Duplex, Apartment, House
Before I divulge my winter plans, as redirected by my friend The Collector, it’s important to articulate why living in isolation during my off-season sounded so attractive to me.
I came to Maine from a series of varied living situations in North Carolina. Most recently I had lived in the front bedroom of a house owned by my good friend Abbie. She and I and our third housemate, and dear friend, Meg, hosted a fantastic cocktail party and otherwise generally went about our business independently.
Seven months prior, I had moved into an apartment complex in the same neighborhood with a best friend, Anjuli, and her sister. During the three months we called University Apartments “home,” we looked after one another compassionately but without stepping on each others toes. Our work schedules rarely overlapped and we’d often be splitting time between our home and the homes of whomever we were kissing at the time.
Before moving in with Anjuli I had spent the better part of a year living on my own in a duplex a few streets away from the apartment complex. Mine wasn’t the only name on the lease for the first sixth months of my stay there, but for all intents and purposes, 830 B Wilkerson was mine alone.
One and a half years. Three addresses. Duplex, apartment, house. One neighborhood: Burch Avenue.
So when I moved to Maine it was with a history of relatively independent living situations. And that’s partially why adjusting to life on the farm was a challenge.