Nestled on the North Carolina countryside stands a place that holds my most cherished memories: my childhood home. Set on an acre of land, the house boasts thick green grass, evergreen trees, and two gardens. Designed and built by my great grandfather, the house is every new couple’s dream without the picket fence.

Vintage white siding wraps around the frame of the building, and navy blue shutters adorn the windows. Smooth rustic red and brown bricks make up the porch steps that lead to the white front door. My parents carried me up those steps and into this home on my second day of life.

Ever since that day, this house became my identity, and my favorite place on earth.

My next few weeks of life were spent soaking up the North Carolina sunshine in my fancy bassinet.

My first Christmas, my parents gave me a bouncy Tigger. I don't remember how I felt about it.

When I was three, my dad got me a dog. My first memory ever is bringing Rudy home. He was a golden retriever that gave lots of kisses. I fed him pecans from our pecan tree. When he died, my dad buried him next to the gas tank. There are still roses on his grave.

My mom had to deal with this crazy blonde curly hair every morning. We usually settled for pig tails.

I sat at the butcher-block counter every day and ate my cheesy grits.

Whenever I was brave enough to go outside, I'd swing in the tire swing. But, I'd always check the inside of the tire first because you never know…A snake could slither in there.

Speaking of snakes, I saw one in the garage. My dad chopped off its head with a garden hoe, and it still wiggled afterwards. I screamed a lot that day.

I was blessed with a baby brother in this house. When he was three, he had this super awesome race car bed and a play tool bench that I wanted for myself.

We would play in our blue car for hours outside. We had so much fun.

In the summer, I sat next to the air conditioner wondering if the humid heat would ever go away.

On those hot summer days, I'd make sure to keep the car nice and clean.

I convinced my mom to let me keep a stray cat that wandered up to the house. His favorite place to sleep was in the flower box. Mom’s petunias didn’t live very long that year.

One Saturday, I found some roller skates at a local yard sale. They were white with pink wheels and teal Velcro straps. I skated inside and outside, day and night until they fell apart. There are still marks on the hardwood floor.

I ate all the cherry tomatoes I wanted out of our garden and loved to pull the carrots up out of the ground.

I loved trying to catch lightning bugs in a jar, but it was a challenge. Besides, they don’t like to light up once they’re in the jar.

At my request, my dad painted me a humongous Tweety-Bird on the wall.

During Christmastime, I used to go sit and stare at the Christmas tree. It was in the corner of the living room covered in white lights and more ornaments than a tree should be able to hold. It was gorgeous.

On Christmas Eve, I’d look out the big kitchen window. I never saw any reindeer. I’m still disappointed.

My dad used to hook a sled to our lawnmower. I’d sit in it, and he’d pull me on that sled. It felt like I was going thirty miles an hour; it was awesome.

My mom homeschooled me when I was in first grade. We’d sit at the kitchen table doing phonics and handwriting. I liked having a sharp pencil, so I sharpened it every five minutes. I learned to live with a blunt pencil that year.

I said goodbye to this home when I was eight. I felt like I had been run over by the lawnmower. That home was everything to me. How was I supposed to leave it? My grandparents bought the house from us, so every time we went back I got to see the house again. I slept in my old room, ate my grits from the counter, and swung in the tree.

With my grandparent’s recent move to Montana, the house has sat empty. It will soon go on the market to be cherished by a new family.

The news of the house being sold has made me feel like I’ve been runover again. I have loved this home for so many years.All my memories are here, this was my childhood. I don't want to see it leave my family.

Here’s the reality: I’m growing up. I’ll never live there again. Life will never be like it once was in that house. Does that make it any easier to let it go? No, it doesn’t. However, I will forever cherish my wonderful memories of living in that house. I'll never forget.