Finding Home / Living in a Barn
Well, there’s no way around it – living in the barn is officially not ideal. It’s dusty, drafty, and full of noisy animals. It’s hard not to ask ourselves, “what the hell are we doing,” at least a couple times each day. So why are we here?
The barn at sunset with Mt. Moosilauke in the background
A couple years ago, Rhianna and I left New England in search of adventure. We lived in a tent and spent our days climbing remote granite peaks and desert towers of crumbling sandstone. We fished for trout in wild rivers, swam in turquoise alpine lakes, and bikepacked through the saguaro forests of the Sonoran Desert. It was completely liberating, very challenging, and immensely fun.
Rhianna atop Eagle Plume Tower in the Valley of the Gods
Descending through wildflowers into the Black Canyon of the Yellowstone
A ledge on the Guide’s Wall in Grand Teton National Park
Making camp along the the Agua Fria in Arizona
On the summit of Vesper Peak in the North Cascades
Eventually we ran out of money and grew tired of tent life, so we settled down to work on a farm in Northwest Montana, one of our favorite regions for outdoor recreation in the country. We grew tons of delicious food by day, then swam, mountain biked, and barbecued in the evening. We hiked and camped in the vast wilderness areas surrounding the farm over the weekends, and managed to do some rock climbing when we weren’t too sore from farming.
So much squash!
Spencer Mountain bike trails with views of the farm
A clean-cut corner in the woods behind our cabin
A hazy morning at the Kalispell Farmer’s Market
Rhianna nearing the summit of Ojibway Peak in the Cabinet Mountains
We gradually came to the strange realization that Montana did not feel like home like we thought it would. Montana’s mountains are more dramatic, its rivers are wilder, and its forests are larger than anything we could find back east. And it is virtually never crowded. It is truly an outdoors person’s paradise, but we found ourselves missing the the lush pastures of New England, the rolling hills and forests of oak and maple. We missed the weather and the seasons. We missed our families. In our time out west, our pursuit of adventure had gradually shifted to become a search for home.
Here in the foothills of the White Mountains I feel at home even without the standard amenities, for I know they will come in time. Here, Rhianna and I have the foundation on which to build our home: family, friends, and a patch of rich New England soil.
And hey, the barn serves as a nice reminder that our days of adventure are far from over.
On the Mt. Kinsman Trail in the White Mountains
Nightly snuggles with Vesper
