This weekend I visited my old stomping grounds.
Pinetop, AZ.
The good ol White Mountain Summer Homes.
And while a lot has changed in the five years since I've been there, like the increased amount of stores through town, the produce arrangement in Eddie's Country Store, and the cabins that have been built and sold, so much was strikingly familiar that driving up to the gates actually brought tears to my eyes.
I spent a lot of time in that woodsy summer haven when I was younger.
My mom would pack up the Suburban, pick me and Rob up from school on the last day, and head out.
I learned to ride a bike in Pinetop.
I broke my arm falling off a horse in Pintetop.
I played with American Girls and Breyer horses for hours and hours and hours.
I built countless fairy houses in mossy stumps.
I walked so many times around the neighborhood that the path was ingrained, the street names still familiar to me this trip.
I caught crawdads and fish (unwillingly), explored woods and meadows and tack shops, and even woke up with a spider in my hair.
We evacuated before the Rodeo fire.
We witnesses a herd of wild horses race mere feet from our porch.
We made many, many memories in that sweet, old cabin of ours.

There were a few factors that kept me from Pinetop for so long, but I cannot say how happy I was to finally return.  It was exactly as I expected it to be, and it was just what I needed.






Note the crossed paws.





















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