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My grandpa's house may seem like just another house, but it actually explains an entire existence. It has every component of a typical house, but there is something about his that makes me think of life and how brief it really is. There are the flowers and the garden in the backyard that have characteristics of one's childhood and the development process. His house has the look of defeat, telling me that life will soon be over, and its time is up. Finally, near the backyard there is a garage where everything from his life has been permanently stored. In one visit to Grandpa's house, I can experience something that takes most people an entire lifetime to experience.
His house reminds me of age and how it affects one's life. Just outside the garage is the backyard, which is akin to one's childhood. This is where I remember spending my days running around in the waist-high grass pretending that I was in a jungle. Surrounding the yard are daisies and tulips, which every spring, bloom and provide beauty for the entire season. In the center of the yard is a large satellite dish. It is a large black ominous monstrosity, which seemed to turn of its own free will.
Next to the satellite dish on the right side is a sandbox my grandpa and I had built one summer. On the other side of the yard near the house stands a crab apple tree that has been there for as long as I can remember. Behind the garage is the garden, which in the summer is flourishing with fruits, melons, and vegetables. Similarly, Grandpa's backyard can symbolize growth and rebirth in life. Everything pure in one's life happens during this time.
Like the flowers and the garden in Grandpa's backyard, at this age in life, everything is pure and fresh. Each day is a new day that has doors that are waiting to be opened, and information that is waiting to be learned. Everybody would love to remain in the backyard because this is where everything is green and purity is at its finest. My grandpa's house, an edifice of dilapidated wood, is its own entity. The white siding shows evidence of neglect.
Paint chips have fallen off and collected on the window ledge and shudders, leaving small patches of wood showing. The shudders are brown and rough, like that of the bark of an old tree. Hanging askew, they give the impression of experience. Before the front entrance stands a moss enclosed porch.
The moss hangs off the porch like motionless waves of the sea. Mounted in the porch stands a cast iron rail, while crooked, it no longer displays the same strength as it once had. The door, the gateway to all the valuable possessions inside, looks like a ramshackle collection of scrap wood, and the glass hangs loosely on its hinges. His house is the embodiment of the human aging process and how old age approaches quickly and affects one's appearance and lifestyle. As one grows older, unfortunately, things don't look as nice on the outside as they once did.
The hair begins to disappear, wrinkles emerge, veins explode out of places where they once were concealed, and no longer does the skin give the glossy, clean appearance it once provided day in and day out. Things begin to lose proper functioning, and they don't seem to work correctly, similar to the moss collecting on the porch. Soon, age completely takes over and one loses control. With age, the house and one's life lose their pristine appearance and become just another pile of long forgotten cast-offs.
The driveway, two strips of concrete separated by a grass median, lead back to the garage, representing everything in life that one wishes to keep sacred. The garage, like the house, also has a lot of years behind it. The roof of the garage is made of reddish shingles, which, due to age, are falling apart. The inside of the garage is cluttered with boxes full of odds and ends from TVs, radios, and other diverse electronic equipment. Behind the boxes is an old workbench. This is where I can remember my grandpa doing his handiwork: making picnic tables, fixing electronics, and sometimes just sitting and drinking a beer thinking about what we would do next.
In the other half of the garage was my grandpa's prized possession: his eloquent, red 1992 Thunderbird. He always used to tell me that one day he would allow me to drive it, but I know that day will never come. The Thunderbird has only 1, 000 miles on it, and it is always spotless. Likewise, the garage is a major part of a person's life. It is where one keeps everything that they are proud of or once cherished. It is also a place where nothing is forgotten.
This is where I keep my game-winning basket from 7 th grade. That shot is comparable to the ' 92 Thunderbird parked in Grandpa's garage because it is very valuable to me, and I never want to forget it. Whether it is an experience, an event, or a material object, if it is important at all in one's life it will be stored somewhere in the garage. Grandpa's garage, although decaying with age, holds in it things that are important to him, just like people cling to things over time that are important to them. Every time I go to my grandpa's house I find something else that seems to make me ponder the workings of life. It is always a place where I could explore the unknown and find the answer to the question, "What should I do today?" There is always a sense of adventure and excitement.
Whenever I feel lost or confused about something in my life, I can go to my grandpa's house, and all of my questions will be answered.
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Research essay sample on Flowers And The Garden Grandpa Backyard Life
