CREATE AN ACCOUNT

This isn’t just a bungalow. It’s ground zero for life. Big. Solid. Born in 1979 — the same year McDonald’s sold the first Happy Meal and Sony gave the world the Walkman. A house built when simple things still felt new, built to last, built to keep going. Vaulted ceilings pulling the air up. A sunken living room pulling you down. Maple floors that don’t lie. In the kitchen, granite counters, cold and hard, waiting for the coffee rings and knife marks and whatever else life throws at them.

Some renovations done over a decade ago — windows swapped out, bathrooms redone. Still recent enough that you don’t have to worry about it. It’s already been taken care of. Two living spaces upstairs. One in the front — sunken, dramatic, made for watching storms through big glass. The other in the back, next to the kitchen, anchored by a brick fireplace. Wood burning. Real flame, real heat, the kind of fire that changes the way a room feels. Three bedrooms on the main floor. Two full baths.

The basement runs deep — fully finished, with room for a second living space, games, noise, whatever you need. A fourth bedroom with a new proper egress window — safe, bright, and done right. Another bathroom below. Storage to hide what doesn’t belong upstairs.

The yard? Rocks, shrubs, clean lines. Low maintenance. High impact. The kind of front that makes you look like you’ve got it together, even if you don’t. Double garage out back. Big enough to swallow trucks, toys, the clutter of a whole life. Nose Hill is at your doorstep. Shopping down the road. Schools around the corner. Minutes to the airport. Quick access to Deerfoot and Stoney. It’s not perfect. It’s better. It’s real. It’s more than square footage. It’s a stage. A shelter. A machine built for everyday living. And it’s waiting.