My mom, dad, sister, and I pull up to the side of the dirt road and turn off the car. There’s a hill to the right, and all I can see are trees, all the way. There’s a path, a hill, one destination.

Every summer up until my parents divorced, our family drove up to the Rocky Mountains to go camping. Driving that wretched three hours to pitch our tent at our favorite campsite: the Grizzly Lake Campground. We would unload everything and set up fort. There were few things to do; whether or not it was taking hikes, and of course fishing, what else is there to do?

We start to descend down the hill, down the thin strap of dirt called a trail. Wild flowers of all colors and long grass consume the rest of the land. My legs itch and I reach down to relieve them. There are pine trees all around us, that wonderful, sweet-as-honey smell--for me, the smell of home. As I look around, I spot the occasional cow-pie; a chipmunk scurries from one side of the forest to the other. There are logs--big and small--they create a barrier that my family and I can easily surpass.

I’m too impatient, I take a run for it. Down the rest of the hill, over those logs, and through that ominous grass. There’s an opening; it looks like some sort of field. As I take a step closer, I can see water washing up onto the shore of this pond; the pond is a shelter, a coliseum, a couch. This pond is as beautiful as the ocean, if not, even better. The little water I can see glistens, and the cool breeze imitates the sound of a rolling current.

Rib-bit! I can hear the frogs crying out; that pond is a lily-pad pond, and those lily-pads belong to them. Anticipation grows, for my sister and I can’t wait to hunt down those noisy frogs. Maybe, just maybe, today will be the day mom let’s us take one home to keep as our pet.

I look out across the pond, there are no blue breaks at all, just green. On the other side, all I can see are trees. The pine trees ascend to a large hill; red trees are scattered among the green. Every year we come up, there are less and less trees because of that life sucker; that obnoxious pine beetle. I think, wow! What an amazing sight. Life couldn't get any better than it does here.

There are large rocks as large as recliner chairs off the coast of the pond. I remember my sister and I walking over to check them out. Eventually, the both of us lounge on them, just breathing the air. We sit and wait for our parents; our plan is to fish here, for the pond closer to our campsite was closed at the time. There’s a cool breeze, taking some of the sun’s heat away. The trees whistle and we sit in silence listening to them sing their song.

Moo! This distinct sound echos from the mountains and we look around. We have never actually seen the cows before. Will we get lucky this time? I really hope so.

Our dad finally comes with our rods, and we begin to cast off. With a ruffle of a bush, a weasel pops up and runs off into the woods. I remember getting so excited as to see my first weasel, freaking out when I couldn't spot him at first.

Our lines get caught in the thick vegetation repeatedly, so we decide to call it a day. We reel in one last time and pack up the fishhook box. The day is young and we have nowhere to be so we decide to take a walk.

Keeping along the coast, we planned on circling the pond. I’m afraid of what’s on the other side, for the only way to get there is by walking half a mile, or boating across.

Ahh! Mom! We reach a point where we have to walk across a thin log to continue, there’s mud everywhere and frogs are jumping every which way. My sister is braver than me, for I dislike dirt and she’s ready to get her hands dirty. Of course I realize that mud has to do with the moisture, and moisture has to do with the location. This one, special location; quiet, soft, and pure. I can only hope that future generations will try their best to keep such beauty the same way. I would hate to see such wonderful, beautiful land destroyed.