When you slow to a crawl on the asphalt road, the first thing that comes into view is the recently updated mailbox standing tall by the entrance. Just beyond it is the dirt and gravel driveway, a familiar path leading down to the heart of my father’s property. Turning left into the descent, the driveway dips gently and curves around the land, and the luscious, well-manicured green grass pops against the edges of the road. Towering trees—some older than I am three times over—line the property and cast long shadows that stretch with the sun.

As your eyes follow the driveway further, the scenery opens up to the true centerpiece: the lake. A brilliant blue-gray surface stretches far beyond the eye’s comfort, demanding your attention. The lake hugs both sides of the driveway and only breaks where the gravel continues forward. As you near the water’s edge, the clarity reveals algae reaching up from the bottom, swaying beneath the surface like soft ribbons. On the far side of the lake, a tall dark wooden pole reaches up to the sky, topped with a quaint little birdhouse, a resting place for passing birds.

On the curve where the driveway bends left, the lake sits just off the edge to your left while my father's house stands proudly on a small hill to the right. A large tree marks the turn into the yard, surrounded by decorative rocks and outdoor flower art. Unlike the rest of the property’s green grass, the yard here is made of rocks and dirt. The porch stretches along the front of the house; one half is used for parking a single car while the other hosts outdoor seating furniture.

The house itself is built from yellow popcorn-textured bricks, a detail easy to miss unless you're close. Between the parking and seating areas sits the white front door. To its left, three stairs lead into the outhouse—a shed where my dad stores tools, maintenance equipment, random outdoor gear, and even the washer and dryer.

Walking through the front door brings you into the dining room, with the kitchen tucked off to the left. The flooring is mostly worn brown carpet, except in the bathroom and kitchen where tile takes over. The furniture throughout is old and wooden, unchanged since my grandparents lived here. The dining table is large enough to seat 6 to 8 people when the extendable piece is added. The table’s surface is smooth in some areas, while others are worn with age and mysterious stains. Wooden panels line the walls, their slightly pebbled, unsanded texture darkened by age, streaked with black tree-like markings.

To the left of the door, three woven seating chairs rest under a counter space that separates the dining room from the kitchen. These chairs have light-colored wooden legs and provide a cozy spot to watch whoever is cooking. Above the counter is an open space that connects the rooms visually, with floating cabinetry hanging above, leaving space between the cabinets and the ceiling. The countertops are white, while the lower cabinets are made of the same orangish wood as the paneling. The appliances are older—a black stove and oven combo and a white fridge with black handles and hinges. The kitchen floor is beige and white tile, accented with blue flower motifs in the corners of the white tiles, intersected by X-shaped lines.

Past the kitchen is my dad's bedroom. The old dark wooden door opens to reveal more brown carpet and a mix of new and old furniture. His bed frame is a reddish-brown wood, and the bed is covered with a thick navy blue comforter dotted with subtle rivets. To the right is a large, newer chest matching the bed frame, and beside that, in the corner, stands a large black gun safe. Sitting atop the safe is my dad’s TV—and apparently, a smaller one in front of that.

To the left of the door is a shelf lined with my dad’s hats and shoes. Next to the shelf hangs a silver-framed painting of blue fish swimming in circles against a white background. Near the back of the room is a newer gray reclining chair, and just left of that is an open doorway leading into the bathroom. Inside, the light green sink and white countertop are speckled with blue, the surface smooth and cool to the touch. A wall-to-wall mirror reflects the space. The carpet here is cream-colored, but rougher than the rest of the house. The open closet has no doors and houses the water pump. A white door to the left leads into the smaller bathroom with tiny white floor tiles and a matching tub. The toilet sits behind the door and a white, single-door cabinet is mounted above it.

Back in the dining room, the chairs match the table—wooden frames with red and gold patterned cushions. Moving into the living room, you’re welcomed into an open space. A flat screen sits against a tan wall to the left of the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. The big windows offer an incredible view of the pasture, the driveway, and a sliver of the lake. A cat house sits beneath the window, next to a large potted plant and a low table that houses a smaller TV. A workout bench is placed in front, with a rack of fishing poles nearby. A white closet door sits behind it, near the back door that leads out to a small square porch more trafficked by bugs than people.

To the left of the living room is the sunroom, with more big windows and an old tall wooden cabinet straight ahead. Hip-height white wooden cabinets stretch along the floor, and the window here opens the view to the outdoors.

Back through the doorway leading to the bedrooms, mine is to the left. Gray walls surround me with one navy-blue accent wall where my bed sits, dressed in white and matching blue bedding. To the right of the bed is a small old nightstand with a newer silver lamp and white shade. Two small windows brighten the room—one next to the nightstand and another across from the door. My telescope sits in the corner, and a large wooden chest rests to the left of the door, topped with an old flat-screen TV.

Across the hall is a narrow bathroom, with white tiles like my dad’s, and white walls. The yellow sink sits beneath a mirrored cabinet, followed by the yellow toilet, and finally a yellow tub. A full-length mirror hangs on the door. Further down the hall is the room where my siblings used to sleep. The walls are lime green, the closet doors match the others, and a wooden bookshelf lines the far side. Two windows light the space, with a small version of my chest tucked in the corner.

Back in the dining room, to the right of the entrance is a red and black brick fireplace, its golden opening still intact. On the other side, a window faces the porch where the enclosed AC unit buzzes away. Below the window is a small table and another closet door, this one matching the walls in color. A tall bookshelf completes this area. Orchids sit on one of the woven chairs nearby. The ceilings in both the dining and living rooms are plain white, accented with dark wooden beams that jut out like the bones of the house.

The overall color scheme of the house leans heavily on dark wood tones, balanced out with cream and white for light. The air smells like grass, sun-warmed wood, fruit—and occasionally donkey poop if you wander near the pasture. Right now, seven people live here full-time. When my family comes to stay, that number jumps to eleven.

The lake, pasture, and surrounding woods are the major landmarks, with the docks, barns, and fencing being the minor ones. Highway 116 is the only road in and out, but the dirt driveway is our true entrance. Aside from my aunt, everyone who lives out here is retired. Their days are filled with outdoor tasks—burning wood, tending gardens, repairing fences, or crafting. Life here doesn’t move fast, but it’s full and present.