Descriptive Essay About A House

The street I live on has a lot of houses on it, and mine just happens to be one of them. Each house has its own driveway each one unique in its own way. Most of them are paved driveways, but mine happens to be made from hard pack. I can picture the driveway when it was built, still in the same place and still being made of rocks.

The living room was colored a cinnamon Pop-Tart brown, the kitchen was painted bright red, was as small as a closet, and all throughout was old navy-blue carpeting. These are clashing colors I would come to ignore over the years. At first everything was okay, me and my younger sibling adjusted well enough. Our dad decided that seeing us wasn’t as important as other things in his life, so we attached ourselves to our mom. No matter what, her dark brown curly hair and perfume would always comfort us when we needed it, which turned out to be a lot more than we thought. After some time, packs of canned beer would find their way into the fridge every weekend. These were Tim’s, and they meant more to him with each passing year. Throughout the years we came to discover just how evil alcoholism is. Screaming, hatred, foul language and the smell of barley would fill the house almost every

It was an unusual quiet evening at my favorite diner. I always loved meeting my beautiful wife here after a long day of work to get some of Chicago’s best coffee. Upon opening the front door, the welcoming smell of freshly ground coffee fills my nostrils as I take a deep breath, but at the same time, I lose my breath as I spot my stunning wife waiting for me. She was wearing a vibrant red dress, as she knows that it’s my favorite, while her hair shimmered in the light.

Driving to Long Prairie, on the right side of the road, up a hill with a long, paved driveway will be a house to the left. This house is two-stories with a basement. The first time I saw it, the house had a worn out, light tan vinyl siding with faded, dark red shutters from years of Minnesota weather. At the end of the driveway was a garage that resembled the houses color. To the right of the driveway was a large stone wall that was overrun with wild grape vines. In the middle of the wall was a stairway that leads to an old, rundown playhouse. Also, there was a large, gray brick shed further away. Beyond the house are the woods, littered with pine needles from the rows of trees my grandpa planted when he moved there. The whole area is surrounded by the overpowering smell of pine, and the silence the woods carries; it brings a calming, peaceful sensation to me. As the years have gone on, the house and I have aged, grown, and changed together.

I pop up looking curiously around me. My face crumples up in concern. I look out the window and I see no houses. Then, suddenly I see in the distance two houses, one on either side of the street. We pull up to the houses and the cab pulled into the driveway of one of the house. The moving truck stops on the side of the road I get out of the cab. I stared unbelievably at the house that we stopped at. I walk inside and look around. The house is already furnished. The furniture is clean and looks like it hasn't ever been used. By the time I get outside to help get boxes from the moving truck. The taxi, truck, and all the people are gone, leaving the few boxes of my stuff in the driveway. I carry the small boxes into my bedroom. Starting to organize my stuff I hear what I believe to be the doorbell.

I sat there, with the dark, cold sand running through my fingers. My sisters running through the tall, sharp grass as if it weren’t even there. At the river bank, my parents were talking with a man who I had never seen before. Behind them, I could see the sun setting though the trees, the orange, pink and yellow colors reflecting off of the river. The massive maple, hickory and pine trees cast shadows onto the abandoned sandlot, the sandlot that would soon be purchased by my parents, and turned into my new home. The one story, three bedrooms, and one bath house we are living in would soon be packed away and brought to the new house. This house was just that, a house. I considered this house a place where I would eat, sleep, and do my homework at. I shared a room and a bed with my youngest sister, while my oldest and second youngest sister shared the other. My parents had a makeshift room with a small bed and a box TV in it. Six people in a one-story house is overwhelming, but my parents made the best of what we had. Even at night, when you could hear the neighbors next door yelling at each other, my mom would always make us keep our windows closed, until the morning. My family was more than ready for the move to our new home, but it wouldn’t be here for another year or so.

It was 1973. No just kidding. It is 2017 At my old house, there was a playground in my backyard. We made it all by our selves, from scratch. We had to leave it at the house because of two things, the buyers wanted it and it wouldn't fit in the moving truck. Also at my old house we had 3 rooms, and my mom and dad had to sleep in the garage. The house was a simple house. It has 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, a kitchen,and a garage, that doesn't open but it. Still works as a bedroom.

With this in mind, my bedroom is the one at the end of the hallway. When I walk in, the first thing I see are the three white windows-the eyes of the house. On the left is an unmade double bed, next to it is a night stand with old picture frames from past friendships covered by a thick layer of dust. The floor is covered by piles of clothing and unfinished canvas’ that have lost their potential. Right across from the bed is the closet that always seems to creak open in the middle of the night. As a child, I would watch the shadows on the wall, suffocating each spec of moonlight. Sometimes, while I slept, I could hear objects moving in the house, footsteps approaching my bedroom door. Once in

In a small town called Whigham located in the southwest part of Georgia is a home numbered 201 in the middle of Harrell Avenue Northwest. The home is shaded by a mighty oak tree, its exterior is white in color with a forest green metal door and window trim painted forest green to match the door. On the outside this house is full of plant life, two domestic dogs that guard the home from morning to night, and wild animals living off the provisions of the land. The inside of the house is full of geckos, family, and love. This is the house I was raised in since my mother and father brought me home from Grady General Hospital in the month of January in 1991. This home will forever be my safety and my delight.

Whenever I hear the word home, I immediately think about a small town about an hour northeast of Madison. I was born and raised in this small town and hope to return to or near it after college. Even though I live in Madison now, home to me is Beaver Dam, Wisconsin. My idea about what home is has changed over time due to different life events, such as hard times and going to college to continue my education. The one thing that hasn’t changed though is the place that I consider my home.

My eyes opened slowly and unexpectedly. I yawned and stretched my body out across my mattress, arms out reaching high above my head, getting the joints warm and flexible. I sat up on the bed and looked around the near pitch black space that was my bedroom. My eyes have yet to adjust to the darkness, but I knew where everything was, all committed to memory. My room forms the shape of an L; The door leading into my room opens up to a space five feet wide and it opens up to the rest of my room in a square shape. In the right-hand corner of the room lies my bed against the wall, jet-black sheets covering the bed that I currently sit on with matching pillowcases and a white fleece blanket that wasn’t covering me at the moment, so it was probably on the floor. Next to my bed was my desk, very large and made of redwood, with three drawers on its right side and one under where the middle of the desk was. In the corner opposite of me on the left side of my room was my bookshelf, filled to the brim with all sorts of books, each one I had a very strong fondness for, and on top of it a globe and a random mess of papers, journals and writing utensils that I use for schoolwork. Directly right to the bookshelf was the small wooden nightstand that my 22-inch flat screen TV sat atop, several of my favorite DVDs and video game cases on it as well and on the floor beneath the stand was my Playstation 4 console and my 2 controllers

Any person in the right mind wouldn’t like living the life that I’m living. But I guess I’m not in the right mind, considering I love my life. My mom died when I was five from cancer. I don’t remember her much, but judging from stories my dad told me, she seemed very nice. And from the pictures I’ve seen I know she was beautiful, I’m talking super model looks. She must not have been any kind of model, though or else we would have had a lot more money. In case you didn’t know, I’m Alexa (preferably Alex) and I have cancer as well. Leukemia. I can tell my dad worries about me. If I died he’d be all alone, but I don’t plan on doing that anytime soon. Speaking of,

My home, my home sweet home the place where I’m in peace and escape from the busy and crazy world. I moved into this house when I was about 6 or 7 and I have countless of wonderful memories that happened here but also some pretty crummy ones. My house isn't very big, but it isn't small it’s the perfect size for just me and my mom. The walls of my house are close to a vanilla color, but have become a bit dirty over the years and the ceiling of it has some water damage because of the few times it rains here. It’s also very noisy throughout the day and night because of the busy road right behind us. There are so many cars that go by every day and sometimes they wake me up at at the wee hours of the morning. It's usually a massive truck that comes down the road at the same time every night honking it’s horn that trembles and shakes the walls of our house. It’s also a lot of people acting up and speeding or racing down the road. What I really do love about my house is the view we get when you step into the backyard. There's a huge desert and then we have a perfect view of the mountain where the tram is at. I love going out there at night because it's very quiet at times and you can see all the stars and the lights of the city.

Linda Bennett once said “Our homes represent more than our financial assets; they have a deep and unique emotional meaning. Our earliest memories of home are often connected to our childhood.” To me home is where my family is, it’s where I was raised. No matter how far away you move from your home, it will always mean as much to you now as it did back then. Everyone’s home is the building block of the foundation of their future development as a person.

My dream house is a giant mansion in the HollyWood hills. The outside is covered in marble walls and complex designs. As you step step up to the golden gates of the property, you are instantly greeted with the sight of a giant 50 foot building laying in front of an enormous lake. As you approach the lake, you can see as the water moves gracefully with the warm Spring wind. Once you approach the edge of the lake, if you look to the right you will see a massive field of roses and many rare flowers. If turn around and walk away from the lake and move to the left of the building you will be greeted with the sight of a giant 60 foot 200-year-old palm tree with coconuts near its top.