
The Burrow
I write this from the floor of an almost empty living room. The walls are blank, with the exception of Christmas lights unevenly strung by jagged nails in the old walls. Items to give away are tossed in the corner, blocking the front door. The only furniture is a kitchen table, but half of the chairs are scattered throughout the house. There are dust piles in the corners and the baseboards haven’t been cleaned since move-in.
But I sit here and see my college house in all its glory.
This comes as no surprise, but where you live in college is a large part of the experience. Dorm days were great, but it’s hard to share a 12x13 living space for four years. Apartment life was an adventure, but everything changed once I moved into this house I’ve learned to call home.
Well actually, we called it The Burrow after the Weasley’s home in Harry Potter.
While our house wasn’t as uniquely configured as the Wesley’s, our fam was debatably just as crazy and dysfunctional.



When we first moved in we had dreams. We were going to have bonfires. We were going to host brunches and dinner parties. Plot twist: we didn’t.
Instead we laughed until we cried.
We let the dishes pile over the sink.
We became the backbone of the household when we chose to fill up the Brita pitcher.
We killed more cockroaches than anyone should ever have to.
We found a mouse in our washing machine.
We hung personalized stockings on our poorly decorated mantel just to show the Christmas spirit.
We used UNC-branded jello shot molds as ice trays.
We never went into the creepy basement with its trash from prior residents and dirt floor.
We embraced the entire house shaking whenever the air conditioning turned on.
We sipped mojitos from an old couch and reminisced on the good times of college.
We used the front door for what seemed like the first time ever when both of our back doors wouldn’t unlock within the last week living there.
We neglected the chore chart.
We compiled the largest collection of He’s Not pint night glasses.
We hung our good grades on the refrigerator.
We dressed up as Harry Potter characters for Halloween.
We played music through the TV and danced our hearts out.
We cried together — both happy and sad tears.
That’s the beauty of a college house. Within its mess — its bottomless sink of dirty dishes, moldy bathrooms, blinds that don’t close, grimy floors and uneven driveway — it becomes more than a home. So I drive off to bigger and better things, but the Burrow will always have a special place in my heart.
I write this from the bed of my “big girl” house. The wood flooring is brand new. The shower isn’t mildewy. Through the back window I can see a real neighborhood. Change is happening, but I think I’m going to like it here. I’ll miss my old college house, but this is going to be just fine.





