Most everyone knows that it's not the place that is important but the memories you make there and the people you share those memories with. For me that place is my camp. I have been going there every summer since I was little. Our camp is not grand by any stretch of the imagination. In fact sometimes it barely feels better than a tent. But those walls hold so much love and so many memories. That is the place where I grew up with my family. It's the place that I can't wait to go to in the Spring and the place that I hate to leave in the fall. Camp is where my cousins and I all learned to drive. It's where I had my first drink and it's where I have made countless memories with my friends and family, where I have had so much fun. My family has always been pretty close. I know a lot of people that can't wait to get away from their relatives and couldn't comprehend the idea of willingly sharing a very small house with them for the summer. Cramming 4 people per bedroom and sharing one small not so nice bathroom with 10 to 20 people. But I love it. I love waking up in the morning and walking out to the kitchen to the smell of coffee and running to beat my cousins to the last chocolate donut. And quickly changing and heading out to the water to race the jet skis. Camp is spending the day at the beach and taking the boat back home to start grilling up some burgers for dinner and having s'mores and drinks by the bonfire as we talk about our day and reminisce about our memories. Many of them involving trips to urgent care and the ER from injuries obtained from riding a bike off the dock, or falling in the fire. Or about the many infamous camp storms where we have to run around jumping on tents and pulling the boat in. The stories that I could tell are endless. My camp has a special place in my heart. It is my favorite place in the world with some of my favorite people in the world.
