Descriptive Essay On Elkton

One of the houses was Deep South looking; run down and bare of any organized growth, i.e. landscaping. It was just a large rectangle— greatly in need of paint and repair. And, this house just happened to be near the heart of The Town of Smithtown, right in the cross roads of the historic area of the celebrated main street. But, in hindsight, perhaps this dwelling was a part of that history—a reminder of the history that had its good and bad; the well to do and the have nots, with some of the have nots, not having because the haves didn’t want them to.

The mills were closing down because the supply for steel had greatly decreased. The town’s lack of industrialization caused other businesses to relocate, so the steel workers were not left with many options. Also, during this time period, it was not very common for women to have a full time job: the steel families really had no option but to leave, but for some that was impossible. I struggle with wrapping my mind around the trouble and heartache these families faced in hopes that Youngstown would find a way out. Knowing very little about Youngstown, I felt that the authors did a nice job revealing information on the town and what it had been through. The struggle the families and community faced was saddening, but it was really interesting to see how they worked together in hopes to restore the town.

I have spent much of my childhood growing up in a small town in the Lowcountry region of South Carolina. This town, Garnett, is the physical embodiment of the phrase “the country.” Winding, unpaved dirt roads carved deep into the earth as if they were forged at the beginning of Earth’s creation. There are lush forests with towering pine trees and spruce trees, riddling the ground beneath them with pinecones and pine needles. The only buildings there is a post office, a mini mart, and an AME church. Every fall crisped evening, towards Thanksgiving, ended with wild turkeys weaving through traffic in the hopes of reaching the safety of the forests before the hunters’ dogs catch wind of their scent.

“I grew up there, thought I’d spend my entire life calling that city ‘Home.’ But it didn’t workout that way. I learned to love it here too,” Dustin told his neighbour’s grandkids, remembering the horrific event that tore him away from his home and ended his career. His neighbour, Sally, and her family were the only people who accepted Dustin; they shared something in common, the disaster. Sally lost her husband in the tragedy that destroyed Dustin’s once handsome face.

Many people think that living in a small town can limit the perspective of one’s mind, leaving one to believe that hardly anything exists beyond the boards of one’s town. Enumclaw is a small town I love; everyone knows everyone, local grocery store you got to know the person that works there, small mountains, old parks, greens fields filled with cows. Growing up in Enumclaw was different there was not weekends spent at the mall, not too much going on in town, and not a lot of movement, everything in Enumclaw is slow and calm. The weekends would be consisted of getting up early to ride the tractor with your father and sit on his lap as if you were driving, quading, or hiking Mt.Peak. This town is where I call home and I love my home because its where I feel safe, happy and where grew a great connection to.

Our story starts in a small town called Wormwood. This town was exceptionally similar to other small towns all around the world in some aspects and drastically different in others. It was a town where everyone knew each other by name, a place you couldn’t exactly blend into the woodwork and keep your head down. Word traveled fast here; there were no secrets that stayed secret for long. It was a dark and dingy place, brimming with claustrophobic alleyways and menacing shadows. The people were no different. They reflected the town they called home, all crooked and devious. When you were born in Wormwood, it was unlikely you would call any other place home. This town sucked you in and sucked you dry; once you were there, you were there to stay.

I lived in an odd place for a time, all through a single summer I languished in the confines of its chipped sidewalks and heat-warped streets. The air was hot, it felt as if one was within the red-lit depths of an oven set to broil, the June sun cooking all that rested below its unforgiving harangue. The sky was vibrantly blue, like a cerulean drape had been pulled over the surface of the earth. Flashing neon lights and vibrant pink flamingos incessantly reminded me that I was in the boundaries of Fabulous Las Vegas, although I did not particularly want to be. There were aggressive and caustic smells that filled the air: Boiling oils from deep frying, spilled alcoholic beverages, and curious stale cigarette aromas, all of which bothered me

As I lay in bed on a fall evening, an open window lets in a cool breeze accompanied with sounds of crickets and a faint train horn blare. As I peer out into the dark night sky I see an ebony sky glittered with stars. A sense of calm washes over me and I know I’m right where I’m meant to be! It’s a small town, Galt, with a population under 23,000. I didn’t grow up here, but it’s where I’ve lived for the past ten years, and it’s where I’ve chosen to raise my children. The town is a combination of city and farm living. Children from the same school either take a long bus ride through the desolate and diminishing backroads every morning, or a short walk through the peaceful and charming subdivisions to reach their destination. There is a mixture

It was a distinguished neighborhood, stately houses with sprawling porches made for sipping cold drinks and entertaining guests. Fourteen thirty-seven Twain Street was nestled at the far end the street. The house actually looked out of place when compared to the neighborhood, if it could even be considered a part of the neighborhood. The house was located roughly a quarter mile up the street from the closest neighbor, undiscernible from the woods that surrounded it. I stopped at the gate and regarded the worn house. It was made in the same style as the others in the neighborhood, but something about it made it different. It had character. The paint wasn’t peeling, but it had weathered the long hot sun for many a day and it had begun to form lines, giving the house the impression of a wrinkled and withered old

When I began reading “Lehigh Acres” by Spencer Fleury I immediately noticed a dark, ominous tone that carried through to the end. This bleakness can be seen through the connotations of the words that Fleury uses such as; “ruins”, “empty”, and “indifferent”. The use of negatively associated words gives the reader an idea of what Lehigh Acres feels like. Going hand in hand with this tone was a strong theme of the emptiness and loneliness of human civilization. Throughout the work Fleury does an excellent job of using the juxtaposition of common suburban characteristics with the qualities of an abandoned or ghostly town to emphasize this theme. Although the overall work demonstrates this theme one line specifically stuck with me, “it was easy

His childhood home is one of the few in the neighborhood that hadn 't been abandoned after the incident. When families fled, fluidly like a stream of grief and fear, his father had stood his ground at the house he bought for his family years ago. Almost nobody wanted to move into abandoned perfectly painted houses, polished with vibrant hydrangea bushes and stained with ink-black tragedy. The property value had plunged like a bird shot from the sky, and the area was now a ghost town.

Burnt homes, flipped cars, destroyed shops were scattered. The uncertainty that had left her earlier returned at full force as they seemed to move away from the populated area. After about another ten minutes of driving, they came to a stop. ‘At be twenty doll’rs the old cab grunted out. Liana gave the grumpy old man the money and exited the car with her things. In front of her stood a gloomy, run-down ill maintained two story house. The house looked abandoned as if it held no life. The doors and windows were covered in a thick layer of dust. The window panels look rotten and ready to fall off at the slightest hint of a strong wind, ivy cling to the outer wall of the house. The land surrounding the house was filled with unkempt undergrowth.Liana urged herself forward and came to a halt in front of the dirty covered door. Taking a deep breath she reached out and knocked on the

As I watched the beautiful Greensburg sunset disappear, I knew I would have fun. I watched the trees and the gorgeous buildings get smaller and smaller till they we’re nothing at all. The music was playing, I knew that this would be a great night. My aunts and I were on our way to Marian University.(Rachel went to college here). We were going to carve pumpkins and bake the seeds. It was about 7:00 when I saw the big buildings get closer and closer. We had finally arrived. We started unloading the pumpkins and groceries. The school was so big it could have swallowed the state of Ohio whole.

He still remembered everyone’s names and faces. Twenty years had definitely taken its toll on his old neighborhood. The houses that were once a pearly white now had a greenish-black moldy tint to them. Fences that lined properties were rusty and falling apart. The farther he walked the more he felt like a child again, but in a dream world. This world was old, shoddy, and haunting.

It presented a different, more negative atmosphere than the city. This was my home, a rented apartment that I couldn’t really call home. It would never be permanent and I can’t always come back because it was rented, not purchased. The walls were full of faded paint and insects crawling about. Eventually, even my cheerful and playful attitude was affected and I felt the desire to live in an alternative setting.