The first time I ever wrote an essay of any recognition was when I was in junior high school. Imagine that! I would imagine there are millions who can lay claim to the same. Being born and raised a part of my young life in the southern most part of the Boston Mountains, I was destined to stay clear of highly educated writings.

As always, when one moves away from their birthplace, there is a yearning to return to the good old days. I will always have the fondest memories of my preteen years in White Rock, Arkansas. I reflect many times of the things I did as a young boy with fond memories. We didn't have a lot of posessions, but as I think back we were rich in family blessings. I'm sure mom was glad to move away and leave the wood burning cook stove behind.

My english teacher in junior high asked the class to write about what we had done during the summer vacation. That summer, dad and mom packed up the station wagon full of food and camping gear and headed for Shores Lake, north of Mulberry, Arkansas. A secluded little fishing and camping lake it was. Up above this lake, was a forest ranger lookout tower on top of White Rock Mountain. At the time we lived in Emporia, Kansas and it was great to leave the big city life and get away to the mountains. Even to this day I am drawn to this part of Arkansas through the memory of time.

The words came easy as I wrote of our camping trip. The pine trees were tall and straight that surrounded our tent. The aroma of the camp fire along with the smell of coffee perking in the flames lingers long on the mind. The day time near the lake was a hot July day. The spring fed lake was a refreshing spot to occupy our time. In the heat of the day a drive to the lookout tower was a cool change as the temperature on top of the mountain was several degrees cooler. The view was absolutely breathtaking. I described all these things in detail as I remembered them. I then turned my essay in to my teacher.

Later that week the teacher had graded them and was ready to give us our grade. I didn't have great expectations of a high grade as I was mostly a C student. She began to tell about all the essays she had read and one in particular she was excited about. She told how well the story was written in terms of keeping her attention. She felt like she was on that mountain with the writer. She read my story to the class and that made me feel good.