Today was surreal. Have you ever been somewhere with someone and felt like the place was yours? It may be a public place, but it’s where all your memories are from. No? Maybe it’s just me. Let me explain.

Every year hundreds of little families bundle up and venture out to American West Heritage Farm in Wellsville, UT. Every year I get invited by a friend or my sister-in-laws. It feels weird to be invited to a place that is mine.

This year I kept my mouth shut. I quietly pushed Brody in the stroller through the farm and looked around as my childhood memories rushed in. You see, my grandparents lived in the little white house on the farm. My grandpa was the lead farmer. To 8 year old Kylee, this was their farm… our farm.

People were guiding me around the farm that I knew like the back of my hand. We passed the creek where my cousin Stephanie and I invented the island of KaPooPoo. We passed the barn, where Lauren and I would watch mice pass the big window and pretend it was TV. Then, we held baby turtles in a room where we spend one of our Thanksgivings. There was the barn where we milked cows and swung into hay. The bunnies in a gated area where my grandpa’s used to be. Alyssa, Lauren and I spent a week at summer farm camp in one of the small buildings. There was the fields where grandpa let us drive the tractor or steer his big truck. Every single step brought back a new memory.

I can’t even begin to start the memories that come from inside that little white house. I remember upstairs bedroom where we played “teacher” and Uncle D told bedtime stories. The same room where Bryden locked us in from the outside. And I remember family room where we watched conference and learned to crochet. The living room where we would play piano and wrestle with B. I remember how EVERY TIME we came to visit someone got the stomach flu or hands,foot and mouth. I remember the times we had water fights and had to strip down in the backyard to hose off. Boys in the back. Girls in the front. I remember when someone was in the shower and someone else had to use the bathroom we would run down to the shop.

Grandpa’s farm was a magical place growing up. A place where cousins became best friends. A place where your imagination could run wild. A farm that will always hold a special place in my heart.