Beth - 300 Bowen Avenue

My first home was where I spent the first half of my life growing up and learning the ins and outs of Caraway. It was a simple, small white-panel house with a dark, shingled roof, and a long concrete driveway. That long driveway is where I learned to ride a bike which I later rode for miles around town. The front of the house had a strip of bright red brick that was meant to act as a window sill for the multitude of windows that overlooked the fenced-in front yard. This window sill faded into the top of a brick staircase which led up to a dark green door. Upon turning the knob and walking in (or crawling through the doggy door if you forgot your set of keys), the living room would be there to greet you with a brown furniture set, an ancient coffee table piled with magazines and mail, and scuffed wood floors.
Beyond the living room lied the kitchen which is where we spent a lot of family time together. I remember how I would often climb on top of the small marble counter to watch my mother cook, or to help her bake cakes. By helping, I mean eating the leftover batter. To accommodate our growing family, we had a huge oval-shaped dining table where we sat most evenings for dinner.
Past the kitchen was a large room with baby blue walls and a set of bunk beds. This room was shared by my sister and I for several years. It was arguably the loudest room in the house due to our frequent quarrels and games of Barbies vs. Dinosaurs. The small TV mounted to the wall was almost always on, even though we were supposed to have it off by nine o'clock on school nights.
The backyard is where I spent the majority of my childhood. Looking back, it was a small area, quite fit for a small home. However, between the ages of two to eight, that yard expanded for miles and miles. It served as a battleground for water gun fights, an open space to play tag, and a jungle for exploring and capturing different creatures.
It's funny how such a small structure can take up so much room in one's heart. 300 Bowen Avenue may not be where I live anymore, but it'll always be the home I retreat to when my mind seeks the comforts of nostalgia.