The House on Deer Court is the House I Call My Home

“Where we love is home-home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts” (Holmes), In my lifetime, so far I‘ve moved around a fair amount (a total of six times). However, strangely enough I’ve only lived in three different places, Wautoma, Oshkosh, and Madison. Most my time, and the place where I have the most memories, is in my first house in Wautoma. It was the house on Deer Court. This house was the place where my family was the closest and where I feel most comfortable because there‘s a feeling so familiar there, almost like a presence (presence), Like a ghost of this place, I feel it even though it’s not there (ghosts of place).

It’s surrounded by the woods my family and I would go on “adventures” throughr We‘d make up fairytales and mysterious beasts, and only the aura of that original forest can rekindle those fond memories (aura of the original) If we come up to the patio you can see the spot where dad told me he’d catch me from the my bedroom window if there was a fire, and the spot where I first found out I was petrified of butterflies It was where I first found my cat (a stray).

Tunar I named my new- found friend that because that’s all she would eat from us, Walking to the front of the brown garage you can see the part of the roof that was just barely low enough for us to climb up and play on.

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If you would walk through that concrete garage into the mud room, you can see it had bright green turf as carpet (the kind they use playing mini golf). It was the room where my parents decided that I was the kid that would make them stop having kids (they told me with love). See, my sister was a very easy child. My father would yell at her for poking the outlet and she’d burst into tears, end of story I however, would look my father directly in the eyes as he yelled at me, and continue to slowly move my finger towards the outlet. If you walk past that room, you‘ll find a big living room openly connected to the kitchen The living room was where my father decided he was adopting out our first dog Trixie.

They were playing with a treat and she accidentally bit my father in the wrist all the way to the bone. With me being so young, it was too dangerous to keep her, even if it was an accident. If you turn to the kitchen, you’ll see the yellowing white tile floor that my mom would let me and my sister clean. She’d throw some soapy water on the ground and we‘d slide around on towels, probably making a bigger soapy mess. If you go around the corner, you’ll see the stairs my dad would slide me down in a laundry basket. Half way up you’ll find the deep green door where I’d watch my dad leave for work every day out the window. At the top of the stairs is the closet I’d always hit my tail bone on, and next too it the bathroom where I learned to brush my teeth. Adjacent to the bathroom is my sisters old roomi Its lilac with purple wallpaper trim, and on the right wall you can see the pencil marks and ages that marked our heights growing up.

It was the room I’d always try to sneak into to hang out with Aleigh and her friends I‘d generally be kicked out with a door in my face within the minute, but i was never a kid who’d turn down a challenge. The next room was my bedroom, the one where I had my steel cribi The same one whose bars I‘d shake in the middle of the night when I dropped my Little Bear. As I grew a bit older, I remember my parents putting an inflatable trampoline of sorts in my room. I used that trampoline to scream, cry, and hide from the babysitter until mama came home. The final room is my parents. This is where I’d go when I demanded attention. Sometimes by throwing wooden blocks at them, sometimes by crying until they held me, and sometimesjust by being plain old adorable. All these rooms and places interact together as to show the wonderful narrative of my life and oldest memories (Actants, ANT).

You may not experience these memories and sensations, simply because this is my version of intelligence. There are multiple, therefore you may be experiencing a lather one (multiple intelligences). Though l have thousands of memories inside and outside of this house (some more embarrassing than others), these are the ones I remember clear as day. These are only some of the experiences that made me who I am today, but they help to remind me of how I got to be, well, me. I will always regard to it as my home. There is not a single doubt in my mind that this little house in Deer Court, is the house that built me