My mom practically dragged me out of our old, silver minivan on the first day of cross country. I was a short, toothpick-esque seventh grader filled with the fear of the unknown. What was I getting myself into? As I drug my feet through the dew soaked grass, I remember seeing hoards of runners chatting happily, clad in their neon running gear. Then, the seniors emerged from the crowd towering over the rest of us like Goliath stood over David. I swear some of them had tree trunks for quadriceps. Suddenly, a whistle pierced through the air and a man with an official looking polo stepped forward and said, “Welcome home everybody.” Home? I thought this was only North Park. However, I came to develop a deep relationship with North Park as I grew up, and it truly did become an extension of home.

Encompassing 3010 acres of hilly western Pennsylvania terrain, North Park is the largest park in Allegheny County. The park has captured the hearts of many including myself. Some love the park for its four and a half miles of natural woodlands littered with trails, but others come for the lake--the center of all activities. The lake spans 75 acres making it the largest man-made body of water in the county. County Commissioner John Kane proposed the initiative to create the lake in 1837, and it attracted 50,000 residents on its first day of fishing. I failed to appreciate the history of North Park as a kid, but the forests and water stirred my imagination and curiosity. This sense of wonder never dissipated and throughout high school I embraced all North Park had to offer. Ask anyone, I was always there.

On summer mornings, while almost every kid was fast asleep, my alarm never failed to sound at 6:30. I smashed the snooze button until eventually I rolled out of bed asking, “Why do I do this to myself?” But as I walked out into my car and the sun’s early rays descended upon me, I was excited to start the day in the park. I found solace in running through the wooded trails with the wind blowing through my hair as I pushed dirt behind my heels. Of course, it helped that I got to run with some of my best friends every morning. Ever since that first day of practice, I ran with John and Richie. Over six years, spanning awkward pre-pubescence through our overly confident senior year, we developed an unbreakable friendship--a brotherhood. Training consisted of endless laughter whether it be at my inability to cross slippery streams or at John’s constant cycle of new girlfriends. They pushed me through the hardest workouts, but also unwinded with me on recovery days. The dreaded hill circuit was always the hardest run of the year. The whole team lined up at the base of a 600 meter long hill paved with a single gravel trail ridden with the sweat and tears of runners prior. The hill, which we endearingly named “Pain” is notched in the furthest corner of the park where none of the average baby-strolling-park-goers could hear our cries of agony. We struggled up the hill eight times as the coach’s screams and whistles rained down upon us. To make matters worse, if you failed to hit the benchmark time your hill didn’t count. By the end, my whole lower body was on fire and telling me no more, but through it all, John and Richie were right by my side pushing me up the hill (literally and figuratively). We endured it all together, but we also know how to have fun. One time, we didn’t feel like finishing our loop around the lake so after a quick evaluation of our options, we decided on the obvious: swim across. This is 100% illegal in order to keep intoxicated residents out of the water, but we were determined. We waded into the muddy marsh at the lake’s edge. As we attempted to push forward, our shoes stuck to the muddy bottom. Honestly, it was probably more work to swim across the 200 meter stretch of freezing, still water, but we laughed and splashed our way across. Coach Neff had some choice words for us when we got back to practice soaking wet, but it’s a memory I won’t forget. Thinking back on it, it seems as if all my best memories took place in North Park. The silence and sheer beauty of the park fostered lifelong memories and lifelong friends.

Two words: Pokemon Go. The phenomenon swept across the nation, and it hit my friends and I like a wall. Suddenly, nothing mattered except finding elusive Pokemon. After school, we raced to our cars and sped to North Park with our phones charged and pokeballs ready. We spent hours hiking the windy trails, trudging through dense fields , and trespassing into people’s backyards in our quest to “Catch ‘em all!” From the outside, we probably looked like a bunch of crazy teens chasing something something aimless; however, I saw our time much differently. For example, one autumn afternoon as we walked up and down the hills looking for a legendary Pokemon, we stumbled on a secluded section of the lake none of us have ever seen before. Embracing the spirit of adventure, we turned off our phones trading them in for stones to skip on the water which reflected the trees orange and red tints.  In all honesty, while I would’ve loved to catch that Pokemon, I wouldn’t trade that time with my friends for the world. In that moment, all my cares faded away and my guards let down. Personally, I treasure moments like that because in that mindset I am better able to understand those around me and develop my relationships with others further. One of my fondest memories last summer was going kayaking on the North Park lake. In an effort to escape the heat, my friend AJ and I saddled his big, yellow kayaks and lime green oars to the top of his truck and set off to hit the lake. We baked on the sun as we began to paddle. It was so hot even the ducks and geese were doing nothing but chilling in the cool water. Our oars dipped into the lake water splashing up a refreshing mist onto our bodies. We slowly trekked around the lake listening to the birtles subtle chirping and the occasional patter of a runner’s feet on the asphalt. Amidst it all, AJ and I had a true heart to heart. We talked about our visions for the future and aspirations truly growing our friendship to another level. AJ disclosed in me his worries about what the future entails financially and how he worries he might not find “the one”, while I went on about my goals to become a good father and family man. Over time, I developed an appreciation for the comfort North Park brings into my life. It’s that comfort that fosters the serene connection between North Park and I as a true extension of home. Many people come and go through a home, but some are more important than others.

North Park is where I said my first “I love you” and the first place I ran to after my heart was broken into millions of pieces. Last spring, I met a girl who was way too attractive to ever fall for a peasant like me, but we hit it off. Our relationship started as a walk but pretty soon we were flying. We spent seemingly every waking moment together, yet there was never enough time. A majority of that time we spent in North Park finding something to do or something new about each other. One day we spontaneously decided to adventure down the abandoned, rusty train tracks that border the park. We raced down the tracks trying hard not to end up with a faceful of gravel. Even though she beat me, I was the real winner. Out of seemingly thin air, we ran into a narrow, lazy creek with a rope swing slung over an overhanging tree branch. It was perfect. We leapt into the freezing, murky water lunging to catch crayfish. Working hard to stay standing, we walked hand in hand downstream on the slippery, moss covered riverbed stones. To end an already perfect day, we sat together on the rickety swing watching the sun set over the forests and fields of the park I call home. Other nights we drove to the highest point of the park, set out a blanket over the moist grass, and watched the stars above us for hours. In those moments I knew my heart was hers. My feelings continued to deepen, but one fall night under a fateful moon, the rug was ripped from under me--blindsided. I kept it together as she sat in my passenger seat going on about how we could never work, but as I drove away the tears streamed down my face like the water flowed through the creek by the rope swing. I remember running off without a destination and ending up in North Park at the spot where we watched the stars together. Only this time I sat in the field alone talking to the moon. Hoping she was on the other side talking to it too. At that time when nothing could make me feel better, I found tranquility in the silence of the park I call home.

Home is a place where we feel most comfortable to open up and grow as people whether it be in ourselves or with others. Nature has always been a necessary escape for me because of its revitalizing qualities physically, emotionally, and spiritually. North Park grew to become the place I felt most like myself which made leaving that much harder. The day I left for Minnesota, I visited North Park knowing it will be impossible to replace I drove with the windows down visiting all my favorite spots and all the memories hit me like the breeze flowing through my windows. I genuinely felt as if I left a part of myself behind in North Park; a part that I loved because it was authentic and innocent. I believe it’s human nature to develop connections with the places we spend the most amount of time, and its powerful to be able to draw lessons from our recollections. It’s never easy to say goodbye, and being so far away now, I feel a longing to be back on the trails with John and Richie or on the lake with AJ. Little did I know Coach Neff’s words would turn out to be so true, “Welcome home.”