Close your eyes and picture the most beautiful place you could imagine. To you it may be waterfalls and palm trees or mountains that stretch as far as you can see. To me it is a little, white farmhouse that sits in a small town called Nevada Mills. Just picturing it floods my mind with the most incredible childhood memories that I could never forget. I see the old wooden diving board that is still perched on the pier as if prideful of its duration throughout the years. The stone fireplace still stands in the front yard stained with the smoke from countless hot dog and marshmallow roasts. The big oak tree stands with outstretched branches ready to take us back into its limbs.
             As I walk into the house and to the little bedroom, I remember the nights when I would stay over. The sense of security rocked me to sleep every night. As I lay there in my mother's childhood bedroom I was at peace. I knew that when I would wake up I would wake up happy. Maybe because I knew I was waking up to a day filled with excitement and adventure, a day filled rich in colors and endless possibilities. Sometimes when things get rough I wish I could go back to this place and the security that shielded me in its white walls. As I reach the den I see my grandpa sitting in his chair with the dog. The lights of the TV reflect off of his black glasses and fill the room with a dim glow. My grandma is in the kitchen making tea for us. Tea always means conversation and this is a good thing because conversations with my grandparents are always enjoyable. They both know so much and the advice they give me is always gentle and loving. Our conversations never give way to!
             Nowadays in my life there are the occasional nights alone and scared, many conversations with harsh words and mornings with false hope of a new day rich in color. So you can see why my grandparents house is
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