Home on the Range

Thirst in the desert is not like regular thirst, where you want to slug down water to cool your body and throat. It's the thirst that you have after you wake up with a hangover and your mouth feels like the Chinese Army has been marching wearily all night over your tongue, leaving dust and god knows what else in their wake. It's a thirst that really needs water to be poured over your head, hoping that somehow it drips through your skull and skin, refreshing every part of your body. For awhile. Or at least, that's how it feels to me. At home, you step out of the shower and sweat. Here, you're almost dry in the shower. But at night, the sheet is almost not enough to stay warm. My world is upside down.

A funny thing happened on the way out of El Paso yesterday. We'd gone there to buy my bus ticket to California (I stood behind the three hundred pound man with a dirty white t-shirt on and yes, it was a skirt that looked like another t-shirt, with short white fringe on both sides; he was holding a tent bag in one hand and a little nylon black bag in the other: he stood behind a handsome young man with longish black hair and Abercrombie Fitch jeans, while his emaciated girlfriend lounged against the counter and kept an eye on her friend, who was holding a three foot tall plaster Madonna in her arms like a newborn). But that wasn't the funny part. That is what I'm coming to know is Those Who Ride Greyhound. Including me, I'm a bit frightened to say.

On the way into El Paso proper, guided by the GPS app on my phone (I liberally misheard, misread, misdirected us, as signs for Juarez flashed by, the fork in the road we should have taken, the path I didn't take; Jack patient with the rerouting as traffic flashed by us, maybe noting the bewildered looks on our faces until we got off the speedstate road and down to more calm traffic, finally finding our way while Miss Moneypenny - the voice of the GPS - flipped out, giving 5 rerouting reports in 5 seconds), we'd passed a display of sheds, sheds shaped like barns, sheds shaped like charming cottages with little porches, both big and small. We determined we'd stop by on the way back. 

Yes, media guy, you caught my eye with this sign.

If this bar was open...

The outskirts of El Paso has more junk yards than I've ever seen close together.
There are some pretty cool cars in some of them. And a whole lot that are not.

The word oasis somehow seems to be a bit overblown here.

With the bus ticket safely bought from the non English speaking counter woman ("Is there a station at Redway? Whitethorn? Someplace beside Garberville?" "You be here 1 to go, if you change it 15 dollars, thank you."), we headed back down the road, food shopping and laundry the only things left to do (except buying a field hand hat for Jack, and stopping at the Saddleblanket 2 acre store of "From Rugs to Riches" fame that had everything but that style of hat; we found one at Home Depot, sadly enough).

Saddleblanket truck and big critter.

And then, there were the shed/barn/cottages, right where we'd left them; in we drove.

There were lots of designs, but this is the one that won.
These are all built by Mennonites in New Mexico, a company called WeatherKing.

(Did I mention only a few days before that Jack had dug the first hole for his yet to be bought and set corner posts for a home; where I'd cleared off more than a few wheelbarrows full of devil weed? That the drawing of the Future Home That Jack Built was actually committed to paper? It's true.)

Two lofts inside make for good storage and maybe in winter, a bed on the big one. Yes, it needs insulation and some beefing up, but for a shell, it's a real good deal. Hopefully.

By the time we drove out 30 minutes later, the Lofted Cabin with Porch made by Mennonite Craftsman with the Three Year Cabin and Thirty Year Roof warranty was to be delivered on Friday. Jack is a home owner.

Jack and Jose, the least pushy, most mellow salesman I have ever met.

I get to be in the place first, so tomorrow afternoon I'll be taking down my tent and moving lodging. Of course, I'll still be using sleeping bags, but it won't be anything like the tent, which I've almost completely enjoyed. By Tuesday, everything will be put back in all appointed nooks and crannies and I'll be leaving 100 degree days for 65 degree days. I think that means I could send all my shorts home. 

In the meantime, there's May's fantastic Spanish omelet to eat. 

Have a try on a total surprise Thursday. Do something tantalizingly thrilling.