Contributing Writer
In our never ending, and still unsuccessful attempt to build a house on Terlingua Ranch, this year my husband and I decided to stay in Terlingua for the summer. We’ve been living on our property since early January, in a 21-foot travel trailer with Twitch, our cat. My husband took a vow even before we came down this year not to return north until we have walls, windows and doors. I agreed; this seemed a reasonable thing to do. Of course, I was sure that we’d be on our way by May.
As April came and went, I knew that the inevitable was coming up fast. May was around the corner and I feared it. I’ve spent a summer in Big Bend before but it was up in the Chisos Basin so that really doesn’t count. Faced with the stories I’ve heard over the years about summer in Terlingua I was fearful for my sanity, not to mention life as I currently know it – that is the ability to be active past ten in the morning.
So I borrowed a tiny little trailer from a friend and embarked on a summer in a hobbit house in the Chisos Basin, Big Bend National Park.
My hobbit house is actually a 1969 Sero Scotty Trailer whose name is Felina. She is about 5 and a half feet tall and 9 feet long. Sleek as can be, she has a bed, a kitchen, a tiny dining room and windows all the way around. I could cross from bed to dining room in two steps.
In the morning – from the bed – I would reach out and flip on the one-cup coffee maker. Still in bed, I’d have my coffee while looking out the Chisos Basin Window at the sunrise – which was usually reflected off of Casa Grande.
Eventually, I’d get up and volunteer in Big Bend National Park for the day. When I came home at night, I had no television, no radio, so I would read outside Felina until the sun set. Summer sunsets can last for hours, and just when you think it’s over, some little purple streak sneaks into the sky.
Then I’d go to bed, listen for the wind and the sounds of birds settling in for the night, bands of javelina roaming through my camp, and I’d smell the occasional skunk or fox. Many nights I would wake up – sometime around 2 am – and watch the stars and the moon, pick out the constellations that I know, and very often see shooting stars streak across the night sky. I wondered why parents don’t teach their children to live like this for a while. I knew that I was given a special gift to live like this for a short time in my life.
I also had no vehicle with me, so there was no place for me to go unless I walked. I grew to notice everything around me, minute changes between the visitor center where I worked and my hobbit house, the same route day after day. As grasses grew, I first saw the little tuffs, then the long stem and finally the grass plumes. As the flowers appeared in the mountains, I watched them leafing out and then later their flowering.
Walking, looking and really seeing my surroundings made time slow down and my body and mind relaxed. I woke up smiling, at peace with myself and the world. I slept more than I have in many years. I weaned myself from reading only mystery books and started reading some books from the classics and nature.
Felina amazed almost everyone who saw her. So many people wanted to see what she looked like inside, wondered how it felt to live in such a small space. They were always amazed how compact and efficient she was. There was room in the refrigerator for 4-5 days worth of fruit, water and granola bars – that’s right, I also didn’t cook. I brought along some of my Indian MRE’s (Meals Ready to Eat), in case I got desperate for real food, but it turned out that I never opened them. Occasionally for lunch I’d splurge on a coke or buy a yogurt. And of course there was always trail mix – my own blend.
Felina had a rack over the bed to hang clothes. I could only have a few clothes with me, which turned out to be fine. It contributed to the simplicity with which I was living – not much time wasted thinking about what I would wear. There was the clean outfit or the dirty one.
One weekend, I brought Twitch, our cat, up to stay in Felina for a couple of days. My husband and I were taking a trip and we didn’t want to leave Twitch down in the desert all alone in the heat. So, she moved in with her food dish, water, litterbox and cramped my quarters quite a bit. That first night I checked where everything was before turning out the light and took the first step, to go to bed. But I miscalculated, flipped the litter box over, stumbled into the table, hit my cheekbone and ended up with a black eye. So much for my tranquility. Less than 24 hours with another presence in my hobbit house and my equanimity was destroyed!
Needless to say, that was her only visit. I had grown to treasure the quiet, the awareness of being that living so simply provided for me. The summer passed very quickly.
So if we still don’t have doors, windows and walls by next summer, you’ll know where to find me – my hobbit house high in the mountains.
Dori Ramsay has been a volunteer in Big Bend National Park for 6 years. She continues to believe that there will one day be a house for her and Tom on the Ramsay Rancho Not So Grande.
The Chihuahuan Desert version of Walden Pond? The author found this tiny hovel (“Felina”) surprisingly comfortable (for one). Living in this small trailer in the Chisos Basin this summer, simplicity won out. (Dori Ramsay)
