We did it. We moved from our cabin in the Coulter pine, canyon oak, scrub oak chaparral country outside Lake Hughes, California to a bit of juniper, manzanita, scrub oak chaparral outside Prescott, Arizona. It’s similar, but different.
You’d think going from a tiny one-bedroom home, where we slept in a Murphy bed in the living room to keep warm by the woodstove, to this comparative castle would be a cinch, both logistically and emotionally.
Most of our ‘treasures’ came not from the house itself, but from a storage unit full of keepsakes; a garage stuffed with tools, a tractor and multiple unfinished car projects; and from my husband’s extensive office library at work. Yeah, we filled the place right up.
We loved that crap shack through fourteen years of fire and flood; rattlesnakes, gnats, mice, and ants; brush clearance in summer and diligent feeding of the woodstove in winter. (That woodstove gave off the most glorious heat, though it didn’t come easy.)
And back when it used to rain, that delicious damp dirt smell, and the sound of the trickling stream, and how the post-storm light brought out a thousand shades of green.
My husband and I thought we’d never leave our combination Hell hole/paradise. We never wanted to, but LA County permits and California taxes drove us out.
Since settling in we’ve seen wildlife galore, from the lowly Hercules beetle, through hummingbirds, quail, coyotes, javalina, bobcats and foxes, all the way up (in size, not importance) to mule deer and curious cattle.
I’m told we have elk and even mountain lions, though I still look forward to spotting these.
I hope folks stop by my blog to see, but if they don't, this'll make a nice record for my reminiscence in years to come.