Aging in place
3 Bd condo in Crowfields Community for $264,500 // 605 Crowfields Lane Asheville, NC
Is it time to reimagine what our living spaces look like as we age?
Just to recap:
Week 1: We looked at a beach bungalow in Venice beach, to wonder how our home’s interaction with the street affects our relationship with neighbors.
Week 2: We examined a home built by a design/build firm, and asked whether these firms contribute to the negative effects of hypergrowth or if they’re just along for the ride.
Week 3: We walked through a quirky split-level with a mother-in-law suite and questioned what housing affordability looks like for a city in decline.
Week 4: We considered a cozy bungalow court in Seattle and asked, could this style of community-centric home help combat our loneliness and anxiety?
Week 5: We then went to the backyard of a home to see what we’d give up in exchange for shared spaces with our neighbors.
Wayfinder exists to start conversations about ways our homes shape us, which is why we wanted to devote last week to bouncing back some of the questions and comments we received from readers. Thanks for sending your thoughts and please continue to do so!
This week, we find a home built for a specific cohort, those that are “55 plus” that are looking for “active adult living” or retirement communities. Let’s dive in.
As I began researching this housing type, I initially pushed back against the notion of communities built for a distinct subset of the population, in part because it feels like a distant reality.
But, I began to ask myself, what happens when my joints swell, when walking is an against-the-current chore that I must do for my health, or when I can’t manage my basic yard duties? What about my car? Will that always be a lifeline I can depend on well into my 70’s or 80's? And more importantly, what if everyone else around me doesn’t understand the basic challenges that I’m forced to overcome?
Why would I not want to be with others who share the same struggles of deteriorating health and gradual ebb to my pace of life? And, what happens to my identity when I shift from working to not working, in a work-centric culture that has misplaced my value proposition by inordinately linking it to the work I do?
Often times, my critique of housing reveals a gap in my ability to empathize to the detriment of myself and others.
This week, we’re stepping into a 3 bedroom condo that’s part of Crowfields, a 72-acre dairy farm conversion.
We see the beauty of nature in the fall foliage (even though it’s July) as we enter through the front door. We find a small eat-in kitchen that isn’t meant for grand hosting, but it isn’t fussy and gets the job done.
As you leave the kitchen, the vaulted ceilings in the great room draw you in, along with the gas logs that provide warmth for those cool Asheville evenings.
But there are a few design details that are due for an update — maybe the popcorn ceilings in the entryway and kitchen could be scraped to match the great room? Or the kitchen appliances could have been updated when the slate floor was installed? And what about ripping up the sterile off-white bathroom tile that lacks warmth or cohesion with the faux marble vanity, and aqua glass shower?
Furthermore, how is this home different from others that aren’t built with a specific demo in mind? Other than the fact that it’s one level, the pitch centers on one thing — location — within a 55+ community that is “safe, beautiful, relevant and dynamic.”
Per their website:
Crowfields was carefully developed at the site of a former dairy farm by a team of contractors, architects, and landscape designers. Their goal was to create a condominium complex for empty-nesters and retirees. Their vision was to blend the finest aspects of mountain living with the rich cultural and educational opportunities the city of Asheville provides.
It sounds compelling, but what about the homes themselves? Does their design matter less when the community is a lifestyle, and it sells something much bigger than what’s within the four walls?
Further Musings
I had a recent conversation with a 55+ family member who is considering this type of housing — the one she and her husband will plan to move into next. Her sentiment was that this type of housing wasn’t being built in her area, while apartments catering to millennials continue to flood the market. My curiosity was piqued.
“What are the characteristics that you’d look for in a home at that stage in life?” I asked naively, not knowing where the conversation would lead. The list began with some of the things you’d expect — one level, walkable (nature, not amenities), little to no yard maintenance.
But then, she began to speak to the trends in housing construction and what that meant on a societal-level: as her place in the world shrinks, other generations expand. One way she sees this trend is physically, through the apartments and townhomes built for singles and young families all around her. It gave me pause. What do our housing trends say about who and what our culture values?
An Atlantic article recently asked, “ Why do Americans move so much more than Europeans? “ The answer is (mostly) work. On average, we’ll move 11 times in our lifetime, and each time we’re forced to rebuild relationships around us. Will one of those moves happen when I unhinge from the one thing, my work, that I so often mistakenly place my self-worth?
If so, how difficult will it be to rebuild relationships if the people that live near me aren’t in the same fragile stage of life as I am? Or, can I gain community by buying a house?
We’re literally surrounded by neighbors who would fall in the 55+ category — a man in his 70’s to our left, a woman in her 60’s taking care of her mom in her 90’s to our right, and a woman across the street in her 80’s taking care of her sister who is also in her 80’s. The value and joy they bring to our family is immense. My 6 year-old and 3 year-old both pepper them with questions each time they’re outside and they patiently answer. The man to our left frequently plays the “water game” for an hour each night by spraying our son with the hose as he furiously tries to ride by his house without getting wet. We recently brought our newborn son of two weeks to our 90 year-old neighbor to the right and in that moment, her face beamed with hope.
And, it’s a two way street. More than once, they have each expressed their gratitude for us and our kids and the life they bring to them.
Housing is a complicated and human endeavor.
Originally published at https://buttondown.email.
