What Home Means To Me

By Dayna Smith

Home to me is memories. A great memory for me was when my grandad, my brother and I went for a walk up Falkland hill. As we got further up the hill it got colder but I didn’t mind because I was having a great time. Going on a walk with my grandad was a great memory because I used to spend a lot of time with him but now I don’t see him as much. But that was one of the best times. After we all reached the top of the hill we would sit down in the long grass and look at the view. I remember the grass would tickle my arms and my neck as well, the weather was freezing but that didn’t bother me. I could mostly hear the wind howling and it was so strong it would blow me over. Despite the weather the view was amazing I felt like I could sit there all day. I remember seeing all of the fields spread around just outside of Falkland, mostly there was sheep and cows in the fields sometimes there was horses.

After a long walk we would all go back to my house and have a rest. Dad would boil grandad a cup of tea. I could hear the kettle whistling and ever time I hear the wind howling or the kettle whistling I think of that memory.

My friends also make me feel at home when we are outside playing, they make me laugh and they make me smile. My friends are the best friends I could ever wish for. They cheer me up when I am sad and that’s what home means to me.