Joshua Leininger

The Hill

In the summertime my family would travel to a little campground two hours away from our house. We called this place “The Hill”. The mountainous landscape of Pennsylvania, hid this tiny patch of land just for us. There I learned to love the woods. The drive was magical. Along the sides of the car were cliff faces, and the elegantly flowing Susquehanna River. The campground was on a dirt road directly passing through a farm - the only structure for a couple miles at least - and over a rickety covered bridge that my great grandfather and his friends built by hand a lifetime ago. There were cows just hanging out across the creek we always played in, and there were many creatures you could see if you walked into the dense forest behind this mini gravel haven where we relaxed and made memories together.