My Home Is Memories

When I look out my window I see memories, the memories are my home. I do not think home is a building, I think home is my family the people that love me, and take care of me when I’m down. I am very lucky to have memories of my family. My home is fun, loving, and caring. I love the delicious smells when my dad is cooking fresh deer steak in the fall, or when we are camping and eating fresh fish. I remember my dog Gibson he kept me and my family safe from danger.