Descriptive Essay About A House

Everyone has a “dream house”, they just rely on your opinions and beliefs. You can have a modern dream house, or maybe a vintage dream house. You can also either live in the woods, in the city, or even right by the beach! You can be by yourself, or you can have lots and lots of roommates. You can have lots of neighbors, or maybe even none at all! You could live off of a mountain, or maybe on a paved street.

Walking up the cracked cement steps, I enter the house through a wood lacquer door. The smell that first hits my nose is the cigarette smoke from Grandpa. Once inside, to my right, is the dining room that is typically filled with food and laughter. During the holidays we gather there and fill our bellies with the food that we have all brought, and stuff ourselves with the sweets that grandma has baked. To the left as I enter the door is the kitchen which is always warm from the oven being used constantly with cooks bustling about like bees. If a turkey or ham was not in the oven, there are cookies or brownies or my personal favorite, rhubarb pie. I would salivate anticipating the sweet, tart taste to hit my lips, and I would devour it with greed. Straight ahead of the entrance is the basement door. The basement steps are simply the wood floor beams that were never completed. The basement was their storage space and where their appliances were such as their water heater, which gave off a soft hum. The basement had the faint smell of vinegar because my grandparents liked to pickle, so they had shelves in the basement cluttered with jars of various things that they pickled. Going back up the stairs and through the kitchen is the carpeted living room. The far side of the room

Set on a ridge overlooking the beautiful Olympic mountains -you will truly love this unique home. A blend of Japanese and northwestern architecture gives the house a perfect feel for a relaxing yoga retreat or any vacation. With its traditional Tatami room and spectacular Japanese blue tile roof this spacious home will give you the sublime rest and rejuvenation that you deserve!

Let me guide you to walk through our dream house. In front of the entrance facing the NE is an existing heavily landscaped island with giant size rocks and tall pine trees and flower bushes. Crossing a curved drive way and stepping up three platforms to an extended 20ft wide and 8ft deep arch overhang, then you are heading to an arch shaped 12ft door frame with a solid mahogany double wooden door (2- 3x8) paired with two 2x8 engraved art glass panels on each side and an arch glass panel on top of the doorframe.

It was a gigantic sound which came from the kitchen room and I and my cousin sister, Shaky, came out from our room. Not only me and my cousin but also our whole family including the neighbors came by heard that massive sound.

When you step into my room, the first thing you will notice is the golden afternoon sunlight fluttering in and dancing around because of the large sycamore trees outside my window. The window is fairly large, as my house is a Cape Cod style home. The reason for the window being so large is that it is one of the primary dormer windows on the second floor that front the street. The window is also set in alcove that is approximately two feet deep, and is framed with white wooden shutters on both sides. I have always been a very optimistic and happy person, and this large window letting in the golden light of nature is a fantastic representation of my personality.

The back door of the moving truck slammed shut, making me slightly jump gasping in surprise. I turned in my seat and look at the house, I've lived my whole life in. Gloomily I stare remembering all the happy and sad times I've had here.

With that, let’s quickly get my first home out of the way because I only lived there for the first two years of my life. This place is where many of my memories come in the form of various tapes my family filmed during the time. At this home is where I gained my scar under my eye after face planting into the edge of the coffee table, spoke my first words, and learned eating cake by faceplating into it isn’t exactly how you are supposed to eat it. Though my time there was short, I remember short things like the swing in the backyard I would always spend my time with or the kiddie pool my parents bought for me to help develop my swimming skills at a young age. My two friends of the house were my Buzz and Woody figurines that you would never see me without and for how much I carried them around with me, I never really took care of them. By time I left the house, I believe that they were as good as garbage, having lost Buzz early on and only having Woody

I turned around, looking back at my old room. The paint on the wall is peeling off, the ceiling was falling apart, and the floor was cracking open. This was the house I have been living for thirteen years, and now I need to leave. Mom and dad bought this house from an old man, then thirteen years past, this is 2004. yes, it is already 2004, how fast is it! I stood there, staring at the empty room with only a little furniture. I can’t feel home, where is my home? I don’t know this weird feeling. Happy and sad at the same time. However, if I left, is it going to be an enjoyable life, or it is going to be another way that leads me to my doom? I kept repeating in my mind.

Herman, the part of rural Minnesota no one even knows exists, population 426. The worn down elementary school, the old elevator, post office, liquor store, and bank. That’s it. That’s all that exists in the tiny town. Broken, crumbling roads. Houses falling to pieces, lawns overgrown with weeds. Everything falling apart. Except there’s my grandparents’ house. The tall, wooden brown house perfectly put together on the edge of town, towering over everything that used to be.

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.

She paced the border of her property, three times she has gone around, I had been counting. I am curious to know how many more revolutions she will make in the next hour. She has yet to notice my presence under a thick layer of underbrush underneath a willow tree, strangled in buckthorn. The medieval looking weed crawls all the way up the trunk, suffocating each of its branches. Similar to how my foster mother has been treating me. Here, I hide out, escaping her grasps as long as I can. The women is now out of sight now as she paces behind her house back by the small pond. The reflection of the setting sun bounces of the water, a blinding array of colors. Yellow. Orange. Pink. It will be dark soon, and my foster mother will commence her journey to find me.

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.

The smell of turkey, gravy, and pine needles fills the house. It is Christmas Eve at my Grandparents house. I am eight years old. All of the month of december I had been preparing my Christmas list in preparation for this night. I was ecstatic. The night where my cousins and I get to open our presents. The tree is set up in the living room, glistening with red and white lights, shining on the reflective wrapping paper of the gifts under the tree. Before dinner my cousins and I snoop around the many presents under the tree, reading the tags and shaking the boxes in an attempt to figure out what was inside. All of us fueled by the anticipation of the gift frenzy that would soon come. We were always forced to eat before we could open our