140. This is where we began. This is our home. My mother grew up in this big white house. I hope it stays with us forever. I see this being my brother’s home in the future. It will be where he raises his family and where he adds to our book of memory. Something tells me that this home will be ours for all of eternity.

Our home at the top of the hill is the focal point of our family. It's the enormous Thanksgiving dinners, where we can barely fit all 23 of us in the same room. It's Christmas morning when wrapping paper, cheerful laughter, and shining smiles fill the living room. This home a magnet, drawing everyone back together.

It's not only the hustle and bustle of our family holidays, it's the quiet too. The calm, when twenty three becomes five. This house is far too big for us, it seems empty most of the time. But that feeling dissolves when I look around each room, and the memories flood my brain like an overflowing sink. This house holds millions of memories, and I don't even know half of them. The ones I do know never fail to warm my heart or bring a smile to my face.

The stairs are creaky, there may be some cracks, but to us those imperfections are perfect. Each imperfection contains a story, a memory. The crack in my window? A woodpecker I named Woody when I was 4, and obsessed with Toy Story. The black dents marking up the stairs on the porch? My brother pretending to be in the Sid the Kid Crosby. An outsider would never know these things. To us every little detail is a hidden story. This home, continuously accumulating memories. And right now, the best memories are the ones that my brother and I will keep secret until we're years older.

In this big white house there is one spot that holds over seventeen years. This may seem like such a minuscule piece of our home, but to me it's our history. It happens to be in the kitchen, the heart of this home. It is the only place that will never get a fresh coat of ivory paint. Within this doorframe there’s a multitude of vibrant lines. The lines that add up to years and past times. The lines that show how we've grown.

A stranger sees height, dates, and names. As a family, we see certain memories, The loose tooth grin of five year old me, and the smiling eyes of my brother who grew like a tree. They are not just heights, dates, and names. They are who has come, and who has gone. These lines of time define who was once, and always will be, welcome in their home, and part of our family.