To find home in rural Indiana is to make peace with the contradiction that defines it. At times, it is open and welcoming, lending truth to the stereotypical notion of Midwestern hospitality. At others, it feels distant and inaccessible, lawn ornaments and no trespassing signs marking the boundary between domestic belonging and a public space that serves as little more than connective tissue.

Refuge is a document of my attempts to find home in this contradiction. I came to Greencastle as an outsider, a student at the local liberal arts college preparing for a career that would send me far from rural Indiana. Soon, however, I found my relationship with the town changing; after graduating, I took a job in the area and moved onto a quiet street alive with the sound of cicadas in summer. Yet, even as Greencastle became an unexpected home, the overwhelming sense of privacy I felt wandering through the town’s public spaces left me wondering what it meant to truly belong there.

Now, having left Greencastle, I find myself returning to these photographs. Taken on my many walks through town, they retrace my steps in a space where home is inviting yet elusive–a fiercely guarded refuge.