So began the circuitous journey that shapes my wandering ways to this day. As an infant, my mother hitchhiked all over Europe with me stashed in her shaggy bohemian coat. When she married my beloved step dad a few years later, the nomadic lifestyle continued and we crisscrossed the U.S. to briefly hang our hats in Arizona, Washington, Alaska, California, Louisiana, Texas, returning to Louisiana and then back to Arizona. They would show me a map and point to the next city which we would call “home.” For a little while. People would always ask if my folks were in the military. Nah, I’d reply. They let no grass grow under their feet. We were rolling stones.
Upon reflection, the constant change of geography had a positive influence on my ability to adapt to varied situations, diverse surroundings and be at ease with the flow of new people.
Today, I describe my ethnicity as English, Irish and Cherokee Native American with a dash of gypsy. To continue the gallivanting, I next floated through Nevada, Virginia, Florida, Washington D.C. and Oregon.
Over the past seven years, I’ve changed addresses eight times and bounced from one side of the country to the other with an introspective year in a pastel-colored beach community in between. The welcome sign above my cottage door simply read, “Gone Coastal.”
Its true that not all those who wander are lost. The fabric of my life is woven by the threads of the beautiful places, experiences and cherished beings that I’ve met along the way. Wanderlust? Rather, wander I must.
My Tiny House is built on a flatbed trailer and can be hauled anywhere the wind blows. Indeed, a completely portable home on wheels. What better way to honor the voyage and keep on rolling, rolling, rolling on the river…
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost…”
~ J. R. R. Tolkien