Help Me!...Descriptive Essay

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My Grandparent's House

I have always loved my grandparents’ house in Jacksonville, Texas. Hearing about how my grandfather built it in 1978 for his family has always inspired a sense of pride in me. Many of my fondest childhood memories were made in the house that stands at the bottom of the steepest hill on county road 3176.

As I step down from the car I hear the familiar crunch of pine cones under my feet. The heavy scent of the forest fills the air. I walk over to the long front porch and step inside the house. I remember, whenever I was visiting, I would run up to the front door and look out the window panes to see who else was coming to the house. The sheer joy of being at my grandparents’ house was so much I could hardly stand hearing a car pull up and realizing another relative was joining us for all the fun. The living room is kept warm by the cozy gas heaters in the corners. The floor is polished smooth and stained with a warm yellow color. There’s a china hutch in the corner, and soft comfortable chairs arranged around the room.  My favorite thing is the glass bowl next to Granny’s rocker. It is the candy bowl, always kept full of caramels and Werther’s. I remember sitting in her lap as a little girl and picking out a Werther’s candy. The wrappers would crinkle when I twisted them open and then tossed them into the waste basket. The sweet sugary treat always made my mouth water. After I had a piece of candy I’d jump down and run off to the big room to play with my siblings and cousins.     

            The big room is definitely the largest room in the house. When family reunions took place, this room was where you’d find everyone. The left side is full of comfortable chairs and upright card tables with dominoes waiting to be played. There are two bunk beds further into the room, against the wall, with their mattresses covered by beautiful quilts. Pawpaw’s pool table sits next to the staircase that leads to the loft. I run my hand across the table, feeling the soft green felt that comes up and meets the cool smooth cherry wood. It is a green wave of the sea meeting the sand on a familiar beach. I pick up a cube of chalk and place it on its shelf, its light green color leaving a residue on my fingers. The smell of chalk permeates the air and I remember hearing the squeaky sound of my grandfather putting it on the end of his pool stick before making his next shot. Two fans hang down from the tall ceilings and the blades rotate slowly making a repetitive but soft whirring sound. Up in the loft I’m much closer to the fans and can feel the cool push of air that the blades work so hard to procure. The soft beige carpet is the kind that invites me to take off my shoes and wiggle my toes. The loft was my get away spot. I loved that I could hear so many noises down stairs and I could still feel secluded. The clashing of billiard balls and clicking of dominoes, the sound of running children, and all the many voices in the room could all be heard from the loft. I would run up there and read books for hours at a time in the summers, until the bell would call me down to the kitchen to have a bite to eat.

            As I walk into the kitchen I notice the old rusted cow bell sitting on its little shelf by the door. The children would get to run around ringing the bell to make that clanging sound resonate to every corner of the house whenever it was time to eat. Just like the rest of the house, this room, right down to the cabinets and shelves, is made of beautifully polished spruce planks. The wall that faces the outside has a huge paned window that overlooks the numerous pine trees. My grandfather is notorious for fooling naïve children into turning from their dinner plates to look at the huge bear outside. I never saw a bear, but I always noticed a few bites of my food were missing from my plate when I turned back around. Pawpaw would grin while chewing a big bite and say something about the bear running back into the forest at the last second. The long kitchen table covers half the room. Fifteen or more people have been known to gather around that table during family reunions. The rings in the wood mix with the circles left behind from hot coffee cups sitting too long without a coaster. I stare at the mesh of ovals and circles as the bright sun hits them through the branches outside. It’s a beauty that I took for granted when I saw it often. When I look at the table now I see that it has had many years of love, has done its job very well, and continues to be strong and sturdy for anyone that is fortunate enough to sit at it.

             After eating a good meal and cleaning our plates, my siblings and cousins and I would all run out the back door and down the steep porch steps. A tire swing hangs from a branch of a tall sturdy pine tree. Another swing, just a plank with a rope through the middle, hangs from a tree close to the path that leads to the lake. The red clay fills the crevices in my shoes as I walk down through the sparse grass to the pier that goes out over the water. As the gentle waves push back and forth I can hear the sound of the paddle boat gently hitting the tin siding of the boat house. The water laps against the cedar logs that support the pier. Moss has grown up the logs, giving it a slimy feeling. When I would swim in the lake as a child I would brush up against the mossy supports and squeal, sure that it was a slimy eel trying to get me.

             As I take the winding road back up the steep hill, I look back on the house that my grandfather built. The large house, with its red brick fire place jutting out, stands at the bottom of the oval drive. The lake peaks out from around the back, with the tire swing swaying in the wind not far away. My grandparents’ house is one of my favorite places in the world. I will always remember the sense of comfort that filled me when I was there, in the presence of relatives and loved ones. It is a home that provokes laughter and joy. If I ever get lost in this big world, and need to find love and comfort, I know I can return to Granny and Pawpaw’s house amongst the pine trees.