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The Camper Life


 In the pursuit of happiness and knowledge there are times when we all do something that seems without purpose or reason. If you’re lucky, you will trust yourself, and though the reason may not be clear, you will enjoy the fruit of  intention. Thus is the story of building a camper on my truck and moving into it.

Meet Kitty and the Rocket, Kitty is the Ford and The Rocket is the metal and wood thing on it.

It’s hard to say what exactly invites me or any person to be enamored with the camper but certainly both young and old find a quality of freedom they can’t look away from. It’s the best fort I ever made and I guess it has a childlike quality;  you feel like a kid in it,  it’s  both playful and mysterious, and feels like a secret place when you enter.

For starters it’s all wood interior is fragrant, and adds a certain richness that makes it a home. It has ambiance and character. It’s rough a bit, like a well used and loved wooden box, and the things it in are well selected for such a worthy space. To be in it is enchanting like a hiding spot with all one’s beloved things.

Because I built the camper without really knowing what it was going to be like to live in it I make a lot of revisions and customize as my needs change. I have remodeled more than once, and certainly not all for sane reasons. Once I had an infestation of sugar ants during a stay in Eugene, Oregon. I thought I might go crazy with so many uninvited guests. I tore out the counter on one side and “buttoned up” any openings I could find before replacing the newly sanded pieces. I guess it needed refinishing anyway and no more ants!

But overall the structure is in good health and when I am in it I am filled with love for it.


When you’re inside the camper it feels pretty big, with more than 6 feet of headroom and no overhead cabinets it has more of a wide open feel than you may think.

What I keep inside my camper is always changing. My motto is if it’s not artistically aesthetic, a useful tool, or something I really need then I can’t have it. Once in a while I will come across an item that I have to have in which case I will have to give something up in exchange. Needless to say, things rotate. Often people want to give me stuff, or give me something they think I need, and they don’t understand; I don’t have room for it!

It’s hard for most people to grasp the scope of a camper life. Some, including my friends, have asked  such questions as, “Do you have blankets?”, “Do you need a coat?” Some will make suggestions as though it has not occurred to me, like, ” what you need is a little propane stove”, “I have a toaster oven if you want it.”

Now where in the world would I put a toaster oven?

There are times when I have been parked for an extended stay either working, visiting, or house sitting and people will ask me, “Why are you sleeping in there?”, meaning my camper. Does it not seem clear that this is my house, containing my bed, not to mention my couch, my books, my coffee cup, my pillows, my art supplies, living room, library, peace zone, resting spot…….this is a very difficult concept for almost everyone.

Recently I was house sitting and spent some time watching TV inside and cooking in the kitchen when I looked around to see a huge mess that I had made. There were places to leave dishes, set papers, and spread out in such a way that I could almost hide from the mess! What to do with all this space? And heating? How much heat was wasted while I sat on a chair in the living room taking up all of about 25 sq. feet while the room around me with it’s square corners was vying for my warmth. It takes practice to live in a big house just like it takes practice to live in a small house. Yet, for some reason, the tiny house seems a harder concept for people to manage.

People often ask, “So….you just travel around?”

Well yes I do but it’s not quite as romantic as that. There are times when traveling around means around a strange city looking for a cool place to park for me and my dogs….not exactly romantic. But the times I drive in remote areas where there is not another sole for miles and it is perfectly fine to sleep with my door open make up for all others.

I want people to know that it is not difficult to manage a small space such as this in fact having less is more and the benefits to this compact lifestyle are extraordinary……..Please read along and find out for yourself.



Panamint Valley & The Resort

So I called the resort by phone, remembering what a cool place it was, and asked for a job. “Great”, they said, “Come anytime.” Odd as I thought it was that they asked me nothing in the way of references or skills, I was jacked to go and got ready to leave as soon as possible. I had no idea what to expect from the death valley area so I joined a chat room to inquire about the dangers of such extremes and the hazards for dogs.

One man wrote back to me by the name of “Turtle Jim”, I later discovered the name came from the fact that he drove really slow. He was thorough in answering questions and had lived in the area for quite some time.  I had to admit it might be good to know someone when I arrived.

Turtle Jim lived in the town of Keeler, Ca. which isn’t really a town, more like a cluster of houses, with a post office open once a week, and the most glorious retired talc mill. Turtle Jim lived on the property of the Talc Mill and actually parked his truck inside. There is a rich little community in Keeler stashed away in this small series of streets, it’s a well kept secret! So I sent Turtle Jim a picture of my camper and an estimated time of arrival. Whether I actually met him or not would be up in the air; a lone woman traveling must beware. I made the journey South and around the lower end of the Sierra Nevada range, a most splendid trip it was. The town of Lone Pine would be my turn off and who knew whether I would find gas in the valley so I pulled in to fill up when a beefed up little Toyota pick-up pulled in front me. A 70 year old man got out and said,”Are you Shy-reese?”

Not exactly the pronunciation I was looking for but whooda knew it was Turtle Jim tracking me at the gas station?….meant to be? Given his age I knew I could take him if he tried anything weird so I decided to follow him home.  Thank goodness I did! Over time he took me 4 wheelin’ in his modified truck that had gadgets and gauges for temperatures and all determinations, he could practically tell how many beads of sweat I had while we climbed what was left of a mule trail up to Cerro Gordo Mine. The hill was so steep that my dog, in the back of the truck, was standing upright on the tail gate! Each tire seemed to move independently as the truck nearly walked over boulders and mounds of alluvial fans, across canyon sized ruts and deep sandy soil.


To be continued….