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House on the Hill

Updated: May 27, 2020

By Ashton -

I was raised in a small rural town of Redmond, Utah, where the local high school’s highest number of students attending at a time is four hundred. Most of the parents’ livelihood depends on the dark and deep mining of black coal or on the rolling fields of hay, alfalfa, or corn, or even the early mornings and late nights of teaching at the school. Fall is best remembered for herds of cows moving down the mountain as cowboys on horses lead them to open fields where they will stay for the winter.

If someone really paid attention, he or she could know every single person’s name, their

parent’s names, and even siblings. A young couple could break up before first period and

everyone would know by the time class started. Several of my teachers were in my church ward; one was not only my math teacher but also the basketball coach, and my own dad was not only my counselor and driver’s education teacher, but also my cross country coach.

Friday nights consisted of driving down a dusty, “too-familiar” back road on the way to

pick up a signature taco or cheeseburger from Hot Spot, a family friendly drive though in the

center of Salina, Utah. While some hang out at the top of main, others hurry home to prepare for a date with a childhood friend.

My own home is set on a hill with little sheds, hills, and plenty of animals such as

chickens, dogs, horses, cows, sheep, and quite a few feral cats. The summer months are as dry as can be while the winter season brings in enormous amounts of snow. I miss my community so much but seasons change so do people. Although I am now far away, it is only for a time because I will be back. I wouldn’t change my childhood for anything.


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