The Last and First Days: Leaning into the Reality of our Nomadic Dream

Blood, poo, stress, exhaustion, heat.

Those are 5 words to describe the final days in our sticks and bricks nest.

I am 52 and in the midst of perimenopause. This month, that means that my cycle resembles that of an unlucky and inexperienced 15-year-old who wore white shorts to gym class…for 3 days in a row. On top of that, Ivar Needletooth, our small cat, has had something close to diarrhea since coming off of antibiotics 2-and-a-half months ago or so. Add her butt and my yoni to the general press to get our material belongings out of the house and GONE, lack of good sleep for either human, and a heatwave, and you have a pretty accurate picture of last week.

To be honest, all 5 of those words are still in play. The difference is that we made it out of the house. Our stuff is either donated, stored, or tossed, and we are parked at our favorite Texas campsite, Lowgear Farmstead . Our little A-liner, Gerdy is parked just above the river, and the sounds of running water, wind, cows, birds, and baby goats are the musical notes that follow us through the day. We’re eating well, resting, and working close to nature. Both Lou and Ivar are enjoying time outside exploring, and they’re both getting used to the idea of walking on a leash with their chosen humans nearby. Last night, I helped our host with some really hard work — I carried around a newborn goat. I think it’s the work I was born to do.