A Glimpse at Me

Blackwell Lake

When I picture my childhood, little Meredith is almost always at her grandparent’s house on Blackwell Lake. That place has had the pleasure of a front row seat in the evolution of Meredith. Each year was highlighted by the finite days at the lake. My mom had to constantly fight the battle with me to apply sunscreen. I guess my logic that I’d be in the water all day anyways wasn’t enough of an excuse to avoid the freezing torture of sunscreen spray. To my own misfortune, no amount of sunscreen ever saved my pale skin from a painful sunburn. I also tried to use this as an argument point, but clearly there wasn’t much logic behind that one either. It was a constant battle every summer. Burn, apply aloe, peel, repeat. My mom wouldn’t fight to get me out of the water to reapply sunscreen, though. She went as far as “feeding the dolphins” when we weren’t ready to get out, but needed a snack break.

As I grew up, my siblings and I began having two-three day long sleepovers at our grandparents. It was a treat to wake up, throw on our swimsuits, and run down the hill straight to the lake everyday after being used to waiting all week until we could drive the 45 minutes again. One of our best moments as siblings was taking the canoe out to the middle of the lake, and then my brother, being like any older brother, purposefully tipped the canoe. Turns out tipping a canoe rightside up and getting back in is nearly impossible. My grandma still recalls her fear when she realized I was wearing my glasses. Thankfully, I kept my head above water and my glasses firmly stayed on my face the whole swim back.

The older I got the more I desired quality bonding time with my sister. Our routine became swimming fairly far off the dock with our “life jacket diapers” on so we could easily float while we talked. Out there we had the privacy to talk about whatever we could possibly imagine. We still do this every summer. When my cousins are around, we paddle the raft far enough out to avoid the weeds. Once we drop the anchor, chaos proceeds. Times on the raft could range from “King of the Raft” to practicing our dives to rating who has the best jumps. Every time it seemed as if we got even farther from shore, leading us to question the ability of the anchor.

Lake days are the best when there’s an equal amount of chaos and leisure. Reading while lounging on a chair or flat on my stomach against the dock has produced some of the best midday naps. There’s no better feeling than days in the sun on Blackwell Lake. Above all else, I have the fondest memories of when the sun begins to set. It’s in those moments that my sister and I raid my grandma’s closet for sweatpants and a sweatshirt for our group walk around the lake. After a few walks, you’d think my sister and I would plan ahead and pack our own sweatpants and sweatshirts, but the comfort of wearing our grandma’s clothes is really what we are searching for. Minnesota summer evenings never really get that chilly anyways, especially with a fresh burn warming my skin. To this day, I have never left my grandparents’ house without them waving goodbye to us from the window.

Boston

I have been fortunate enough to visit Boston a surprising amount of times already. For two years, my sister went to college out east so I got to go on a lot of Boston trips. One vivid occurrence was the Wednesday of MEA, and we had quite literally no intention of flying to Boston to see my sister anytime soon. I was a senior in high school, and taking an online PSEO college class. MEA and midterms aligned that year so I was busy working on an essay at my favorite coffee shop. I was already stressed with submitting this midterm on time considering I just began writing it that same day when my dad called me to come home. We were leaving in an hour to drive to the airport and fly to Boston tonight. To say I had a mental breakdown would not accurately describe my emotions at that moment. Looking back I can’t believe that I reacted that way to learning I was leaving for a spontaneous trip to Boston AND getting to see my sister. I did end up submitting my essay on time…I wrote it on the 2.5 hour drive to the airport and on the 2 hour flight, and once we landed I quickly logged onto the Boston Logan International Airport wifi and submitted my midterm. Crisis averted.

One of the coolest feelings about traveling to a city across the country is when certain landmarks start to become familiar. This trip was roughly my third time in Boston, and I could recognize Boston University now everytime we drove out of the city to go pick up my sister from Wellesley College. At the time, Boston University was my dream school. The reason for this trip was for my sister’s conference cross country meet. Another benefit of this trip was some of our hometown best friends were also visiting Boston as a family vacation. As a group, we watched my sister, Maddie, run at the meet and then proceeded to spend the rest of the evening together. We walked around the city looking for food to bring back and snack on at the hotel. We got to share our favorite Italian restaurant with them, and make even more Boston memories. This by far was one of my favorite Boston experiences, and to think I almost ruined it by letting a midterm determine my emotions.

The last time I was in Boston was when we road tripped out there to move my sister back home. This was equally special because our best friend, Malory, road tripped with us. We had this joke of how many hours we could go before we argued, but surprisingly there wasn’t a single argument the whole way there and back. It was really special to get to show our best friend all of the places we have come to love about Boston over the last two years. Malory and I began the tradition of getting slushies in every state we stopped in. We still hold the highest praise to the man working at the Travel Plaza in Indiana who gave us our slushies for free. I definitely cannot recall the taste of the slushie, but it was by far the best for that reason alone. The biggest reward was when we were all reunited on the drive back home with my sister.

Boston holds the most memories with my family. My dad once got pulled over a mile away from Wellesley College at 1 a.m. when we were desperately trying to get to Maddie after a long travel day. We once got absolutely drenched in a downpour on the walk to our favorite Italian restaurant. We were definitely the most unpresentable and cold ones there that evening. My sister and I once bought stuffed penguins from the New England Aquarium, and walked around with them zipped into our jackets for the rest of the day. Don’t remind me about the 10 mile Freedom Trail walk… It was definitely really educational, but I shouldn’t have worn sandals. I relentlessly called my best friend a Loyalist the entire trip after she ordered tea in Boston of all places.

Boston holds such vivid and unique memories for me. All thanks to my sister for dreaming big and attending college 1,546 miles away from home. It has been almost three years since I’ve been back. Maddie, Malory, and I have been dreaming on a girls trip back to Boston after we all graduate. I know without a doubt, Boston will continue to produce exciting memories.

Colorado

The first time I went to Colorado was for my cousin’s wedding, and by the second time I visited Colorado (two years later) they were already divorced. But that’s not necessarily important to my story. However, that first trip did spark something in me. Following getting back home, I broke up with my first boyfriend. My family still questions me about that decision since he was seemingly perfect, but I just knew. In a way, I guess I was predicting the outcome of my cousin’s marriage. Colorado sparked my most vivid memory of ever following my gut without any other true reason why. It’s one of those moments where it feels like something groundbreaking happened to you. I like to credit Colorado for this shift in me, but maybe I just happened to have this realization while I also happened to be in Colorado. Either way, Colorado became one of my favorite places. I realized how much beauty was in the world, and the feeling of being 100% present with nature.

On that first trip, I would wake up and immediately go sit on our porch. Wifi barely worked at the resort which was a blessing. I didn’t feel the urge to mindlessly scroll. At any moment an elk could be seen walking past the cabins, and I’d feel like a fool for missing that for something on my phone screen. Since it was my first time in Colorado, I was very determined to write it all down in my journal. I remember writing about how I wish I never had to leave. There was something special about Colorado that felt comforting like home. For a home body like myself, that was a huge deal. It was my first experience where I actually wanted to be somewhere else rather than be at home.

The second time I went to Colorado, my family stayed at the exact same resort as the first time. At this point, I felt like a regular at the YMCA of the Rockies. Almost immediately, my brain got to thinking about how much I have changed since the last time I was here. I had gone through two break ups, graduated from high school, and completed my first year of college since. My first trip symbolized a changing point in my life in regards to my emotions. This second trip symbolized all of the growth and challenges I’ve experienced to get to this point. It might seem dramatic to have all of these deep realizations over just a place, but there’s something really unique about staying at literally the exact same place a second time.

This second trip was a planned vacation with my family as well as with my aunt, uncle, and cousin. Every summer my family goes on a road trip, but this Colorado 2023 trip was by far my favorite vacation I’ve ever been on. For once, I had nothing occupying my mind except where I was. After years of distracted vacations due to various reasons (usually a silly high school boyfriend), I was fully submerged into my surroundings. I credit the mountains, the people I was with, and the people that were no longer in my life. Losing some of the biggest sources of anxiety can make any experience more enjoyable. Colorado was a breath of fresh air – literally. Once again I experienced that sense of home. At this point, I had already completed my first year at UMD, but Duluth has never given me the same feeling as my short visits to Colorado. I’m manifesting someday moving to Colorado, ideally Boulder.

Duluth

I want to say I love Duluth and how much I’ll miss this place in a few months, but that’s not entirely accurate. I will miss certain aspects about my time here like the endless people you could meet on any given day. The endless opportunities and people to meet are exciting, especially when you’re from a small town. I have had the normal amount of ups and downs during my college career, but to repeat another cliche: I have grown so much since going to college. College is usually only one chapter in someone’s life, and Duluth and the people here will forever be written in ink in my college chapter. Years down the road when someone asks me about my freshman roommate, there will only be each other in that story. There’s something niche about dining hall meals that makes you miss it and never want to experience it again at the same time.

Duluth taught me I can pick myself back up. For once, I didn’t have people who knew me for years surrounding me everyday. I didn’t have the comfort of being completely known by these strangers I met on some random day. I used to describe my college experience as lonely. Now, I have the ability of being utterly content with being alone. Honestly, about 70% of the time I prefer it. Duluth taught me that you can be in a beautiful place, but truly it’s the people you surround yourself with that matter. Duluth brought me (illegally) cramped car rides filled with music and laughter. On one illegal adventure we even got pulled over, but the cop either didn’t see or didn’t comment on our very filled backseat. I couldn’t believe our luck. A bonfire night out on Park Point taught me the tradition of ‘smelting’ along the Lake Superior shore. One man even dared me to participate in the tradition of biting a smelt’s head off, a tradition I was fully okay to not participate in. Those same nights I felt the sharp thrill of jumping in Lake Superior. The bitter cold slightly paralyzes you upon first contact, but the adrenaline rush is always worth it. We always planned to jump in once we were ready to leave so we didn’t freeze the rest of the night. Usually that plan worked except one time we reached the car, and the driver realized he had lost his keys…that was a cold night searching every inch of the sand. By the time we located them and arrived back to campus, my leggings had literal frost frozen onto them. We never lost a pair of keys a second time.

Morris

No other place means as much to me as my hometown. I can travel to beautiful places, and move to an entire new city, but nothing gives me the peace and comfort of being home. Growing up in a small town requires you to get creative. Over the years, my friends and I have perfected growing up in a small town. Our go-to hangout usually consisted of getting food at one spot, and then ice cream from another. Most evenings ended in us at someone’s house playing Mario Kart or watching a terrible movie we can laugh at. If it’s my lucky night then we will play a few rounds of Spoons. It has become a joke that no one wants to sit next to me during Spoons since I tend to get overly competitive. There may have been one too many snapped plastic spoons. On summer days we sometimes go play tennis, resulting in me with another horrible sunburn, of course. I like to think I’m fairly adequate at tennis, but my real tennis players best friends enjoy humbling me. I have two best friends that live on lakes so we try to fit in as many lake days as possible when we are all home at the same time. It has been an adjustment from spending 24/7 in high school together to texting the group chat about when each other’s spring break is this year. However, once we are back together, we switch right back into the good old days when we all lived within minutes of each other.

I have had the privilege of growing up in the same town, same house, my whole life. My home has seen every stage of Meredith. Our family room has heard my angry wails after getting stuck on the water tunnel in a never-ending loop on the Koopa Cape course on Mario Kart while playing with my siblings. Followed by the polite recommendation by my dad that maybe it’s time to be done for the night. It’s still my least favorite course… My sister’s bedroom has clocked an infinite amount of hours of us playing with our Barbie’s and American Girl dolls. My bedroom was once transformed into a classroom when I had my teacher phase. Our swingset was also once transformed into my horse stables when I went through that phase as well. We still have the chair where I hid my hair after I decided to cut my own hair after my sister called me ugly (so I claim, I don’t actually remember if that’s true or if I just wanted an excuse). Our front yard holds my footprints after countless hours running routes while my dad threw “long bombs” to me. As well, all of the volleyball practice (a sport I never even played) and softball pitching practice (a sport I did actually play). Our driveway holds every shot I made and missed during the 10,000 shot challenge every summer, and the cut throat 2v2 basketball games we played every night after supper. No place has had as much of an influence on me than my hometown. Every inch of Morris holds a memory.