By Sierra R.
I live on site here at Lupin, in an old Prowler trailer from the 80s that is still sturdy like a tank, and likely will be long after I’m gone.
I wake up to the sound of birds every morning—and occasionally the braying of Rosie the Donkey up the hill. My trailer walls are thin, so the bustle of morning always sounds like it’s in the room with me.
On days off, I take a walk down by the creek. The trees are thicker there, and it’s usually darker there too, but it’s quiet, which I like. Sometimes the wild turkeys are down there, being herded not-super-successfully by one bigger turkey. Besides their gobbling and the soft gurgle of the creek, there is very little sound. Only my feet on the ground, and sometimes noises of humanity in the distance.
The trails on the hill are a little much for me at this point—an old hip injury (and sheer laziness) keep me on the flat for the most part.
Midday I take to the pool now that it’s heated, and after I shower outdoors and air dry if it’s warm enough. I prefer the showers downstairs—they’re more peaceful, and sometimes deer show up nearby and look at me like I’m crazy.
In the evening, I sit on my front porch and watch the sky fade into darkness. The stars come out one at a time, brighter than most places around here without the usual light pollution.
I go to bed to the sound of crickets, rustlings of skunks and raccoons outside, and wind in the trees.
I know I’m usually glib—and hopefully funny—but I wanted to share my experience of living in such a beautiful place with no flippant turns of phrase and with only sincerity. It’s just like living in paradise.