Tomorrow marks three weeks of living in the motorhome on a farm in Ojai, California. Feels like much longer, as every day is filled with challenges. The shrinking pains of fitting myself, my dog, and my stuff into such a small space would be enough of an adjustment, but that was only the beginning.
Asking for help, especially in the form of financial assistance, is not something that comes easy to a lot of people – myself included. Having a self-sufficient streak serves you well when you don’t really have a family to lean on or any other solid net to fall into.
Today marks the end of an era for me, and the eve of a new one. In early 2010, when I returned to Southern California after a big circling of North America, I landed in a little homesteading compound in Ventura.
There’s a fantastic tune by singer/songwriter Kim Richey that I was reminded of today. It’s “A Place Called Home” from her album Rise — one of my all-time favorites — and it’s particularly astute in both its meaning and timing.