Low Cost Housing, Part 4
We were lucky that our free
trailer was small --- 10 feet wide by 50 feet long. Because when
we got the trailer-hauling guys to come look at our property, they said
a larger trailer would have been impossible to move in. Even for
our tiny trailer, we had to cut big openings in the forest at each
curve in the driveway to give the trailer room to maneuver
around. And we had to wait and wait and wait until the driest day
of the year when a bulldozer wouldn't get stuck in our floodplain.
My father was never keen on the idea of me living in a trailer, and
though I have happily ignored that piece of advice, I wish I'd taken
his
advice to absent myself from the farm on moving day. At a rate of
hundreds of dollars per hour, I could see my small stash of backup cash
slipping away with every hangup. I watched our crew jack the
trailer up so that it could roll across the creek, my heart in my
throat, and I gulped as a low-hanging branch ripped a hole in the tin
wall. But, finally, the bulldozer yanked our new/old trailer into
the spot we'd mowed for it between the blackberry brambles. Home!
| This post is part of our Low Cost Housing lunchtime series.
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About us: Anna Hess and Mark Hamilton spent over a decade living self-sufficiently in the mountains of Virginia before moving north to start over from scratch in the foothills of Ohio. They've experimented with permaculture, no-till gardening, trailersteading, home-based microbusinesses and much more, writing about their adventures in both blogs and books.
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