We decided: final answer.
We are leaving Wisconsin tomorrow. Because if we don’t, we may never.
I can’t believe we’ve been living in our 7 by 14-foot cargo trailer conversion for six months now.
The past couple months have been spent visiting friends and family. Slipping into various homes to shower, use the dishwasher, washing machine, and fill our clear plastic Nalgene water bladders with the endless supply of clean water that cascades freely and abundantly from the faucet.
I spend mornings propped up on the bed with pillows, drinking coffee and chipping away at my various writing assignments. I’ve written about depression, infidelity, how to repair a tankless water heater, how to humanely get rid of moles in your yard, reasons why you may be obsessing over an ex, popular wedding themes for 2022… to name a few.
And when I’m not working, here in this small town in Northern Wisconsin, we’ve had a blast.
Take Saturday night, for example, we made an appearance at a barn dance. I had no idea what to expect, but was immediately smitten as we walked through the wide double doors. The wood plank floors smooth and gray with age. The walls and roof stretched way above and around us, with the sunset peeking through cracks between the wood.
Sarah and I got a glass of red wine at the tiny bar, managed a few sips, and then it was time to report for dance duty.
A woman wearing a mic attached to a headset stumbled over her words as she tried to guide us – a group with more left feet than right – through some basic synchronized moves.
Chad was adamant he would only watch; thus, my first partner was a woman with a long pink floral loose-fitting dress that looked like a nightgown my mom once had. She had brown below-the-waist soft looking hair, that I never got to touch to verify (turns out that wasn’t part of the dance anyway) because no sooner had we clasped hands, than her husband, a tall stick-straight fella with cotton cloud hair presented himself in front of me.
“May I dance with my wife?” he asked, “is that ok?”
I was paired with another woman, and we stepped, swung and sashayed around. Laughing at our efforts while a guitar, fiddle, and bass played exuberant folk tunes.
There were people of all ages, all having fun under the warm light of the old chandeliers positioned high in the rafters of the barn. Stomping and clapping to the music.
The day after, we’re headed somewhere else. Somewhere less wholesome.
The sign reads: Sport Shop, Guns, Bows, Live Bait, Ammo, Docks, Ice, Full Bar
I have no idea what “docks” is, but I’m very familiar with novelty, and thus excited to share a beer with a bunch of firearms.
I’m so excited in fact that I glide past all the shelves of knickknacks and racks of apparel (“Camobooty” being the most popular) and sidle up to the bar, a wide slab of butter-colored shiny lacquered wood.
A sprite of a man with a long greyish black beard appears, the guns hanging in a polished glass case just beyond his left shoulder.
“What can I get you?” he asks.
Sarah orders a rum and coke, and I settle on a Budweiser.
“This must be the place to get drunk and buy guns?” says Chad.
“Or come for a gun, get drunk, and forget why you needed the gun?” adds Sarah.
“Well, not exactly in that order.” Says our bartender/arms seller, “as soon as you’ve sipped alcohol, you’re not allowed to touch a gun.”
“How many drinks disqualifies me from touching bait?” asks Sarah, already 3 sips deep.
And five minutes later, her rum and coke all but gone so that only the half-melted ice cubes remain, Sarah and the bartending arms dealer have moved from the alcohol bar to the gun bar. I sip my Bud and watch as Sarah tries out the grip on a few different pistols.
It’s moments like this that I’m reminded how far we are from California.
And now, a few days later, Chad and I have moved somewhere else entirely.
There’s a breeze coming through the open windows of our cargo trailer conversion, lightly flapping the back curtain. It’s quiet, save for a cricket, and the rhythmic drip of water as it makes its way through the two vertical charcoal cylinders of our Berkey filter.
Besides a nearby man in a van (will he murder us? I wondered, as I drifted off to sleep last night. Spoiler alert, no. Not yet at least.) we have the whole lake to ourselves.
We’re back to being untethered, sitting in a grassy field by a lake somewhere in North Dakota. The land is mostly flat with slight undulations. The terrain green and yellow. Clouds, trees, and little ripples on the lake.
Moving around like this opens you up. Makes you feel alive and part of it all, and somewhat insignificant at the same time.
And despite having had an incredible and fun last few months, it feels amazing to be back in nature.
TRAVEL & ADVENTURE 