# data[].attributes.body
The kitchen of my house was a haven where memories were kneaded, rolled, and baked into the very fabric of my being. The wooden floor, worn and warm, creaked softly underfoot, each groan a whispered secret of family that lived in our home before us. Sunlight streamed through the two open glass sliding doors, casting patterns that danced like fireflies. Beyond those doors, the deck stretched out, a whole different world being on the second floor, it seemingly overlooked a world of endless summers and dreams.

# data[].attributes.body
The dense woods on the east side of town was home to many hours spent playing war, hide and seek, or whatever games me and my friends could come up with. There were no clear cut trails, no guided paths, just thick, heavy woods sitting adjacent to the new church building. The forest hosted the smell of pines, willows, and tallgrass. It carried a faint sound of cicadas crying out to their friends. To this day, I can still hear the rustling of the leaves as we would run through the forest wrapped up in whichever game we might've been playing at that point

# data[].attributes.body
The neighborhood was very uniform, my house like any other was beige with speckled brown shingles. The garage like a shed mostly was storage, keeping junk we held onto as memories. There was two stairs leading up to the seemingly ordinary door I grew up going in and out of. A flag blew in the wind stuck into the empty flower garden, adorned with many fabrics over the years. Around the back there was a huge tree with a worn blue rope tied on a broad branch, in the corner was a sizable stack of wood that was home to many animals. There was two glass sliding doors that I could look in and see the warm glow of the kitchen lights where my parents would be.

# data[].attributes.body
On the corner of the street there it was my childhood home. It was a little white town house where I lived until I was 7 years old only a third of my life so far, but I can still remember so many vivid memories of those days. I can still see the little children playing in the small front yard with over growing grass with a mulched garden and spiky red roses by the front door. I can also smell the baking of a variety of cookies coming from the front window of the house, and I can feel the sand and rocks under my feet from the playground which just happened to be in my backyard. I can hear the old rusty swings and footsteps on the sidewalk as we played tag or the bouncing of the foursquare ball in the driveway that being my family's favorite game to play when we were younger.

# data[].attributes.body
My grandparents acreage filled with their little white house and my grandmas exquisite flowers. When I was young it felt so mighty grand. So much empty space to run around, as well as drive the atv around. I would whip that thing up the gravel road. The gravel road that led up to my grandpa's workshop. His workshop almost looked as cluttered as a hoarders house. His old cars and junk laying all around. But oh how fun it was to weave the atv through it all.

# data[].attributes.body
The house was of medium size. The front of the house was made of red bricks. The porch had two tan looking columns holding up the porch roof. The sides of the house had tan siding. There was bushes and shrubs before the house. The house's front yard was as green as tree leaves. There was the sound of wind blowing the leaves and the faint sound of cars driving.

# data[].attributes.body
My old backyard was the breeding ground of so many of my childhood memories from tackling my friends on the trampoline in the rain to hunting squirrels out of a hunting blind with a BB gun with my cousin. The half luscious half dead grass was the perfect foundation for a wiffle ball field as well as a race track for a mower. The corner with no grass just dirt had a stack of fire wood with a beat up archery target. On the polar opposite end of the yard with thick green grass hosted a trampoline that looked like it flew out of a tornado. The small concrete pad was the perfect surface for a basketball court. When you walk through the terrain of the Watson backyard you feel sticks poking through your shoes and you may even have to find the perfect path to not step in dog poop.

# data[].attributes.body
My grandparents house was set up right outside of Norfolk Nebraska. The outside of the house was painted gray with the roof shingles black. The back deck looked out over an empty pasture of land. Their backyard is not large but not small, perfect size for me and my grandpa to play catch.

# data[].attributes.body
Like any other brick house built in the 1950's, my home was solid. Like, tornado proof solid. There was so much brick wrapping the outside that the Wolf could never have blown it down. Asphalt shingles took their turn blowing off the roof in even the mildest breeze, demonstrating that lack of quality we've all come to associate with "new" things. Hedges of lilacs blew their sweet smell through the windows, their breaths of perfume making me smile and sneeze, all at the same time. Barking could only mean that the neighbor's giant labrador was left outside, yet again, for everyone to enjoy. Windows slammed shut as the minutes turned to hours, his barks ricocheting like bullets off the brick.

# data[].attributes.body
Cold is all i could remember trying to wrap myself in a blanket to keep all the heat in. This was my first time ever going camping with my dad. All the animals talking and making noise is all you could hear. While the damp ground getting your shoes and socks wet. And the smell of s’mores filling the air. As the night went on you could see the moon glowing and shining as if it was a flashlight for the whole world.

# data[].attributes.body
Electric fences are there to keep stuff in. But to the mind of a child, it’s basically a fancy play toy. You could sometimes tell if the fence was alive if you could hear it humming. But the only surefire way to know if it was on was by wrapping your fingers around the thin fire then feeling the jolt of energy running through you. It's a shocking pulse that feels painful, yet numbing and somehow soothing. The grabbing of the fence was usually accompanied by a yelp of the surge of electrical current going through your arm.