I remember traveling the endless winding roads with my family of six packed into our car, questioning when we would arrive. The right turn arrow would become visible around the bend, leading straight to the driveway of the greatest treasure in Waukesha County–my Oma and Opa’s farm house.

It’s a big white house that brings family together. It’s a place for firsts–first easter egg hunt, first bike ride, and first time staying up all night polka dancing while eating maraschino cherries and cookie dough.

It’s a place where you can walk into the yard and fill a whole basket with apples, cherries, and raspberries. And it’s the place where you come back inside and make those three ingredients into just about anything; from applesauce to a giant stuffed pie, we’ve done it all. And the best part was, in the end, the taste didn’t matter–just the laughs and time shared. 

It’s a central point for my scattered cousins to come together. Where we would celebrate holidays or spend weekends together. The weekends usually consisted of rock painting, lots of cooking, and when the weather was nice, bonfires filled with sticky s'mores and watching bats fly out of the barn for the night. 

My Oma and Opa’s house was a place for laughter, a place for growth, and a place for family. It holds the memories of a lifetime and tucks them away into the walls I will remember forever.