At first, when my teacher gave me this assignment, I couldn’t think of anything to write about. Though I have lots of things passed down from generation to generation, nothing really spoke to me. As I was sitting at the kitchen table last night thinking about this assignment, I then realized that the thing that meant the most was not the old family pictures on the wall, or the old antiques up in the attic. I then realized that it was not the objects but the thing containing them; an object can be lost, but this house was like a time capsule of memories that will stay with me forever. The floorboards may creak, the kitchen may have outdated tile and flooring, but this house means more to me than the world. Whether it's the marks on the door frame tracking everyone's growth, or the scratches on the floor from slipping while carrying in firewood, this house has witnessed it all. 

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