Descriptive Essay On A Tour House

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.

As they go in, Ashley see’s her brother and runs to him as he’s stunned on what he see’s. She looks up and see’s the house is covered with heads of all kinds of animals hanging on the walls. Deer, Elk, Moose, Duck, Bears, Mountain Lion, Tigers. Ashley says,” Let's, get out of here.” This place is so creepy. Just as Ashley, her friends, and Zach turn there’re heads, in the corner of all their eyes and see a shadow move fast and hear a very creepy laugh. “Ahhhhhhh!” Yelled everyone. They all run for the door and try to open it, but they

Sometimes letting go can be the best change in life. At first it may seem difficult, holding onto something that had so much time and effort invested into. However, if at the same time, its inhibiting from living a comfortable and productive life, then it may be necessary making an adjustment. In my case, my adjustment was leaving an apartment. At the age of eleven, my family; which included my mother, father, and two brothers, had moved into our last apartment. A home should feel comforting, warm, and safe. This apartment was definitely something I wouldn't be proud to call home.

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!

Before me was a breathtaking sight. The pictures I had seen prior to my vacation did not even begin to do this natural wonder justice. Water underneath the fall was a beautiful green color. The water cascading over the cliffs and crashing into the ground below was a sight to behold. Because it was dark, the waterfalls were changing, cycling through a multitude of colors. Months of anticipation had finally come to fruition. After hours of driving, my mom and I were reaping the rewards.

“Wow” My mom said glancing to the side of the road and behind a large grey building. “It seems so barren now.” she said shifting her eyes back onto the road, her hair fluffing up as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe they’re chopping down so many trees.” I heard sadness bubbling up in her voice as the traffic light turned green and my mom drove the car forward. I look back at the empty plot of land, a place that used to be packed with trees, trees that had been there for hundreds of years. I watch the desolate yard of stumps fade off behind us as we continue on home. The thoughts still roam around in my head. How many trees does it take before they stop? One more? Ten more? A hundred more? Or will the only reason to stop be the extinction of them as a whole?

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

Pebbles fly as my Jeep takes a corner too fast, my body lurching to the left at the sudden force of the turn. I’m finally on Green, a quiet dirt road that stretches from Bennett Lake to Parshallville, a scenic detour I ride down that lets me clear my head. I’ve only lived in the area for two years, but those two years gave me something timeless--a home. My home isn’t some conventional house in the suburbs, although I did live in such a house, but it is the roads and the fields that webbed their way throughout and past my city, and the memories I make with others while on them. I glance at my sister Ken next to me; her right arm stretching lazily out of the window, the other scrolling the radio’s knob, attempting to find a worthy song to play. She’s only nineteen, with hair shorter and blonder than my own. Her presence soothes me, as if every pleasant memory we grew up making together was somehow brought back through each of her smiles. She is my closest friend; she not only provides the part of my home that allows me to be heard by someone who understands, but also the knowledge that we cherish the same home. I pull my attention away from her, watching the fields and houses quickly slip by. The few farmhouses we pass begin to fade until all that borders the road are giant trees, each tipping over us to create a canopy of leaves.

As humans, we associate the word isolation with negative feelings. And being told I was moving to a foreign island across the world that I had never previously heard of had me chalking up isolation negatively as well. The island is very small and doesn’t have all the resources that can be found here in America and you have to take a plane just to get to mainland Japan. My experiences with this isolation over four years altered Okinawa into what I now consider to be my home. My home is a secluded island that shaped me as a person by providing me with the tools and distance to educate different aspects of not only my life, but others as well.

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.

According to Dictionary.com, a house is a building in which people live, but a house is not that simple. Each room in a house serves a unique purpose, and that purpose can vary from household to household. A family’s use of their home can shape personalities and form the aspirations of its members. For me, my home is a place where I have made so many memories and built strong relationships with my family.

All five of us kids stand impatiently, surrounding the dirty, white side door attached to the garage of Grandma and Grandpa Pinegar’s home in Orem, Utah. An automatic lock is screwed to the door. We all take turns punching in the code into the lock. The buttons have an orange glow to them, but is only visible in the dark. Little black numbers were once printed on the circular buttons, but have now peeled away as a result of the constant rubbing and pressing on them. The door has always been a pain to get open. The lock constantly jams itself, which requires the code to be entered multiple times. As we sit and wait for Mom to open the door, I admire the familiar place. Grandma and Grandpa’s three story house is layered in red, rough bricks. Five white columns hold up a lengthy carpeted deck, as well as the extended roof. Windows can be seen in all stories of the house, giving the house a wide open feel. The neatly cut grass, planted in the front lawn, is parted by a sidewalk that leads up to a couple of stairs and then to a dark brown door. A flagpole is surrounded by a flower bed in the front lawn. Our handprints mark the cement where the flagpole stands. Finally, Mom gets the door unlocked, it groans - sounding like an old blowhorn - as rusty gears turn inside to unfasten. Sara, my younger sister, takes hold of the scratched up metal doorknob, twists it to the side, pushes the door open, and runs in. Leading the rest of us with her.

When I first moved in there was a small crack in my wall, it wasn't so small that it was easily ignored but it wasn't particularly large. It was supposed to be filled in once I was fully settled into my new room. It never was. Every night I would stare into that crack in the wall, sometimes only for a few hours, sometimes until I could see the rays of sunshine filtering into my room through my window. Every night as I stared into my fractured wall I felt the minor gap in my wall stare back at me as I waited for sleep to encompass me. For almost five years, that crack in my wall was there as a reminder. Reminder for what? A reminder that sometimes there's only so much stress something can take before it begins to crack.

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.

Now that i’m actually thinking about the entirety of my childhood, it seems kind of crazy that i’m at the point where i’m at now. I remember when I was about nine years old, I thought to myself, “It will feel like forever until I start driving.” It’s crazy to think now that I’m only less than a month away from getting my license. And it feels like only yesterday that I was nine years old. Time seems like it really does fly sometimes.