Roadside Journal At peace in my wheeled home By Chuck Woodbury Sometimes when I am working inside my motorhome I feel like the Wizard of Oz. It has to do with working from a small space, and knowing nobody knows where I am. Tonight all my window shades are pulled and my electric heater is keeping me toasty warm. I’m out of range of TV, and I don’t feel like reading, so I am writing. I am a writer lost in America in a tiny tin cabin on wheels. My home is tidy, except for one dirty pan on my stove; earlier it heated my dinner of tomato soup. A slice of apple pie is on the counter. In an hour I will feast on it, along with a freshly-perked cup of coffee. After that, I may step outside to visit my friends the stars. Or I may remain inside, and stretch by walking laps in my mini-house. Such a workout involves taking three steps in one direction and then three steps in the other direction and then repeating the process. Perhaps the greatest thing about my portable home is that I associate it with so many wonderful adventures. We have been to thousands of towns and met hundreds of people together. Through its windows I have seen lakes and streams, mountain peaks, wheat fields, farms, and all sorts of animals — deer, moose, antelope, cows, squirrels. Tomorrow I’ll return the computer to its hiding spot, latch down the drawers and cupboards, and point my motorized home east. This is the life. Go to next Roadside Journal essay Copyright 2000 by Out West Newspaper
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