THE NARRATIVE ARC
What Living in a Tent Gifted Me
The blossoming of freedom and resilience in nature
The wheels on our Chevy Cruze spun out as we fled the scene of a dangerous work-exchange situation, radio blasting “I went from San Berdoo, to Kalamazoo, just to get away from you…” Those words by the Black Keys will never leave my memory.
“What are we going to do now, Aspen?” I looked to my partner driving us fast out of the compound.
We weren’t planning on this. We were supposed to have safety and security for the summer while we figured out a new place to live. Since our first work exchange experience turned to shit, we were now left with infinite time and anywhere in the United States to call home. Our budget was slim, but for 2016, we had enough to live on for awhile if we did so minimally.
With no job or plan, we decided to move into our tent indefinitely.
As the horror from Taos blew away like the dust in the desert, my excitement bloomed out of the despair we found ourselves in.
Horror in Taos
We agreed weeks beforehand via email to the typical twenty-hour work week on a permaculture homestead, a place to stay inside an eco-home, and time to vacation in a new area.
We were met with lies and became someone’s personal slaves who worked double the agreed amount. The hosts underfed us in the disgusting house filled with mice and mold. The house was hoarded out so we had to stay in our tent outside.
We couldn’t use the house and only showered once while we were there. Cereal and dal were the only meals served to us twice a day. There was no homestead, no garden, no fruit trees.
The host was verbally abusive and demanding to us. Her supposed boyfriend got the worst of it, who wasn’t allowed to stay in the house and instead lived out in the half-built structure near our tent without us knowing. While we tried sleeping at night, we heard footsteps outside and thought the skin walkers had come for us.
This work exchange stay was awkward, disappointing, and dangerous for us. The more we learned about our hosts the more we needed to get out.
One night, we had a bonfire together. We felt like we were sitting on cacti the agitation was so high. A spliff went around the fire.
The lady told us of her misadventures in her Chevy “Ad”Venture van (she taped two letters in front of the decal on the side) and her gypsy cart made of plywood and an old truck topper. I remembered seeing it next to their parked cars in the daytime. She lived in it with her young daughter while she was trying to find a home on the road.
She escaped from a dangerous situation out near Mt. Shasta, drugs or something, and ended up at the Ashram in Taos where she met her current partner. They brought us to the Ashram twice while we were there that week, both times felt eerie and made my skin crawl.
They brought us there for the free meals, though everyone we met had this odd notion about them that gave me the creeps. They all knew our hosts, and perhaps knew their actual intentions of having free labor.
The day after the fire, we snuck into the half built Earthship and found bundles of weed hanging, a dirty mattress on the floor, changes of clothes, and other indications that yes, someone was living in here.
Looking back, these people were in between a rock and a hard place. I’m not certain if they were doing, or making drugs, but I was scared to be there. I only innocently dabbled with pot, and even that was too much risk for me.
The paranormal hum of Taos vibrated through my body as I worked in the evenings, and the lore of the area kept me from sleeping. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was definitely wrong here.
The discomfort of the situation and being treated badly was enough to get us to attempt our leave. I did not sign up for this. This was my first summer out of college and out on our own. I wasn’t going to waste it being someone’s slave to make them feel better about their shitty life.
So we crafted a plan and told them we were going camping for the weekend. The man told us to be back the next day, as it was her birthday. Aspen and I looked at each other and felt the guilt burn through our chests.
We lied and said okay, slipped a note in the boyfriend’s car once he went inside, and sped off as fast as we could. The lady called me, but I let it ring and blocked her number.
We were free. We could literally go anywhere, at anytime, and do anything we wanted to do.
National Parks
My friends from the sustainability office of the college I just graduated from bought us a National Park pass to send us on our way. We weren’t planning on National Park hopping, but this became our purpose for the moments in front of us.
In one month, we went from Great Sand Dunes National Park (NP), to Colorado National Monument (NM), to Moab NP, to Salt Lake City, to Zion NP, back to Salt Lake City, then Grand Teton NP, Yellowstone NP, back to Colorado for anything we could find in the mountains, to Rocky Mountain NP, Garden of the Gods, amongst other places.
We were living life against the grain.
Every day was filled with hours of driving, exploring a new place, putting up and packing down campsites on public land. We stayed in some of the most beautiful and desolate places.
This one month is a month I will never forget. It was the month I discovered the true feeling of freedom.
I had merged with my soul.
Life gifted several things to me on my journey through National Parks and living on public land.
We can thrive on simplicity — the basic necessities for humans are food, water, and shelter. In the case of a free spirit, adventure would be included in that list.
The present moment is the most important moment — Although I am now an artist who thrives on creating with many mediums, for this month I found myself totally immersed in the present moment Life had me in. I focused only on what was in front of me and capturing the essence of that summer.
Living with less means we can experience more — in Grand Junction, our first stop after Taos, we had to face the fact that we brought too much stuff with us and had to make a pit stop at Goodwill before moving forward on our journey. We got rid of lawn chairs, off-season clothing, jars of food, cooking equipment, blankets, and some hobbies. We didn’t have the luxury of having a roof-box yet, so our snowboards, skateboards, cameras, tech, etc. had to fit in the car. Lightening our load made it easier for us to pack up camp and to go on our way for a few hours each day. We cooked minimally — usually one pot vegan meals — and spent most of our free time out in nature exploring and taking in the awe. Even now, living in a camper full time, I don’t have so much excess stuff, and when I’m not home writing or creating I’m out in the desert hiking, at the roller rink skating, or shredding the mountain on my snowboard.
Nature is a safe place for us — before I lived on public land, I was wary of nature, mostly for how my family and friends treated it. Sleeping out in the middle of nowhere, in the desert? I never imagined myself doing such a thing.
Only two times in our adventurous month did I feel afraid of staying the night in the middle of nature — once in Yellowstone National Forest, ten miles in and warnings of grizzly bears — and the other staying in a forest near a river Teddy Rosevelt panned for gold where a new friend discovered a carcass just feet from our tent, nonchalantly mentioning, “Must be a wildcat’s territory.” When it comes down to it, our ancestors were forced to thrive in nature. They slept, ate, and dreamt out in the wild. Reconnecting with this part of myself brought me in touch with my body and the way it felt at ease resting on Earth’s surface, like resting on a loved one in peace.
A sense of adventure and trusting in the power of my dreams — I was one month graduated from college without a plan for my life. I threw my life plan away after feeling cheated and lied to about how I was supposed to live.
The space to breathe freely and to hear my own wants and desires for my life was a soul opening experience. I never knew I liked the outdoors so much. I didn’t understand in the past that it was possible to be an artist. And, I found out that there are places my soul yearned for that I wouldn’t have discovered if I hadn’t taken the leap of trusting the Universe and following my dreams. Those dreams of 22-year-old Aster wandering in the deserts and forests are now alive and well for her today at the ripe age of 29.
Lastly, living in a tent gave me the gift of resilience — here I was, faced with either a horror situation or a situation of bliss. The moment we left Taos, I knew I’d have to face this. Free spirit activated, I chose the path of bliss. Of fun. Of magic. Living in a tent was not easy. It wore me down. And since we decided to pack up and move everyday, we had our work cut out for us.
Our resilience built up each day we engaged in our daily grind. We were able to handle more and more. We faced the volatile Colorado weather of flash flooding and hailstorms. The extreme heat in southern Utah had us battling invisible gnats in our tent. Towards the end, we were almost burnt out, yet called upon resilience to help us into the next chapter. Building resilience during our bout on public land made the future events in our lives easier.
When it comes down to it, most people wouldn’t choose to live in a tent and I’m not sure if most people could. I will never forget those days living against the grain. They were filled with every emotion, adventure and awe sprinkled on top. This experience gave me the gift of resilience and space to get to know myself in a way that wouldn’t be possible otherwise.
Living in a tent for this summer wouldn’t be the only time, we ended up moving into a tent the first time we moved to Sedona, calling it home for a month while we figured out a new life in the desert.
Would you like to read more about this story? I wrote a book about it called A Year Against the Rain.