Like any band, we had our trials, and got very close to breaking up with our beloved Ringo Starr after Tillamook due to some unforeseen complications. On our way to the tiny home we would be staying in outside of Portland, we stopped at a Wally World to get provisions (read: tortellini, chips, cereal, and beer) and then, after putting everything in the trunk, discovered we had no keys. Well, we had keys, but they were in my purse which was in the trunk.
Never fear! No problem is insurmountable for a determined band destined for greatness, such as Ry, myself, and Ringo. Though in all honesty, at this point I agreed with Lennon’s lack of belief in Beatles and was more inclined to put my faith in myself – and the AAA membership my parents had ensured I had for just such occasions (thanks Mom and Dad!).
While we waited for AAA to arrive, a kindly nurse parked next to us asked if we were okay. Still solidly in our 20s and believing in the eternal goodness of humanity, we assured her we were just fine and AAA was on their way. After all, the problem isn’t the problem; the problem is your attitude about the problem. As she might treat patients who stubbornly refuse their meds, she proceeded to inform us we were in gang territory and should go wait inside. This was on a sunshine-y day at 3:00 P.M. She apparently doesn’t have the same glowing world outlook we do. But either way, though disinclined to acquiesce to her request, we reluctantly head back in to Walmart. After about 45 minutes and a quick break-in by our friendly AAA carman (or well-dressed gang member), we were back on our way towards our tiny home adventure!
Arriving at the tiny home on an unassuming farm outside of Portland, we were greeted by the screams of many a traumatized peacock. As it turns out, the woman who was pulling out of the driveway was taking a quick 600 mile trip to purchase 7 adolescent peacocks for her hippie, yoga retreat place. A peacock sanctuary of sorts. Apparently she thinks peacocks are relaxing and enjoyable; I would love to know if she still felt that way after driving that far in her 1990 Crown Vic with 7 screaming peacocks. Personally, after waking up to their banshee-like cries and T-Rex stomps atop our tiny home, I can’t say we are their biggest fans. I think the property owner shared our concern that this woman may have been on her way to enjoy peacock stew.
Our days of watching House Hunters had prepared us for our first Tiny Home experience. The kitchen, dining room, living room, bathroom, and bedroom were confined in a space smaller than an aristocratic playhouse. Seeing as the home was powered entirely via a long extension cord that ran to the host’s garage, continuity of electricity wasn’t exactly its strong suit. I am positive Ry was thrilled about our choice of accommodation as he made the trek several times throughout the night to reset the circuit breaker. In the rain. And the 40 degree temperatures (Polish springtime!).
Another feature of the property was a bold zip-line that ran from the steep hillside to a tree outside the tiny home. Fancying himself cautiously adventuresome, Ry asked our host from the treetop platform if the zip-line could support the weight of your average human. The host confirmed the integrity of the line but warned that the last time he used it himself resulted in a broken leg. Perhaps the dead-end into a mammoth tree wasn’t the wisest of engineering choices. Disappointed, we opted instead for picking wild berries in the hopes of taking some homemade jam back to Texas. Big mistake. Big. Huge.
You see, Ry and I had a gay ole time plucking juicy berries from bushes throughout the forest. With each heaping handful, we grew more excited for our future jam (though I obviously wouldn’t eat any due to the seeds). An empty mason jar served as the container for our bounty. However… when inspecting the jar a couple hours later, we made the horrific discover that the berries were alive. With worms. Hundreds of little white worms. We tossed that sucker in the trash faster than Stu Sutcliffe left the Beatles.
To be continued in The Beatles Break Up for Real