When everything gets too much and I need a break, I think about the smell of pine tree’s. Thinking about the fresh, tangy smell of pine can sometimes bring my mind to peace. It brings me to all of my favorite memories and my happy place. 

When I was little, my family used to have a pine tree in our front yard, and it was always the perfect hiding place for hide and seek. I would sit behind all of the branches, rubbing the pine tree bristles between my fingers, inhaling the tangy and sweet smell of pine until I was found.

 For some people the smell of pine trees may mean Christmas or that annoying sap that gets on your hands after a hike. But for me, it’s my whole childhood. I will never forget the time when I first skied at monarch. I was seven years old and ready to take on the mountain. After a few runs, my dad asked if I wanted to go down pinball, and confident little me said of course. About halfway through, I had fallen about five times, but I was determined to make it the whole way down. Then, I took my hardest crash right into a tree. Crying, my dad picked me up and started brushing the snow off of me. A little flustered, I got down to the lodge to take a break, when I took my ski jacket off there was a whole pine tree branch inside my coat. For the rest of my ski season, I smelt pine trees, so I made my new goal to make it down pinball without falling once. 

It didn’t stop at skiing. My grandparents have a cabin up by Mount Princeton that my family visits often. It’s surrounded by Pinon pine trees. I would play outside with the pine cones, making fairy gardens, obstacle courses and anything my imagination could think of. My favorite thing, though, was when I could convince my older brother, Cam, to have pine cone wars with me. We would each get a lawn chair as our base and chuck pine cones at each other until it was dinner.