I had a pretty idyllic childhood growing up. My mom and dad both worked and provided for us well, but I still felt like they were actively involved in my life. I had a little sister to both fight and play with. We took family vacations to beaches and campgrounds. When I think about my childhood now, it's hard to pin point one specific memory; most of it was pretty good.
One thing I always loved to do, was visit my grandparents' bed and breakfast. They owned a gorgeous two story brick house built in 1884 in a quaint West Virginia town. They had worked hard at restoring the place and decorated it in true period fashion. Even at a young age I could appreciate the history of the house. I loved all of the rooms. Each one was named for someone that had ties to the house and was decorated in character. My favorite was the Rebecca. The entire extended family would travel to West Virginia for Thanksgiving every year, and we would fill up the rooms at Hampshire House. Thanksgiving became my absolute favorite time of year because of this very family tradition.
|"helping" with breakfast|
As each grandchild became a certain age, we were allowed to stay with our grandparents at Hampshire House for an entire week during the summer. This was both thrilling and a little scary. To be three hours away from parents, for a whole week! During the day we would walk down to Main Street and visit the little jewelry shop, or walk to the nearby playground that was the resting place for a very cool old caboose. We would pretend that we were the ladies of the house as we sat at the writing desks or lounged on the fainting couch. We would play in the closet under the staircase that held treasures like guest books and credit card machines. We would even help serve the guests at mealtime.
Running a bed and breakfast is a lot of work, and eventually my grandparents had to sell Hampshire House. But the Thanksgivings and summers that I spent there as a child remain some of my fondest memories.
Day 18, Saturday: Tell a story from your childhood.