First house Memory

My First house memory

My very first house memory is at my grandfather Bing’s house. I have not been there in seven years, so it may have changed a little bit.

            You’re standing in the enclosed porch looking through the front door. There are always birds eating the worms from underneath the clothes line. You go to open the door to walk down the short ramp to go outside, and the door creaks slightly. The bird flies off into the closest trees. You turn right when you come out of the porch. You look to the left, and you see the garage. You look to the right you see down the hill that I learned to ride a bike on. If you look straight, you can see the small four-wheeler path that goes up to the blueberry field. The blueberry field is where I shot my first deer.

            You start to walk down the biking hill, and you look to the left you see stalks of bamboo. You look towards the right and you see old lobster traps made of wood. You can see the old pig pens. They used to raise they’re own bacon. You look through the woods and you see a small stream. There are deer up in the woods; you can find they’re hoof prints in the long dirt road we walk along.

             After a few minutes of the sound of mooshing footsteps below, you can hear many different birds chirping. One sounds just like a whistling. You look to your left and you see an upside down dingy, on top of three pieces of plywood. This little building is known as the club house. The neighbor, about a quarter of a mile down the driveways name is Sven. He is two years younger then I, but is way more creative. This is how the “Club house” was made.

            You walk a little bit further, and you see Sven’s house. It is a three bedroom trailer that dwells four people. Gretta, Hooper, Sven, and the baby live in this house. Gretta worked at the hospital, Hooper worked in his little shop outside his house. This is commonly where he would spend his time making knifes. Sven would only be able to see me when I was there on the weekends.

            You look straight ahead and you see the community building through the trees. There is always a bunch of cars parked in the parking lot. There used to be a craft fair every month, baby showers, and lots of other gatherings from all of Brooksville. Right before you get to the community center there is a house that is decades old, the shingles are old and tarnished, the shed is merely falling down. This is known as “The crazy cat lady’s house” I think I am aloud to call her that, she is my aunt by marriage.

            You’re standing next to the community center, and you see kids running around the parking lot. They are playing in a general little area because they know if they go out of sight, they would get hollered at by their parents. I played in that group for a while. Then I realized I hate people.

            You continue down the road, and you come down to the store I almost died at. This store is right by the road, and it has the best contents inside. They might be expensive but that is how a little town like mine makes money. They have always made the best “ Cinnamon Buns”. I was never aloud to eat them, but they smelled good.

            You continue down the road and you look out into the deep blue. Nothing but ocean for miles and miles. You can get lost in the amazing sight. I have a picture of it on my laptop. All you see is lobster buoys, and seals poking their noggins out of the water to see the out side world. This is one place I would have never left behind. Unfortunately, too many memories had to be left behind.