The telephone poles, street lights, and even the fractures in the sidewalk panels are all so native to me.  A place that is unmatched by any other place that I have been to, where only the ones who have thrived from it can tell you what this place genuinely is.  Everybody is accustomed to their own neighborhood.  My neighborhood is a completely different atmosphere which contains much more value than it just being a resting place for houses. 
There is an old white, musty looking building.  This building is a corner store, which stands as the Mecca of the neighborhood.  The store is family owned, and is connected to their house.  The front of the building has a big sign to show off its name. Underneath the sign, sandwiching a single door, sits two very wide glass windows, where any person passing by can see through.  Inside there are four, five foot tall shelving units aligned in rows, holding your basic household necessities and snacks.  The store’s back wall appears non-existent, as it is covered from end to end by a single colossal sized cooler, containing all your refreshments.  Next to the clerk at the front of the store sits a large icebox, where the store keeps their prominent Italian Ice.  The Italian Ice is a summer blessing that was the foundation of my childhood. 

At the peak of the neighborhood lies a streetlight.  The east and west sides of the neighborhood are separated by a long road that runs downhill from the streetlight.  On the west side of the road, there is a large brick building, which used to be the estate for a man, but has now been turned into a historic museum.  The museum sits right on the corner neighboring the street light.  The building easily stands out in the neighborhood, but still seems secluded.  It is gated in and protected by an elegant arrangement of trees and landscape.  The main entrance  of the building is a wooden double door, put behind four pillars, and is accompanied by a wide grey stone staircase.  I, however, have never been able to observe the elegancy of the inside of the building, but the neighborhood would not feel the same without it.

Behind the museum is the cornerstone of activity.  Towering along the perimeter by pine trees is a big green open field.  This field is a second home for the neighborhood kids, where you can always encounter a group of them on a perfectly bright and sunny day.  On one side of the field there is one shorter, but stout tree that stands out from the rest.  The tree can easily be climbed, and remains as a hangout spot, since it is accompanied by three stone benches.  In the autumn, the tree obtains a vibrant orange color, which really makes the tree emerge from the empty field.  The empty field was, and always will be a getaway where kids could enjoy being kids.

Lastly, on the opposite side of the street from the field and museum, you can find a tan like stucco house.  The house is perched on a hill of its own, with a simple one car driveway and a golden mailbox that is connected to a small brick wall along the driveway.  This house belongs to my family and is more than just a house to me.  I have grown with this old stucco house, and I always know I will be safe while I am with it.  It bears more significance than just being another house in the neighborhood.

Although it may be true that my neighborhood is a community of houses, it stands for so much more.  It is a place where I grew up and learned from.  I know it like the back of my hand and every detail and imperfection has its own importance.  From the corner store to my home, my neighborhood will always have more value than it just being a neighborhood.