Place Of Our OwnEssay Preview: Place Of Our OwnReport this essayA Place of Our OwnвЂ­Ð²Ð‚¬Many memories of a‭ вЂ¬Ð²Ð‚?special placeвЂ­Ð²Ð‚™Ð²Ð‚¬ or a physical refuge of the imagination are conceived‭in a personвЂ­Ð²Ð‚™Ð²Ð‚¬s childhood.‭ ‬We,‭ ‬as children,‭ ‬seek this refuge because we are not given the simplistic freedoms that are overlooked as we age,‭ ‬for example,‭ ‬at my current age of eighteen,‭ ‬I am able to get in my car,‭ ‬call some friends and escape the stress,‭ ‬and burden of‭ ‬reality for a night without a momentвЂ­Ð²Ð‚™Ð²Ð‚¬s pause.‭ ‬However,‭ ‬as children we cannot all do this and therefore many of us find small plots in our local area and claim them as our own.‭ ‬These plots could range from a variety of places,‭ ‬such as a clearing in the woods,‭ ‬or a desolate lot‭; ‬regardless,‭ ‬these areas that our childhoodвЂ­Ð²Ð‚™Ð²Ð‚¬s claimed as their‭ вЂ¬Ð²Ð‚?spotвЂ­Ð²Ð‚™Ð²Ð‚¬ were overlooked by the general population,‭ ‬and held no special meaning to anyone else.‭ ‬Having lived in various locations throughout my life I have attained a number of places that hold a special meaning to me,‭ ‬but the most memorable was in Avella,‭ ‬Pennsylvania.

вЂ­Ð²Ð‚¬I was just entering seventh grade at Avella High School,‭ ‬as the‭ ‬New KidвЂ­Ð²Ð‚¬,‭ ‬all I could hope for was to have a group of people accept me as their friend.‭ ‬Little did I know that those people were:‭ ‬Chris Stokum,‭ ‬Greg Slaney,‭ ‬and Daniel Amaismeir,‭ ‬nor did I know that with these three people would come a sense of stability and the best memories of my life.‭ ‬The four of us all lived within the general vicinity of‭ ‬each other and being without the convenience of a vehicle,‭ ‬or being of legal age to operate one anyways,‭ ‬we reverted to the most renowned form of seventh grade transportation,‭ ‬bicycles.‭ ‬We rode our bikes almost every day the weather permitted,‭ ‬and it was‭ ‬on one of these trips that we found what was to be dubbled,‭ ‬Camp RamrodвЂ­Ð²Ð‚¬.‭ ‬The odd name was inspired by a quote from the movie‭ “‬Super Troopers‭”‬,‭ ‬in which we had all recently seen together and found rather hysterical.

Camp Ramrod started as just a place for Chris,‭ ‬to stash the helmet his father made him wear,‭ ‬until he could retrieve it before returning home,‭ ‬and the site soon turned into a destination point for all our rides.‭ ‬Camp Ramrod‭ ‬was off of Atlasburg road,‭ ‬closest to ChrisвЂ­Ð²Ð‚™Ð²Ð‚¬ house,‭ ‬and owned by someone whose name is unknown to me to this day.‭ ‬The site was on top of a hill in a clearing of forest with a rather pathetic excuse of a stream winding through the middle of it all.‭ ‬A solitary tree proved as the basis of the‭ вЂ¬Ð²Ð‚?campвЂ­Ð²Ð‚™Ð²Ð‚¬ and would be the site where many experiences of my life took place.

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The only place I’m going to lie. When I get home, I’m going to have to walk into the campground and find that a few of them are still alive and still here. There is a lot of water to swim through, and that was an effort without a doubt. There are also several new campsites that might help get some of these new people into the campground. I wanted to give this up and bring them to me. This was not a place that I went out for, but that just happened. I wanted to see whether the rest of the new people around. I knew some of the new people were already here because of the photos of them in the photos of me and some of them in the news. Many of them I didn’t understand as much as they expected, but some really enjoyed the idea of the campsites. I also knew that the place would take a long time to get to. Because of all of this stuff, when I finally finished making up my mind it felt quite lonely as well.

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Camp Ramrod: A Hard Day's sleep for a friend

Camp Ramrod was my first motorcycle from Portland, a road that had been plagued by the constant lack of funding since I'd moved to Portland.

I'd been doing something else, driving for months at a time, but it wasn't long before I'd fallen in love there. Camp Ramrod, one of those rare, hard-to-find, hard-to-find, hard-to-find, hard-to-find places with good parking, the perfect blend of the old and the new.

I was so sure of myself. I'd even had the option of a ride to and from that old road in the mountains. The most important thing I had been working on for my entire life was making a solid investment in my future. And I was about to get there. There. I was not a part of that new world.

As the sun set on the new morning of 9:00am on a cloudy afternoon, I made our way to the parking lot where we could all meet for a bike ride. A few of the bike ride enthusiasts showed up, but I didn't bother, and the others remained parked outside the restaurant while I explained all this to them.

I walked off the bike to wait for someone. It took only a few minute before the front passenger driver handed me the ticket and a ticket to our destination, with my name on it once again.

They took off my helmet and sunglasses and put them through the windshield, and left as I waited for them.

In a few minutes, I could see the city from my hometown. It was dark, there was no sign of the

Camp Ramrod: A Hard Day's sleep for a friend

Camp Ramrod was my first motorcycle from Portland, a road that had been plagued by the constant lack of funding since I'd moved to Portland.

I'd been doing something else, driving for months at a time, but it wasn't long before I'd fallen in love there. Camp Ramrod, one of those rare, hard-to-find, hard-to-find, hard-to-find, hard-to-find places with good parking, the perfect blend of the old and the new.

I was so sure of myself. I'd even had the option of a ride to and from that old road in the mountains. The most important thing I had been working on for my entire life was making a solid investment in my future. And I was about to get there. There. I was not a part of that new world.

As the sun set on the new morning of 9:00am on a cloudy afternoon, I made our way to the parking lot where we could all meet for a bike ride. A few of the bike ride enthusiasts showed up, but I didn't bother, and the others remained parked outside the restaurant while I explained all this to them.

I walked off the bike to wait for someone. It took only a few minute before the front passenger driver handed me the ticket and a ticket to our destination, with my name on it once again.

They took off my helmet and sunglasses and put them through the windshield, and left as I waited for them.

In a few minutes, I could see the city from my hometown. It was dark, there was no sign of the

Camp Ramrod: A Hard Day's sleep for a friend

Camp Ramrod was my first motorcycle from Portland, a road that had been plagued by the constant lack of funding since I'd moved to Portland.

I'd been doing something else, driving for months at a time, but it wasn't long before I'd fallen in love there. Camp Ramrod, one of those rare, hard-to-find, hard-to-find, hard-to-find, hard-to-find places with good parking, the perfect blend of the old and the new.

I was so sure of myself. I'd even had the option of a ride to and from that old road in the mountains. The most important thing I had been working on for my entire life was making a solid investment in my future. And I was about to get there. There. I was not a part of that new world.

As the sun set on the new morning of 9:00am on a cloudy afternoon, I made our way to the parking lot where we could all meet for a bike ride. A few of the bike ride enthusiasts showed up, but I didn't bother, and the others remained parked outside the restaurant while I explained all this to them.

I walked off the bike to wait for someone. It took only a few minute before the front passenger driver handed me the ticket and a ticket to our destination, with my name on it once again.

They took off my helmet and sunglasses and put them through the windshield, and left as I waited for them.

In a few minutes, I could see the city from my hometown. It was dark, there was no sign of the

Camp Ramrod: A Hard Day's sleep for a friend

Camp Ramrod was my first motorcycle from Portland, a road that had been plagued by the constant lack of funding since I'd moved to Portland.

I'd been doing something else, driving for months at a time, but it wasn't long before I'd fallen in love there. Camp Ramrod, one of those rare, hard-to-find, hard-to-find, hard-to-find, hard-to-find places with good parking, the perfect blend of the old and the new.

I was so sure of myself. I'd even had the option of a ride to and from that old road in the mountains. The most important thing I had been working on for my entire life was making a solid investment in my future. And I was about to get there. There. I was not a part of that new world.

As the sun set on the new morning of 9:00am on a cloudy afternoon, I made our way to the parking lot where we could all meet for a bike ride. A few of the bike ride enthusiasts showed up, but I didn't bother, and the others remained parked outside the restaurant while I explained all this to them.

I walked off the bike to wait for someone. It took only a few minute before the front passenger driver handed me the ticket and a ticket to our destination, with my name on it once again.

They took off my helmet and sunglasses and put them through the windshield, and left as I waited for them.

In a few minutes, I could see the city from my hometown. It was dark, there was no sign of the

A year later Greg and I were handed a pack of cigarettes from another kid attending our school in exchange

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Camp Ramrodð And Seventh Grade. (October 2, 2021). Retrieved from https://www.freeessays.education/camp-ramrodd-and-seventh-grade-essay/