A Back-country Home?

About 3 a.m. I heard an owl fairly close to my camper.  What a wonderful sound!  Perhaps their notifications are more common than we think -- it's just that we sleep through them.  I don't know why an owl's sound seems so pleasing.  I am just glad that it does.

Earlier, the sound of slow rain was soothing me.  That is easier to explain: every drop of rain goes into a "savings account" that the inland Northwest will start drawing down, relentlessly, when the dry season arrives in July.  When the savings account has been emptied out, the forest fires will start.  The smoke, the haze.  I will try to be a good sport about it, and leave for the Southwest if they are having a decent monsoon season.

This summer is starting to establish a semi-unique identity, and that is certainly a good thing.  Otherwise, geographical repetition would dull the liveliness of a full-time RVer's career.  By stressing subjective experiences, this lifestyle can remain fresh and challenging for a long time.

The subjective experiences I'm talking about are ones involving a more intense appreciation for the good things that Mother Nature offers.  This is more like the attitude of a backcountry home person than a full-time RVer (if the latter is just a scenery tourist on an extended vacation.)

If so, then why not become a backcountry home person?  Because I am lazy.  It repels me to think of a whole barn-full of small engines that need to be maintained; slavery to Tractor Supply and the local nursery and home improvement place; a new pump for the well; a new roof for the cabin; cleaning out the septic tank; spraying for wasps or termites, etc.  And what if the neighbor takes (noisy) target practice every day?  What happens when I get bored with the same three bike rides?  And winter lasts too long.