Descriptive Essay On My Home House

Long Island, New York is my birthplace and my home. I’ve lived here my entire existence of 17 years and I am blessed. I grew up in a 4 bedroom home in a town by the name of Williston Park. My home is a two-story colonial with a large front and back yard. The lush green grass and the variety of plants in the front yard make it aesthetically pleasing. The white siding of the home make it really hard to keep clean. The four windows in the front of the home make it look as if the house is smiling when you go towards it. Most of the homes in my neighborhood are similar in size and basic structure. Many of these homes are occupied by older white couples. Although my town isn't as diverse as the neighboring towns I love my neighborhood. Some of my favorite things to do are having casual conversations with my older neighbor John; going to the many baseball or football fields to play with my friends; go to Roosevelt Field Mall, or go to one of the many restaurants we have, or finally go to a place called Bounce, which is an indoor trampoline park. One of the greatest parts about my neighborhood is the sense of community and how we are able to set our differences aside when people we care about are in need. Growing up on Long Island we don't have as much access to public transportation compared to NYC, so I usually asked my parents for rides or was stuck walking miles to my friend’s house, or wherever else I went. Once I reached the age I really had no choice other than to get my

In my lifetime, I have lived in 4 different homes. None of them can even compare to the very first home I lived in, in my hometown of Allentown, Pennsylvania. It was a quaint duplex home that was on a tranquil street underneath a towering maple tree. Nothing will ever be able to replace its permanent spot in my heart.

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.

I walk up the steps of the house, looking around at the cracking paint that lines the walls. the stairs creak under me, I look down at the sagging wood and hurry to the porch which isn't any better. mold is covering it along with the fall leaves and sunken wood spots. I reach out and pull open the screen door,it makes a loud screeching noise. I shove my little silver key into the locked door, i twist and lean my shoulder against the door giving it a little push to open. The smell of old wood hits me before I get inside. I Step inside letting the screen door slam behind me. I look around, dust is falling through the air in the streams of daylight from the broken window. There's a couch in the middle of the room with a coffee table. I walk to

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

On a dry hot day in the middle of August, I was awaken to mother’s happy voice saying, “We ‘re here guys!” My excited family and I had just arrived at our two-story brick house at a beautiful resort called “Ding Ding Castle” in Orlando, Florida. My mom, Aunt Wanda, Uncle TJ, cousin Cameron, friend Ronald, Grandmother Doris, Granddad Carlton, sister Kenzie, cousin Kaylan, and I were all planning on staying one long week together. When I got out of the car, I immediately smelled the fresh air and smoke from someone having a barbeque nearby and could taste the fresh grass that had just been finely cut. The bright yellow sun was beaming down on us, making me sweat instantly. I looked around and saw the rows of houses next to each other and noticed that each one had its own personal swimming pool in the back. There were tall palm trees in each yard and every house had new and shiny cars in the driveway. Our house was two stories high and was made of bright red bricks that made it stand out from all of the other houses. The house was surrounded with light green grass and had a porch with dark blue chairs sitting in a row. It was definitely one of the biggest and prettiest houses I had ever seen

There is one thing that is common in most small, rural Southern towns; appliances on the porch. From deep-freezers to washing machines, if there’s not room in the house you can guarantee there is room on the porch and an extension cord long enough to plug it in. No one thinks it’s unusual as everyone in the neighborhood does it. That’s especially true for the humble, one-stop-light town I was brought up in. The house I lived in my entire childhood had a deep-freezer on the back porch; my second cousin, who lived next door, had a wringer washing machine on her front porch. That washing machine would lead to an incident involving a shotgun, scissors, a trip to the ER and a lifetime of jokes.

“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?

I’ll never understand why he is so loud, our house is not big. I’ll never understand why he is so loud, our house is not big. A double house with noisy neighbors and three foot hallways shouldn’t even be classified as a house. The ceilings on the second floor are hardly seven feet high. Anywhere you look, inside or out, something on the walls will be peeling. The previous owners tried to make the house look nice with the brick design wallpaper, but the boils and rips defeat the entire purpose. Don’t get me started on the outside! Our house was covered with dark brown, wooden shingles. While our neighbors was covered with clashing grey shingles. The only thing the two houses had in common was all of the missing pieces from various places on the house. I can

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.

On Sindall Road, in Cheshire, Connecticut there is a blue house with white shudders, it stands partly on a hill, and was built many years ago. The living room has huge wooden beams that lay across the ceiling. The bedrooms are not big, but not small, as appropriate to the time period that the house was built. The ceilings are very low, and the stairways are very steep. The house has different pieces of furniture that are from different time periods. There is a brook running by and on the other side is a river. I saw the house for the first time after buying it. We drove up in the gravel driveway, and got out of the car, it was one day before my birthday, so I guess you could say that it was an early birthday present. The first thing I said after looking around a bit was, “I think I’ll need a GPS to find my way around this house!” My parents laughed, and I was able to find my way…eventually. As I explored I

As my feet lightly tapped and echoed against the hard, concrete floor, a foreign feeling filled every inch of my body. The wintery air felt cold, lifeless, and in all senses dead, and the high chirp of the birds above was strangely absent. And as I approached the door to my own house, I began to hesitate. Somehow, somewhere, deep within me, was a small sense of dread. Regardless of all telling me to do otherwise, I twisted the door’s knob, and swung it open with all the usual enthusiasm. I dashed forward, through into the living room’s comfort, until I saw my parents, sitting there, dull faced as I told them about my day. Something was wrong, and it was something awful.

The barn has always been my home. When I look back on my childhood, I have trouble remembering anything other than those long days and nights spent at the barn. My mother, a retired professional dressage, long distance, and show jumping rider was never able to shake that part of her. That instinct was so strong that she even rode while pregnant with both my older sister and me. I was on a horse before I could walk, and ride before I could recite the alphabet. But, as I grew older I developed allergies to horses. So bad that my eyes would swell shut and air could barely squeeze to my lungs. So I left the love of horses to my mom and pursued my own passion...goats. It might sound funny but for the past eleven years, I have shown goats at county fairs and helped the family I lease from take care of the goats and their farm. It takes a special kind of person to care for 30 head of dairy goats. They get milked twice a day and eat a lot.

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.