Nostalgia, Part 1 of 4

My father is a man who has built and ​​can build ​​everything out of wood. In the winter of 1989 he built a house with the help of just his brother and father. How badass is that! He even still fixes wooden toys from my mom’s preschool classroom. Like I said, whatever has been or can be, he’s done it. Every wood worker has their wood shop, (photos of the inside of the shop coming next) and my father’s is in a very old Warehouse owned by the Airport. These doors are on the outside of the building. To get to this building is a bit of a mission. It’s a road you honestly have no reason to drive down unless you ​​know what’s down there, and for me as a child that drive always felt mysterious and magical, as if I ​

​was the only one who ​​knew what was hidden down there. I would wonder what was behind every door. My imagination would run as wild as the untamed forest that grew all around this secret, hidden place where my father’s shop was. As I reflect back on my childhood, I realize how special this place was to me.