my way to an exotic location. We ate packed sandwiches, explored the surrounding area, and stayed up late playing cards or board games.

            I was a teenager when took a vacation to West Virginia. We went to see the historic town of Cass, where the steam engine trains still run to the coal mines in the mountains. There are many beautiful vista points, as well as quaint rural towns to visit. It was during that trip that my parents fell in love. They decided soon after to move to West Virginia, a dream they have held to since.

            I can't say that we ever got to travel far, but we did travel deeply. They were interesting journeys, full of the simple enjoyment of one another's company. We broke away from the “boring” routine of daily life more often than most people get to. There's something to be said for  the adventurous spirit who will run towards the unknown. There's probably also something to be said about what that adventurous spirit might be running from.