Riding on a Plane
Hi everyone, I'm Rachel Leetham. I come from a small town in the Santa Cruz mountains called Boulder Creek, population 6,000. In the 1800's, Boulder Creek was a logging town equipped with grizzly bears, trees, log cabins and lots of other things you would expect in a backwoods town. There aren't any grizzly bears now (all of the loggers killed them), but there are still plenty of trees, and the occasional log cabin. San Lorenzo Valley High School (my Alma mater) was always mocked by the other rival schools--it was rumored that we chopped wood for PE. No, we didn't actually chop wood for PE. Sorry to disappoint. However, on hot days, our gym teachers would let us run on a trail in the state park adjacent to our school (Fall Creek) instead of the usual, dusty oval track. Speaking of Fall Creek, one time, when I was about ten, I went hiking there with my family. While trying to pluck a shiny rock from the river, I slipped and fell in. So, I've always thought it was funny that the place is called Fall Creek, since I really did fall in the creek, quite literally.
My earliest memory is the first time I rode on a plane. Honestly, I don't remember much about it. I just remember hot cool it was that the tray folded into the armrest. Some of my other early memories are much more interesting. For example, when I was about five, I insisted on wearing my red sweatsuit to the park. Unfortunately, I was playing next to a hornet's nest. Little did I know that hornets are attracted to bright, flower-like colors. Inevitably, I got stung. I will never wear a red sweatsuit again.