I lived in the Hawthorne House for three of my six years in the Grand Rapids area. It was the best house I ever lived in. 

The roommates made it that way, of course.  Voortman playing Bully on PS2 after work every day and the “Wizard Room.”  Rinker and his videos and bike riding.  Creeger’s tea and exercise and books and drawl.  Adam’s war room and SI subscription, his chew and drinks.  Fisher’s spartan, tidy room, hearing the acoustic and electric guitar from there, or the humming of his newest Netflix acquisition.  A constant drift of movie audio from Moose’s den, he and I in (nearly) vegetarian solidarity.  And for a period there an average of five records an hour would arrive with his name on them, recent vinyl acquisitions from the internet.  Meeting Troy about a month before I would end up living with him for three years. Him being gone most of this year offered us a glimpse of what is to come for all of us, and the House was proud. Jon’s electrical equipment and his consistent curiosity, all the while playing guitar.  Mike was and still is a literal Guitar Hero.  Molson and hockey hosers and just being together and living with friends.  And with Jake being here and not here and here again, his absence was felt in the House and the city more than he knew.  The glue that holds things together. Reliably ready to help host an amazing party or just be there.

From the housewarming party to the ever-growing Hawthorne Halloweens to the house show closer.  Numerous birthdays and welcome homes and just because parties.

The door was always open.  The nites when there were no parties, we would sit in the living room and chat or watch tv, but mostly sequester ourselves in our rooms for much needed rest or study.  The house offered everything.  Family dinners.  Troy discovered his love for asparagus from a memorable but everyday dinner he, Jake, and myself made. That pork loin was amazing. It all was.

The pictures will remain.  The house is well documented.  And as the years pass, my affection for it will grow and grow.  Any bad parts will fade, and only the good will remain.

The thing you realize, when all is said and done, is that it was never about the “house,” per say, but about the House.  The structure served its purpose, but the people and roommates made it. Inside, the magic and hilarity and tears and everything happened. That was the House. The location will change, but the House will stick around for a long time, even if it is only in our memories.

In reality, there is nothing to say except that I will miss it.  What a great House.