It’s 1979. The Sony Walkman hits the streets. Pink Floyd’s The Wall hits the charts. And 128 Bermuda Drive NW welcomes its first owners. A house built when simple things still felt new, built to last, built to keep going. Inside, a front living room with a wide picture window, light pouring in, pulls you forward. Vaulted ceilings above, pulling the air up. 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. The front is for light and calm. The back for fire — brick, wood burning, real heat, the kind of flame that changes the way a room feels. Three bedrooms on the main floor. Two full baths, including a modern update of clean tile and polished stone.
The basement runs deep — fully finished, with room for games, sweat, noise, or hiding out. A fourth bedroom with a new proper egress window — safe, bright, and done right. Another bathroom below. Storage to bury the overflow of life.
The yard? Rocks. Shrubs. Clean lines. Low maintenance. High impact. A face to the street that doesn’t flinch, and makes it look like you’ve got it together even if you don’t. Double garage out back. Oversized, detached, with enough space for trucks, tools, toys, and the chaos that follows. Beside it, an RV pad. Trucks, trailers, campers — bring them. This place can take it. 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. A machine built for everyday living, with light, fire, space, and grit. And it’s waiting.
