I am from walking barefoot in the sand and searching the beaches for whole sand dollars to add to the collection on the bookshelf.
I am from the place where the ocean air tangled up my unruly curls on a daily basis.
I am from a town that seems so weird to me now when I visit and everyone looking at me like I am just another city tourist.
I am from sunny days running through a sheep field while trying to get a kite to touch the blue sky.
I am from digging small bottles out of a river bank and celebrating when my father placed my finds on our kitchen sink.
I am from the smell of wood fire places burning on cold winter nights.
I am from walking around a circle of houses out in the middle of nowhere, collecting chicken eggs, candy, toys and other nick-nacks the neighbors kept for me.
I am from sitting on the back of a horse while the wind rushes around my face, feeling free and so alive.
I am from drinking beer around a campfire while sitting on a tail gate and blasting country music because there was nothing else for a teenage girl to do.
I am from the smell of coffee in the morning and my mom’s french toast with whole grain bread.
I am from mud on the tires, stick shifts, 4-wheel drive and knowing how to listen for a logging truck on a dirt road.
I am from summers spent shivering with blue lips while body surfing wave after wave with my older sister.
I am from tall majestic redwood tree’s that made you feel so small while standing underneath their cold shadows.
I am from a place where everyone know’s your name, your family and your history, there is no escaping your past there.
I am from a family full of opinionated, loud and amazingly tough women.
I am from two avid readers who always read to me growing up and gave me my intense love for reading to this day.
I am from a family that taught me to work hard, do your best and never be a victim.
I am from pick up your toys, do your dishes and don’t leave your shoes in the middle of the floor.
I am from a beach of glass.
I am from snack dinners with grapes, sour dough bread, cheese and a salad that came in a bag.
I am from Saturday’s spent driving down dirt roads with my feet on the dash, leaving toe prints on the windshield and the music in the background.
I am from hanging out at the car wash talking and smoking cigarettes.
I am from a small town where you couldn’t even walk into a grocery store without bumping into someone you know and maybe even dated.
I am from Sunday’s spent cutting wood with my dad and re-building car engines in his old beast.
I am from intense winter storms that blew out the power, leaving me a free day without having to go to school.
I am from old photos sitting in a box with faded memories.
Where are you from?