Thirty feet in the air, clinging to a thin branch of a tree, slightly swaying left, and right. I hung on for dear life at the top of our trusty old hardwood, ten years of age, never having climbed so high in my life. I looked down, which was a poor decision on my part, to see three of my friends cheering me on. For what reason, I do not know. I had already made it to the top, there was nowhere else for me to go, except down.

            I lived in three different cities growing up, and at one point, each one felt like home to me. Each house that I lived in had a certain place, or places, that made it feel like home to me. I now consider Albany, New York my home. I live in a suburb outside the actual city, called Guilderland. This town is somewhat diverse, and is home to about thirty-thousand people, where the main attraction is the biggest mall in the area, filled with people from surrounding towns and counties scurrying around, searching for deals. The town itself is a nice place to live. It’s only two hours from the city, four hours from Niagara Falls, and is home to the biggest Walmart in the entire world.

That one, specific place at my current house that really feels like home to me, is my backyard. This is a place that I have extremely vivid memories of, particularly from my childhood. Going “out back”, as my friends and I would say, was something that meant an escape from the few responsibilities I had as a kid. In my backyard stands a berm covered in a blanket of trees and foliage, sheltering us from our neighbors who live behind us. As a kid, I remember that berm seemed taller than Mt. Everest, where endless amounts of space lay, waiting to be explored. Now I see it for what it really is: a small hill that never got leveled out when the developers cleared out the land to build my house and the ones surrounding it. Nonetheless, when I was younger, this vast jungle housed endless memories. My friends and I would explore it thoroughly, each time a new adventure, building forts, clearing paths, digging holes, and having a great time. On this berm, there was a tree that if I didn’t know better, I would think was genetically engineered for climbing. Thick, sturdy branches at the bottom provided strong footholds as you began climbing. Thin, but still sturdy branches came into reach as you ascended the timber. This tree was symbolic in a way. It felt good to climb it, like you had accomplished something by making it to the top, like you had earned it. Your reward: a great view of my house and all those surrounding it. 

          My friends and I didn’t have a care in the world, paying no attention to the assortment of cuts and scrapes we acquired on the climb up. We even rigged up a pulley system, with some twine and an emptied out first aid kit, so someone at the top of the tree could receive something from someone at the bottom. We felt like geniuses when we finished what we thought was a feat of modern engineering.

          In the fall, the berm was an entirely different place. The leaves changed, metamorphosing the berm from a lush jade forest, to an amber, fall wonderland. Leaves coated the ground, making it a bit slippery as you climbed up. The berm still secluded us from our neighbors, but to a lesser degree in the fall. The trees thinned out as the leaves fell, leaving behind barren skeletons of what were once trees jam packed with leaves, teaming with life. It was depressing in a way, seeing the leaves start falling in September, watching our natural paradise die, in a way. We knew, however, that it would be back next year, better than ever, full of potential memories just waiting to be made.

           My friends and I didn’t allow the changing of seasons to prevent us from enjoying our favorite spot. In the fall we would rake up leaves into huge piles, bring my dogs outside, and throw tennis balls into the piles. My dogs would go bounding in, frantically searching for the ball, a storm of yellow and orange leaves flying around them. Fall was my favorite season. Even though it meant school getting back into full swing and summer ending, something about that time of year did, and still does, make me feel warm and cozy. You get to start wearing hoodies and sweatpants, timberlands and warm socks. You get to go apple picking and spend all day Sunday watching football. It’s truly one of the most enjoyable times of the year, leading right up to Thanksgiving and Christmas, and as a kid, my friends and I certainly made the most of it.

As soon as there was a snowflake falling from the sky, we were out back with our sleds in hand. I remember running down the hill as fast as I could, jumping on my sled, and trying to make it as far as I could. I remember spending 15 minutes gathering snow to build jumps, only to destroy them the first run down the hill. I remember how good the hot chocolate tasted after a long day outside. We would build forts next to the hill, and bring our hot chocolate outside, sipping it way too fast, burning our tongues, not a care in the world. As we sat there, sipping on that sweet, scalding hot nectar, the cold air caressing our faces, thinking about all of the good times we had, we had no idea of the adventures to come.