One month on the Road

The sun starts to rise before 6 in the morning here. If you’d told me 2 months ago that I’d be up to see the first light of the day, I’d have laughed, loudly. I am not a morning person, I would have said to you. That seems to be changing.  I still don’t move very fast. I still want my morning coffee and to sit, just sit, for a while. I’m up though. I’m up. I’m outside. I’m listening to the birds and looking at Steve. I’m talking to the cats. It turns out that sleeping closer to the wind, sky, and trees has had an impact on my body and my inner rhythm. I can feel myself aligning with something.  Nature? My Self? Hmmm…. My natural self, perhaps.

I’ve been thinking a lot about growing older and wiser lately. I have some creative ideas brewing, but as I sit here writing this, I’m thinking that perhaps I’m not growing older and wiser. It feels more like I’m regressing a little bit. Regressing back to something more wild, more real, more…yes, natural. Just by being closer to IT all day every day. Mindful and awake to the present moment as I like to be, I can’t help but future trip a little and wonder what will be different after a year of living this way.

Allow me to past-trip instead though. Just a little journey backward to bring us all forward, to this moment - this moment that finds me looking at grey, pre-rain Colorado skies, feeling the wind, wondering if there will be a storm that drives us to strap down the other side of Gerdy, the Tiny Triangle, and digesting a whole cucumber.

We left our little cottage nest in San Antonio a month ago. A few nights before we left, I was nestled into my snug (and lumpy) bed trying to go to sleep and worrying that I would, in a month, be begging to settle down someplace in a house. My worry, my pre-sleep fantasy has not come true. I am so content out here, it’s really kind of weird.  It’s not even the place, though this spot, north of Aguilar, Colorado, might be my favorite thus far, it’s something else. Perhaps it’s the smallness of our little house, the closeness of my loved ones, or the fact that I have so little stuff.  Maybe it’s the new little habits - tidying up first thing, hand washing clothes, and trying to get the cats out for little walks every day. Or maybe it IS the air and my closer proximity to it. Gerdy is a hard-sided camper, true, but her walls are nothing like the walls of a sticks and bricks house, and while we do have an air conditioner, we are normally not connected to electricity and so can’t usually use it. Even when we had electricity for 2 weeks in Santa Fe, we only used it to make sure the cats were cool enough on days that we left them to go to town. Most often, we’ve been reliant on the breeze. Gerdy is always open to the air. There is something sacred in that, I think. There is something sacred in breathing the fresh air; there’s certainly something nourishing.

I’m not trying to tell you that everything has been ice cream and rainbows since we left. It hasn’t. We’ve had some challenges. Between the cats’ poop habits, the tight space and still imperfect storage, weird wifi issues, the learning curve of backing up a single-axle trailer, communication stumbles, and managing (ur) human waste, both Steve and I have had a few forehead creasing moments. Ivar has had her own frustrating moments too.  Most recently, she learned that she was not allowed to leave the trailer without being “dressed” and attached to a human. I could see the resentment in her eyes when I returned her to the relative safety of Gerdy.  Of all of us, Lou may be the most relaxed. He eats, drinks, sleeps, and enjoys rolling in the dust when he goes outside.

Since we left Camp Lowgear, we’ve stayed overnight at a vineyard in West Texas, spent 2 weeks in an RV Park in Santa Fe while I attended an Action Theater workshop with Ruth Zaporah, 5 days in a huge driveway with wandering wild horses in Placates, NM, and here, a place called Gonzo’s Grove in southern Colorado.  We’ll be here a week on Monday, and then we head north again where we’ll spend a week on a historic farmstead right on the edge of Denver. We’ve met a variety of dogs, been watched by a raven couple, talked with wild horses, been nipped by a not-so-wild-but-not-quite-domesticated young horse, watched ravens perform aerial gymnastics, and seen antelope, deer, groundhogs, and a bunny. We’ve also met a variety of interesting folks.

It’s only been a month.

Wow!  It’s been a whole month.

The rain is starting. There’s a train going by in the distance. The breeze is dancing inside and outside.

Our favorite way to live so far is on spots that folks have listed in HipCamp. Honestly, if you want to get out in the relative wild, commune with a little or a lot of nature, and meet some interesting wildlife and some equally interesting people, HipCamp is the way to go.  

You can get $10 off your first trip with HipCamp, and I'll get $10 off my next one if you use this link.

Fálki has 20 years of experience helping folks transform old patterns so that they can move into the lives they want to live. You can read about her work and contact her by visiting her website:


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