Two and a half years ago my mother and I moved into a red fixer-upper on a wooded hillside outside Mt. Gretna. When looking at the listing photos I noticed one space with potential that had me excitedly skipping around. Once moving in that winter we quickly realized the daunting amount of work ahead. Yet I was narrowed in on the one bedroom apartment above the garage. I could rent it out, or airbnb, or host awesome parties. So eagerly and naively, I set out to complete the whole renovation and furnishing in three relentless weeks. Easy, right? The roof was leaking, the carpet was an unsightly orange, the countertops, yellow; out the back wall you could see unfiltered sunlight, the electrical was questionable, and just about everything needed redone. But three weeks is a plenty time, you know?

I arrived home in late march from Arizona to Pennsylvania gray and endless rain. The apartment was cold and the 1×6 wood planks creaked a little more than usual. Three weeks never happened —It was now almost three years. And with no other major projects, I had work to finish.

If you knew me you knew about the apartment. Through its slow construction it witnessed the beginning of my first relationship, and the end of it. It was an office for work. It was a hideout for friends who needed to get away from a unsettling situation. It was Club Gretna. Yet the apartment was the project I kept avoiding, yet kept speaking of, and it was the project my friends encouraged me to finish instead of following the next shiny object.

In a psychological manner I can’t spell out, I was scared to finish the apartment. Perhaps It meant I had to find something else. Thankfully, a mutual friend needed a place to stay for the summer, and with my promise to a deadline I was fastened to a timeline and a notebook with a plan.

I still needed to work on trim, install a tile shower, outfit the kitchen, hook up a stove, and one thousand other little details that added up. And to add nice frosting on the top, the hot water heater died last minute.

But it all got done. My friend Jared helped me finish the last touches to the bathroom as Jim worked his luggage up the stairs. I learned about construction, the power of deadlines, the necessity for consistency, and after all the stressful moments I felt a warm sense of pride I didn’t expect because it all seemed so laborious.

I want to thank many who added paint or drywall or good advice to see the Apartment through: Mom, Mark, Amanda, Russell, Jared, Ayden, Ayden’s sister and friend, Michael, Brandon, Lily, Nate M., Connor, Bruce, Bruce’s son, that one electrical contractor, Jim, whoever else I missed, and Jim the tenant.