164 Years of Age

My house is old. Possibly ancient. Technically it’s 164 years old, but it looks older. It’s a narrow, federalist style townhouse (which was common in the eighteenth century), with red bricks crumbling in spots, and seven fireplaces. When my house was first built, these fireplaces were used for warmth, cooking, heating water for laundry, and other uses. Now it’s merely used to create ambiance. This is one example of how my house as changed over time. It’s so old, that in front of our house holds a plaque saying that it’s one of the oldest houses in Old Town. Old Town is a historic district in George Washington’s hometown. Across the street from my house is where Marquis Lafayette stayed after the Revolutionary War. A few blocks away is where Robert E. Lee grew up. 

My house creaks and groans because it’s so old. Stepping on the wood flooring creates a crackling noise. However, I have mastered the art of walking on them noiselessly, by memorizing the wood panels that don’t crackle, and choosing a route using only those panels. It’s quite a skill, and one I have acquired over time.

My family loves our house. We have tons of memories attached to our beloved house, and ones we don’t plan on parting with anytime soon. For example, watching television in these brown leather chairs that are probably as old as our house, or cooking pasta for pretty much every meal. However, my favorite memory is of counting planes that fly by at night before I go to bed. 

My house is not cookie cutter, and it has its flaws from aging, but it is incredibly unique. Inside the rusty, aging, 164 year old red bricks, holds a warm home. A home my family has lived in for 14 years.

~ Eleanor N.