Kevin and I met in January 2011. That April, we moved in together.
Our first place was this very old, very funky apartment house that had been built in the 1890s. It had been physically lifted from one location and moved to another in downtown Olympia, causing the foundation to slant. If something was dropped in the kitchen, it would roll to the far left corner of the room. If we baked something in the oven, the batter would build up and bake in the far left corner of the pan.
But the rent was cheap.
The cabinets were painted mustard yellow, the bedroom door - a wide, wooden dungeon-esque door- was powder blue. The bathroom was pink and green. There were drawers in the walls. And holes in some of the windows, sealed up with packaging tape to keep the bugs out.
It was quirky.
And, when winter arrived, we discovered it was also rat infested.
So we moved out.
Our second apartment was a much more modern, large apartment complex on the west side of Olympia, closer to where both of us were working at that time. We lived in a one-bedroom on the bottom floor, in the furthest corner of the complex. Against the property rules, the tenant before us had built a raised bed, but because it was so hidden, no one ever said anything. I was able to grow tons of veggies and herbs that summer. There were sugar ants in the kitchen during the spring and summer, but otherwise it wasn't a bad place.
After a year of living there, though, our landlord raised the rent on us and we got the overwhelming urge to go back to the downtown district.
So we moved again.
We found yet another funky two-bedroom apartment in a four-plex, just three blocks from where we'd lived before. Not quite as old as the first place, but still giving us a vintage feel. And there were no rats.
We loved being within walking distance of our favorite restaurants and live music, and literally next door to the essentials (public library, bank, and post office).
But this place had its problems, just like the others.
For one, we often had sketchy people walk through our yard and look in our mailboxes. In July, a heroin addict walked into our home and robbed us. Our landlord wouldn't install an extra security light.
We had constant issues with the one washer and dryer meant for all four units, breaking down almost monthly and taking days to get fixed. We were finally told that if it broke permanently, that we could just go to a laundromat because we were not getting a new one. This was especially an issue during the flea infestation in the summer.
And then there was the mold. First, we noticed the carpet always seemed damp. Always. We would find white, fuzzy mildew growing in places that didn't make sense - like on the hat rack.
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| Mildew on the back of my desk |
In the winter our bathroom ceiling got really moldy. I tried to keep up with it, but the black mold just kept coming back. One morning in January, I looked up and the ceiling plaster was bubbled. I touched it, popping the bubble, and water came pouring out. It turned out there was a leak from the shower upstairs. It took the landlord over two months to fix the leak and replace the ceiling, leaving a large hole in our bathroom for weeks.
We didn't want to move again, especially before the wedding. Moving kind of sucks. The idea of a new place is fun, but the actual packing and deep cleaning is kind of the worst. And even though our landlord was incredibly rude and we'd had so many problems with the place, we felt we could stick it out until after the wedding.
But then we found our dream house on Craigslist.
A 500 square foot cottage in the woods.
A tiny house with an open floor plan. With all new appliances, skylights looking up into the forest canopy, walking trails behind the house, and a huge space for gardening.
So we are moving again.
This time, though, we will be moving to the country, to the edge of Capital Forest. We're taking a break from city living.
Our place will be tiny.
And we really couldn't be more excited.
