Nirvana in the Sonoran Desert

When I left Portland, Oregon, six years ago I wasn't quite sure where I'd live once I reached the desert. In Tucson I toured various RV parks around town, most of which were 55 and older parks. As I drove through paved and neatly landscaped parks in my one-ton van, my throat would tighten. Panic would wash over me as I thought I can't live in one of these places. I don't fit in here. American flags waved from nearly every RV site. Lively senior citizens waved from golf carts.

About 30 miles south of Tucson I came across a former KOA recognizable by its A-frame office building. The Santa Rita Mountains rose in the background. In the front of the park were about 50 RV sites; in the back was the mobile home area. People and trailers of all shapes, sizes and ages stayed there, not just overnight campers or snowbirds but people who lived there year round: retirees, working stiffs, disabled vets, druggies. It was my kind of place.

I lived at that park for two years. There I found nirvana. Or my version at least. I was never as happy as I was there. Oh sure, life wasn't perfect. I had my moments of worry and doubt especially when dealing with arrogant bastards, with living in a red state, with listening to rants directed at Hispanic people whether they lived in the U.S. legally or not.

After leaving the Sonoran Desert in Arizona, I went to the Sonoran Desert in Mexico.

This blog is not only about life in that park and life in Mexico but it's about finding your place in the world. It's about finding peace and contentment. It's about finding a spiritual path without having lots of money and the means to travel to countries whose names begin with the letter "I".

It's about trailer park life.