Descriptive Essay: Our Summer Cabin

In the middle of nowhere, clear back on a dead end road in a tiny town called Outing, there is a cabin. It is in Minnesota. When you picture a cabin in your head you think of a log cabin built entirely of wood that has a big fireplace in the living room and deer heads hanging on the walls. This cabin was different. It was a small, run down white house that my family has called “the cabin,” way before I was born. It had a small fireplace in the living room that I have never seen be used and dead, stuffed fish on plaques hanging on the wall from years ago. It had two garages that were joined together with a door like an adjoining hotel room, but they were both detached from the house. Down the street from the cabin there is a liquor and grocery store, a post office, a gas station, and a small shop called Owls and Things. Owls and Things is a souvenir shop, but they sell ice cream as well. Every day we were at the cabin our family would walk down the street and get ice cream. It was by far the most favorite part of the day, not only because I love ice cream, but because I loved looking through the glass at all of the different ice cream flavor choices and pondering about which flavor I was going to pick that day. When I was younger it just seemed so magical and exciting for me to go and get that ice cream.

Our house on Orangeburg was not what we expected we all figured it would be like the one near Sherwood with a warm cheerful comforting fireplace and open armed trees gathered around in the front.The house on Orangeburg was crumbled like old ugly bread.Time had managed to make this house look irreversible the house was little more than a glorified shed.At least we don’t

The house was long, white, and had blue shudders. I could always pick out which set of windows out front peeked into my bedroom because of the messy off-white paint stuck to it after years of never being touched up. Inside, so much more was going on than the typical all-American home lead outsiders to believe. Confusion, growth, fear, and lots of aluminum cans.

Even from afar, it is distinguishable from its environment. But the true beauty of my unique house can only be seen on the inside, which contains numerous rooms, corridors,

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

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The left wing branched out into the living room that held a long, curving couch facing a flat screen on the wall. A simple coffee table was in front of the furniture. I ran my hand over smooth marble counters and eyed the stainless steel appliances.

The barn was cold and dim-lighted. The musty smell of the barn filled my nostrils. It made me feel as though I had entered a Haunted House. People screamed as the ropes above shook with the wind being brought in through the holes in the wall.

There were bright interior images of the home with a spacious neutral tiled enclosed front porch with a bay window and a slight view of the living room. The eat in kitchen had attractive cabinetry, a complement of appliances, and a nice-looking counter. With the angle

Steaming black coffee warms my soul as I silently observe baby chipmunks running across the logs surrounding the driveway. Hummingbirds flutter and fuss over their feeder while other birds vie for seed in the log cabin. If I sit very still I might see a deer or bear from my perch on the porch. How pleasant it is to immerse in the quietness of the mountains far from the ever present clamor of civilization. In the mountains above Durango, Colorado, chill morning air greets me on this sixth day of retreat. Visiting my sister Janet’s “cabin” was not my choice. Yet, here I am. Only two vacation days remain and in the silence, I begin to reflect.

It was a cold, dark October evening as a hunting junky named Frank sets out on his journey to his cabin in the great Rocky Mountains. He is wanting to bag a Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep to bring home along with bragging rights. As Frank is walking down the trail to get the his cabin he doesn't notice anything out of the usual. He can't help but think of how beautiful and peaceful it is out in the wilderness: the changing leaves, the faint smell of a distant fire as it warms up a quaint little house, and the crunch of dead twigs under his feet. After his long journey he sees his cabin up ahead in a grove of trees. Frank finally gets to his front door, unlocks it, and walks in. His home away from home he thought as

It was a gorgeous summer day. the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the world was at peace on the seemingly carefree sunday afternoon. church had just ended and the children ran fast and free ready to play. They ran two and twelve towards the town’s lake to go swimming, in order to ward off the heat of the noon sun. They stampeded through town bumping over numerous people and even one another to reach the cool blue waves. The menacing multitude took a sharp turn from the street to an old dusty road. The trees shook in the evening breeze and swayed slightly further when the children hurried by. Dust faintly clouded out the light that poured over the path. Finally they reached the dock and began to take off and swap clothes. The boys took off their shirts and pants and swam in their underwear, while the girls chose to go behind some nearby bushes.and exchange out their attire. When everyone was in they started to splash one another while laughing and shouting. A few of them dived under the water to search for fish and other sea life. When they came back, up two of them had seaweed, one held a starfish, and two others had a crab holding it by both sides. It was getting a little later in the day, but the kids were not quite yet ready to leave their fun to rest. They decided to play hide and seek even though the sun was beginning to make its descent behind the green curtains that were the distant hills. One child counted while everyone hid and waited. As he counted out

The only sound that filled my ears was my keyboard clicking as my fingers raced across it. I had been procrastinating from finishing this assignment all evening, but I knew I needed to get it done. The burning sunset was shining through the windows as I was finishing up. It was a peaceful silence, until I heard the soft whispers of my parents that ignited my sense of curiosity. I was concentrating hard; doing my best trying to make out the hushed words that were being spoken.

The ruckus from the bottom of the truck is unbearable, because of the noise and excessive shaking. As we slowly climbed the mountain road to reach our lovely cabin, it seemed almost impossible to reach the top, but every time we reached it safely. The rocks and deep potholes shook the truck and the people in it, like a paint mixer. Every window in the truck was rolled down so we could have some leverage to hold on and not loose our grip we needed so greatly. The fresh clean mountain air entered the truck; it smelt as if we were lost: nowhere close to home. It was a feeling of relief to get away from all the problems at home. The road was deeply covered with huge pines and baby aspen trees. Closely examining the

Chipper's house, on Squannacook Road in Shirley, was a place that was both fascinating and at times repulsive. The small, white, New England farmhouse was crowded up to the side of the road, with almost no space between the front door and the street. It always seemed to sneak up on me as we came around the last curve in the car, as if I had been waiting and waiting and then all of a sudden, there it was.