Places
2024-2025 Personal Narratives
2024-2025 Personal Narratives
Special places hold memories that teach us about the important things in life.
This page is dedicated to those places and life lessons.
The Honey Hole
Personal Narrative by Korbyn Arnold, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
The Honey Hole wasn’t just a hunting spot to me, it was a role model of my childhood--- a sanctuary, and the setting for countless memories that shaped who I am today. Buried deep in the wild, hidden from the world, it was where I learned patience, respect for nature, and the thrill of the hunt.
I still remember the first time I set foot in the Honey Hole, my boots sinking slightly into the damp earth, my breath visible in the crisp morning air. My heart raced as I followed my elders, listening to their whispered stories of the great hunts that had happened here before me. At first, I was just a kid, watching and learning. But as seasons passed, I earned my place in the duck blind, gripping my shotgun with a mix of excitement and nerves.
The Honey Hole was more than just a hunting spot, it was an education. I learned to read the sky, to predict the movement of the flocks, and to call the ducks down in a way that felt almost magical. There was an art to it, an unspoken language between hunter and prey. The first time I successfully called in a duck and made the shot, I felt a sense of pride that has never faded. I will never forget the drake mallard hovering over the plastic decoys rippling in the tide of the Honey Hole.
Beyond the hunt, the Honey Hole was a place of bonding. Here, I spent long mornings and late evenings with family and friends, swapping stories, sharing laughs, and embracing the quiet beauty of the wilderness. It was in these moments, while waiting for the sun to rise, listening to the distant honking of incoming flocks, that I truly understood why hunting was so much more than the act itself. It was tradition, connection, and a deep-rooted respect for the land.
As the years passed, my relationship with the Honey Hole evolved. It became a place where I could escape the pressures of life, where I could reflect on the past and dream about the future. Every visit brought back waves of nostalgia: the smell of damp reeds, the sound of distant wings cutting through the sky, and the feeling of cold water splashing against my waders.
Now, as I continue the tradition, I realize the Honey Hole is not just a place, it is a part of me. The lessons I’ve learned there extend far beyond hunting, lessons in patience, perseverance, and appreciation for the fleeting beauty of nature. And as long as there are ducks in the sky and hunters in the blind, the Honey Hole will remain a sacred ground, carrying stories of the past and waiting to be the setting where new memories are yet to be made.
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My Father’s House
Personal Narrative by Rachel Lilly, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
I grew up on an acre and a half of land in Eastern North Carolina between Williamston and Washington. Through the years, all kinds of life flourished at my father’s house. Pets, plants, people, it was always lively in that double-wide trailer, even when it should have been calm. I haven’t lived with my dad for 5 years now. I stay with him sometimes, but it’s not the same as it was when I was younger, and I don’t know if it ever will be.
Since I was 3 years old, I've had 10 pets: 5 dogs, 6 cats, and a lizard who met an untimely end. Only 2 of the cats are still living: Sally, the oldest of them all, and Bagheera, who was a part of the last litter of kittens she had. Sally probably had 15 sets of kittens in her life. All of the cats we raised were barn cats, and it seemed like whenever we got our hands on Sally to get her spayed, she would somehow be pregnant again. Sally was always a social cat; she was always under your feet and would even walk down the road with you, but she was feisty before she got fixed. Very few people could pet her, and even fewer could pick her up. Since she got spayed, she mellowed out a lot, and now you can pick her up and sling her around however much you want. Bagheera is the opposite, very sweet and calm, but he only comes around when it’s time to eat or when the dogs are around.
I always liked cats, but my dad was all about his dogs. There was Sullivan, a golden retriever who got hit by a car before I was old enough to remember. Leroy, an old hunting dog that I grew attached to, when my dad tried to sell him, I wouldn’t let him go. Pippa, a lab mix who was probably the sweetest dog ever to walk the earth. We found her on a bridge when I was 3 years old, and she became my dad's best friend.
When she died, I think my dad lost a little piece of himself. Now the only dogs left are Sasha and Roxy. Sasha took a lot after Pippa; I think if reincarnation is real, that dog is a real-life example. My dad takes her everywhere with him, and over the last few years, I think she has become his best friend. Roxy, on the other hand, is a stray who happened to show up at our house one day. She lives mostly outside, but only because she’s too rambunctious to stay inside. Her wild nature reminds me of how the house used to be.
Behind my dad’s house is a series of fields. I always loved walking through those fields, eating peanuts, and playing with cotton that hadn’t been harvested yet. The fields led into woods, and inside those woods was a calmness that was unparalleled by anywhere else I had ever been. I would run through those woods barefoot when I wanted to get away, and when I was done would jump straight into the pool we had in our backyard. People used to joke that I was born with webbed feet because I swam so much. As soon as March hit, you could always find me outside in the pool. While I was swimming, you could find my mom in the garden. My mom always loved plants, and later put together a greenhouse where she started growing herbs and succulents. It’s been 6 years since she used the greenhouse. Weeds grow up from the pebbly floor, and wasps make the humid environment their home.
Pieces of the place I grew up are everywhere in the new house where I live. My mother's love for plants never died, potted greenery overtakes our kitchen, and tomatoes and herbs are growing on our front porch. Stray cats eat scraps from the pile outside. You can’t touch them, but they’ll let you close enough to them to get a picture. The fields behind my house now don’t go on for as long as the ones at my dad's did, but the cotton that covers the ground is still as white as snow. Though these things parallel my childhood home, no amount of similarity will make it the same. The last piece of my childhood is at my old house, crushed under the broken swing set where I spent so many unforgettable years.
Photo of the Pamlico River at Roanoke Christian Camp by Anderson Duncan
Camp
Personal Narrative by Anderson Duncan, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
Proverbs 27:17 “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.”
The waves of the river gently brush the edge of the shoreline as I sit mesmerized by the beauty of the flowing water and the enchanting sunset filled with deep, vibrant oranges, yellows, and pinks. As the sun sets and the sounds of kids fill the air around me, I realize the deep and emotional impact, change, and memories I have received from a beautiful little summer camp in Washington, North Carolina.
Roanoke Christian Camp has been a large part of my life since I was around five. Having a large impact on my family, as my mom was a camper there, my great-grandmother was one of the first campers, and my great-grandfather was a member of the board of directors. Going to camp is always something I look forward to and hopefully, when I have kids, they will look forward to it too. I have met so many amazing people there and have made many friends along the way.
Camp is always one of the highlights of my summer and is one of the most memorable places that I have ever been. When I was little, I remember going to the day camps and making little crafts like little stained glass windows or crowns. I would play on the old wooden playset overlooking the water, swing on the large metal swings that creak throughout the camp with each movement, or take a dip in the inground pool splashing the water on the other kids around me and sending little ripples through the water bouncing on the edges of the pool into ripples. I remember singing songs and learning memorable, fun, and engaging dances, creating everlasting memories, enticing me to come back each summer.
My favorite place is the Pamlico River, which the camp is located next to. Its crashing waves and calming flow bring joy to my heart. The cool, murky water and coarse grains of sand on my feet as I run or swim while hanging out with friends make me happy and calm. You have to watch out for the occasional pesky crab that, no matter what you do, will always find you in the water and pinch your toes. Or the rare group of jellyfish that will make me think twice before going into the water out of fear of their stinging tentacles. Not to mention, the antics in the dorms surprise me every year, from memories of the adult counselors having to remove all the fire alarms because they would keep going off randomly or because a kid would not stop spraying AXE body spray directly at them.
No longer am I a camper; I am now a junior counselor. I have many responsibilities at camp. It’s my job to watch the kids and make sure they aren’t doing something dangerous like jumping off the bunk beds, which ironically is what I did when I was their age. Now, I make sure they are safe and taken care of. I make sure smelly campers are showered after the day's activities and are in bed before curfew, while guarding the hallways so kids do not sneak out late at night. Instead of sleeping in, I get to wake all the campers up in the morning to get ready for breakfast and check for stragglers roaming the dorms.
There is always the camp food to look forward to, which, in my opinion, is pretty good compared to other camps. There is always commotion and music going on in the cafeteria, as well as the occasional camp tradition called “riding the broom around the room” which like it says is where the campers choose someone out of the crowd and start singing “Ride the broom around the room …. Ride the broom around the …. We won’t shut up till you get up so ride the broom around the room …”. If you are the lucky soul targeted by the campers, you grab the broom and gallop around the cafeteria like you are riding a horse, all in good fun.
Though no matter how much fun you have or what happens, there is one thing that matters more: the whole reason I keep coming back to camp each year is to learn about Jesus and the Bible. How can I be a disciple to spread the gospel to friends and family, or anyone who may need it? One of my favorite verses that I memorized at camp is Proverbs 27:17: “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” I have tried to set my life up around this verse. It is engraved on the inside of my high school class ring.
Despite the fun I have had at camp and all the knowledge I have gained from there, it will eventually come to an end this year. I will be turning 18 on June 2nd and will age out of the camps, other than the two adult camps Roanoke Christian Camp offers. This summer camp will always hold a special place in my heart. I will continue to support it throughout the rest of my life. I hope to share my experience with others and influence them to attend so they can be exposed to the same positive impact in their lives it had on mine.
Grandma's Farm
Personal Narrative by Cooper Johnson, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
Grandma’s farm was not a typical sprawling industrial farm, it was a place of simplicity. Tucked into a quiet, untouched region of North Carolina, Grandma’s farm was a reminder of times before technology, a time before modern society’s complicated woes.
It was a farm in the sense of sprawling, untamed acres with pastures of various animals. She owned an array of traditional farm creatures, consisting of chickens, mules, donkeys, turkeys, and horses. As young children, my brother Wyatt and I were always elated to hear news the night before that we would travel to the farm early in the morning, sleeping on the cots Grandma and Grandad set up for us while Dad set out for the deer stand in the dark hours of the morning. The farm was like a treat, an easy and simplistic vacation that offered a warm, cozy place to stay and play. Wyatt and I were always eager to help Grandad feed the animals in the afternoon, and then race back on the gator just in time for Grandma’s home-made feast. Grandma would make everything from scratch, the food would never taste soulless or manufactured, but warm and hearty. Some of my favorite meals were the roasted turkeys Grandad raised himself, or oyster stew that was a Johnson family classic, the recipe passed down from generation to generation.
However, the grandest meal was on Thanksgiving, a time of tradition and family. Thanksgiving was the time Wyatt and I learned the importance of patience and connection with nature. These important values were mediated through the art of deer hunting. Deer hunting is a way of life for many rural communities. It is an action as old as humankind, once a lifeline for families to survive, now a powerful pastime that invokes the primitive soul to connect mind and body as one. It trains you to make every action deliberate, every decision measured and precise. This is why I appreciated the skills and lessons Dad taught us as we sat in the stand after our grandiose meal.
Those fall days really were what life was all about, the simplicity of sharing wholesome foods with those you love and then appreciating God’s creation by sitting and partaking in nature. It was the purest form of happiness and satisfaction someone could find, especially to those who live in a bustling society that always chases, yet never waits and appreciates the present. This philosophy of thought on our modern woes reflects the art and beauty of deer hunting on the farm, the same lessons and principles constantly being taught and expressed in the world around us.
Personal Narrative by Jackie Covarrubias Alvarez
Growing up, Disney World was this mythical land, somewhere between a dream and a storybook. I had seen commercials, watched the parades on TV, and imagined what it would be like to stand before Cinderella's castle, cotton candy in my hand, fireworks dancing in the sky. But it wasn't until I got the chance to visit the most magical place on earth that I truly understood why it is called that.
The trip happened during a time when life felt a little too serious. I had just come off a long semester of my sophomore year of high school. It was spring break. During this time of homework deadlines and personal challenges, I was looking for an escape, something to shake off the dust of my daily life. My parents surprised us with a trip to Disney World. It was powerfully nostalgic and healing; it felt like an adult. I watched families with little ones squealing at Mickey, yet I also saw older couples hold hands, teenagers laughing right along with me as they got soaked on Splash Mountain I was trying to rediscover joy that trip.
One moment stands out more than the rest. I was sitting on the bench near the entrance to Fantasyland. The sun was beginning to set, casting a soft golden hue over the park, a gentle warm breeze blowing through us, and faint music drifted through the air, something whimsical, something warm. That's when it hit me, I wasn't a kid anymore, but I didn't need to be. I didn't need to run from adult life, I just needed a place that reminded me of wonder. In that moment, I realized what made this trip special, it wasn't just the rides, the shows, the food, it was the feeling of stepping into a world where joy was life, it was the moment where you were allowed to feel that way, to let your guard down and be enchanted.
For a few days, I wasn't someone with homework deadlines or responsibilities, it was just… me. Disney World became more than just a vacation spot; it became a bookmark in my life, a page where I turn to in my mind again so I can relive how I felt in that moment. It reminded me that magic does not belong only to children but to adults, too. It lives in all of us, sometimes we just need the right place or moment to remember. So, when people ask me about my favorite vacation, I smile that same smile I wore walking down Main Street in Disney because it was not just a trip; it gave me a piece of myself back.
I thank my mom for the opportunities she has given me during my childhood. Growing up in a Mexican household, we didn't have luxurious things, but my mom always made sure to provide us with what we wanted. She gave me the life I have right now. She is the reason I am still thriving: finishing high school and going to college, because she never had the chance to do that either. I want to show her that I can do it and that being apart of this family is such a blessing not only because of what I proved to everyone but also without my mom pushing me every night to do homework or pushing me a little bit more to keep doing college classes or honor classes, I wouldn't be here.
She's my best friend and my mom all in one. She's the biggest blessing I've ever had, who taught me how to be a strong, independent woman and not to depend on anyone but myself, because if not me, then who else will do it.
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Busch Gardens
Personal Narrative by Sarabeth Woolard, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
When you enter the park, there are horses, wolves, and birds. We always visit them, and I have a picture taken with one of the Clydesdales, who "smiles" when told by the trainer for every picture. After that, we make our way to the attractions. I've never liked roller coasters. The "up and down and upside down" is not my thing. So every time my family
wants to ride a roller coaster, they know I'm not going to want to go with them. My grandmother and I then walk to something nearby that is more my speed to ride.
One time, my cousins tricked me into going on a coaster called Verbolten. My cousins were determined to get me on this ride, so they convinced me to go. I was told it doesn't go upside down and doesn't go in a circle. So I agreed to ride with them. I remember waiting in line with so much anticipation and fear for what was to come, feeling like I would never get to the end. Stressed and shaking, I tried to make small talk to distract myself. Getting on the roller coaster felt as if my body was numb, but in the end, it was fun to feel the adrenaline run through my body all at once. Even though I didn't conquer my fear, I now go on that ride every time we go, and that's the only roller coaster I go on with everyone.
At the end of the night, to wrap it all up, we
go to the food hall in the park to eat dinner
together, and watch a Christmas performance.
Afterwards, there is the long walk
back to the car, which always feels like miles. We
normally drive back to my aunt's house, for a few
minutes to say our goodbyes before the long drive
home, already counting down until next year’s trip
to do it all over again. Bonding and spending time
with my family is one of the best feelings, even
though it's not most people's preferred
Christmas tradition is one of my favorites.
The Camping Trip
Personal Narrative by Gabe Niederhauser, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
One sunny weekend in May 2024, my friends and I had the idea to go on a campout at Goose Creek, the local state park in Washington, North Carolina. So, we planned to set sail on the Pamlico River to camp overnight in the sweet Carolina air. We asked our moms for permission, then prepared the tents and readied our friend's sailboat for our great escapade. We all completed our homework for the weekend, so we had nothing to worry about, and packed food and water for the trip.
Then, the day finally arrived. I woke up on the Saturday morning of the journey filled with excitement and glee. I got out of bed, ate breakfast, and grabbed my ready-to-go bag filled with tools that prepared me for any scenario. It held a matchbox, water, a speaker, shoes, clothes, a fishing rod, sunglasses, and a sleeping bag. I grabbed the handle of my truck, opened the door, and drove to the dock where we were tasked to meet up and depart. The final destination was the dock that my friend of the same name as mine, Gabe, suggested we sail to Goose Creek.
Along with our friends Cooper and Evan, we got onto Gabe's red boat and set sail for the dock at the park. Once we exited the calm of the creek, we were greeted with strong winds and large waves that we didn't anticipate. To add insult to injury, the steering on the boat was so bad that it took all three of us to turn the wheel. After the longest 20 minutes of my life, we arrived at the mouth of Goose Creek, where the rough waves turned into calm ripples. As we lurched into the creek, I told everyone to keep their head on a swivel and look out for the dock Gabe had told us about so we could park the boat. After searching for ten or so minutes and not finding anything, we called Gabe to ask for further directions, to which he said he didn't know. So, we had to scramble and ended up anchoring about 30 yards off the campsite, where we waded through the water to go ashore.
Once we arrived on shore with all of our materials, we set up the tent and explored the campsite. When we finished, we waded back to the boat to go fishing. Everybody hopped on, and we headed deeper into the creek where all of the fish supposedly were. We fished for a few hours and surprisingly caught three fish, but they were small and we didn't want to cook them, so we let them go. Once it started getting darker outside, we took the boat back to where we would anchor it for the night and went back to shore. Once there, we cooked hot dogs and all hung out for maybe an hour.
Afterwards, we got word that our other friend was dropped off by his dad at the gate of the park, so we ventured in Gabe's Ford Escape to go "capture" our buddy Tate. As we rode with the windows down, we felt the refreshing warm summer air breezing through the car. We picked up Tate at the gate and zoomed back to the site only to find that the fire we had made had blown out, and Evan, Cooper, and our friend Jackson were nowhere to be seen. We searched around the woods by the campsite together because we were afraid of the dark. We could not find them. The boat was still anchored in the place we had left it, and none of their bags or anything else was missing, so we were very confused. We tried calling all three of them, but to no avail. We were slammed for ideas and pretty frightened, honestly. We considered leaving, but we knew we couldn't leave them out there with whatever took them, so we waited for something, anything to happen.
As we waited, we tried to get our minds off the problem by talking about our plans for the future, and we all bonded a lot that night. While sitting in the tent, towards the end of our conversation, we heard footsteps growing from very faint to what sounded like outside the tent. We thought it was the end of the road for us. We were convinced that whatever had taken our friends would come back to finish us off. The footsteps stopped at the door of the tent, unzipped the doorway, and our long-lost friend Cooper hissed loudly.
“Guys!” Tate yelled. They had not been eaten after all.
“Where were y'all?" Tate asked. "You had me worried sick, boys!”
They explained how they had seen a deer and went on a long quest to find it, and were unsuccessful. In the end, we slept through the night together in our tent and went home the next morning smelling bad and feeling tired. It was a good trip.
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