Personal Narrative: Crested Butte, Colorado
One of the fondest, most memorable places from my childhood has to be Crested Butte, Colorado, where my family and I would vacation. From the drive into Colorado, seeing beautiful, white-capped mountains off in the distance, to building snow forts rivaling King Arthur’s castle. Every single time I remember back to that place, I can’t help but smile as I recall all the wonderful memories associated with that magical white paradise.
Everything beings with a prologue. The excited feelings associated with knowing that a very intriguing story is about to unfold before your eyes. The imagination of an eight year-old running completely wild with thoughts of what an enchanting, winter wonderland they would soon experience. I can still recall being …show more content…
Similar to the suburban street I grew up on, but in lieu of cookie-cutter houses, there stood wood cabins with yards covered in snow in place of stale Bermuda grass. The reddish-orange light emanating from the towering street lights pierced through that white fog and gently illuminated the area. Exiting the car I was overwhelmed with a flurry of new sensations. The gently falling snow absorbed all of the sounds I was used to hearing in a residential area.The low hum of passing cars, birds singing from the trees, even the sound of blowing wind appeared to be muffled and silenced by the steady falling snow. I felt enveloped in a cool, however familiar blanket. The smell of wood burning was coming from every direction as each house I looked at had a thin, grayish plume gently rising from the chimney signaling warmth and comfort for the many nestled up. Looking down the street towards the way we came in, I noticed how freshly plowed it was. A thin layer of snow and ice, like icing on a cupcake or the glass top on my parent’s nightstand, covered the street while a pile of snow that could have swallowed me alive, sat on the sidewalk. Feeling taunted, I stood there and weighed my options. Chest deep mounds of frozen crystals begged me to dive in and lose myself. Surrendering myself to the temptations before me was only hindered by the fear of the wrath my parents would surely show. But had that ever stopped me before? Ignoring the …show more content…
Sipping slowly on a cup of hot chocolate after the sun set, I pondered and planned in my head what my first activity might be when I wake up in the morning. Should I build the impenetrable snow fort that could easily draw comparisons to Minas Tirith, or perhaps amass a pile of snowballs to use for the inevitable war that I would surely start with my sister. Quickly I become distracted by the beautiful, handcrafted wood forming this dwelling. It’s rich orange and brown mixed perfectly to create something so easy on the eyes, I had difficulty comprehending how it came to be. The soft, smooth and flawless texture led me to run a hand over to test for splinters. Perhaps the smell of the wood was hidden among smells from the fireplace, the kitchen and my cup of hot chocolate. All of these sensations coming together to form a feeling of tenderness, akin to a mother’s embrace. I never wanted to return back home. Realizing the discovery of a place so perfect, so inviting and peaceful, I challenged the idea of returning to the familiarity of home. This was only the first day with vastly more to look forward to.
I currently find myself drawing so many comparisons to myself when I was that age. It begs the question of “Does anyone ever truly change?”
Everything beings with a prologue. The excited feelings associated with knowing that a very intriguing story is about to unfold before your eyes. The imagination of an eight year-old running completely wild with thoughts of what an enchanting, winter wonderland they would soon experience. I can still recall being …show more content…
Similar to the suburban street I grew up on, but in lieu of cookie-cutter houses, there stood wood cabins with yards covered in snow in place of stale Bermuda grass. The reddish-orange light emanating from the towering street lights pierced through that white fog and gently illuminated the area. Exiting the car I was overwhelmed with a flurry of new sensations. The gently falling snow absorbed all of the sounds I was used to hearing in a residential area.The low hum of passing cars, birds singing from the trees, even the sound of blowing wind appeared to be muffled and silenced by the steady falling snow. I felt enveloped in a cool, however familiar blanket. The smell of wood burning was coming from every direction as each house I looked at had a thin, grayish plume gently rising from the chimney signaling warmth and comfort for the many nestled up. Looking down the street towards the way we came in, I noticed how freshly plowed it was. A thin layer of snow and ice, like icing on a cupcake or the glass top on my parent’s nightstand, covered the street while a pile of snow that could have swallowed me alive, sat on the sidewalk. Feeling taunted, I stood there and weighed my options. Chest deep mounds of frozen crystals begged me to dive in and lose myself. Surrendering myself to the temptations before me was only hindered by the fear of the wrath my parents would surely show. But had that ever stopped me before? Ignoring the …show more content…
Sipping slowly on a cup of hot chocolate after the sun set, I pondered and planned in my head what my first activity might be when I wake up in the morning. Should I build the impenetrable snow fort that could easily draw comparisons to Minas Tirith, or perhaps amass a pile of snowballs to use for the inevitable war that I would surely start with my sister. Quickly I become distracted by the beautiful, handcrafted wood forming this dwelling. It’s rich orange and brown mixed perfectly to create something so easy on the eyes, I had difficulty comprehending how it came to be. The soft, smooth and flawless texture led me to run a hand over to test for splinters. Perhaps the smell of the wood was hidden among smells from the fireplace, the kitchen and my cup of hot chocolate. All of these sensations coming together to form a feeling of tenderness, akin to a mother’s embrace. I never wanted to return back home. Realizing the discovery of a place so perfect, so inviting and peaceful, I challenged the idea of returning to the familiarity of home. This was only the first day with vastly more to look forward to.
I currently find myself drawing so many comparisons to myself when I was that age. It begs the question of “Does anyone ever truly change?”