Week 8: Prompt 2

As a young child, I was raised in a very small town. My mother had been pregnant out of marriage and decided to move back home with her parents, to recollect her thoughts and plan for our future. The road that my grandparents lived on was my grampa's last name, and that city street was the best street around. It was a winding, old, dirt road with plenty of tall deciduous trees, framing it in on either side. The street was about a mile long and was a sloping down hill, perfect for sledding. You never went so fast that you were out of control, but you never had to stick your arms out and give yourself a shove either. This road was where I drove for the first time, as I bumped along in the truck, following grampa's tractor as I picked up the hay bales he was dropping into the field. I reconnected with cousins as we played hide and seek and made mud pies. Many memories were made. Since my grammy's death a few years back, I have not revisited that road.