It was as if Christmas morning was just hours away, and I would miss it if I drifted off to sleep. The next morning, as I loaded up the RV with my brother and sister, I felt as if the RV was symbolic of a time machine- taking me back to my childhood. As we pulled out of our home in the hot, flat lands of Orlando, I dreamed of my elementary years in New Hampshire. The most note-worthy aspect of my hometown was the snow that began to drift every fall without fail. It was then that I realized that I had no recollection of my younger years, aside from making snow angels in the winter. What had I done in the summer? As we drove up the East Coast, the anxiety was building- what had my childhood been like? I knew nothing but palm trees and Disney World, since I left New Hampshire at seven years old.
I watched the road as we approached my cousin’s house- deep in the woods. It was already two o’clock in the morning and we were all exhausted, so we postponed the welcoming meet-and-greet until the next morning. During breakfast, we caught up with our distant family members. My uncle suggested that we all take a daytrip up to the Presidential Mountain Range. My father concurred, and before I knew it, the family was driving up Mount Washington.
As the trees began to shrink, I knew we were approaching the peak of the mountain. At over 6000 feet above sea level, Mount Washington was a beautiful piece of art, and I was truly amazed at this mysterious world that I had been absent from for so many years. As I walked the perimeter of the rock-covered visitor center, I could feel the clouds dampen my hair. I walked over to the edge of the mountain, trying to peer downward through the fog and clouds. The only thing separating me from tumbling to my death was a four-foot wall. Adrenaline rushed through my body, and I was lost in the stories that the mountain was whispering to me. My body froze, and my mind wandered into a seemingly unconscious sleep as I remembered this place from somewhere- but perhaps it was simply a dream. I was awoken by my parents calling my name through the fog and wind. We got back in the car and drove down the mountain. I immediately fell asleep and continued my dreaming that had been interrupted on the mountain.
When I woke up, I found myself in the parking lot of The Flume, a gorgeous nature trail featuring natural waterfalls and streams. As we walked through the trail, I felt as if I was one with nature. It was so beautiful, and I thought about all of my friends in Orlando, who had never been out of Florida. These amazing places in New Hampshire were stories that need to be told. I began to take pictures incessantly. I could not believe that such a place existed, and I knew that without visual proof, none of my friends back in Florida would believe me.
Leaving New Hampshire was like saying “goodbye” to Heaven. I decided, though, that would not be my last time there. I knew from the moment we arrived that I was home. I knew there was a place for me in New Hampshire, and my story had just begun.
Dear Reader: This page may contain affiliate links which may earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase. Our independent journalism is not influenced by any advertiser or commercial initiative unless it is clearly marked as sponsored content. As travel products change, please be sure to reconfirm all details and stay up to date with current events to ensure a safe and successful trip.
