"In 2020, when the world was locking down, my partner and I were living full-time in our self-converted camper van, chasing fresh air and freedom. But as COVID-19-related closures swept the nation, that freedom dried up almost overnight. Campgrounds shut down. Laundromats became off-limits. Gyms we relied on for weekly showers locked their doors. When people took one look at our out-of-state plates, they offered nothing but scornful looks."
"At first, it felt great to upgrade from a van to a tiny home in a small town We always intended to make somewhere in the Mountain West our home. I grew up in Montana, and my partner, who's from the very different world of suburban Philadelphia, fell in love with the wide open spaces I'd grown up taking for granted. However, we never imagined we'd put down roots during a quick stop in Wyoming to meet up with a friend of a friend to go rock climbing."
"Before this visit, we'd never even been to the small town we ended up in. However, when we found a tiny house for sale on a rented lot in a mobile-home park here, we knew it might be our only shot to put down roots. The housing prices in the Mountain West had already started to skyrocket - homes in areas where I grew up were suddenly selling for three to four times what they had just a year earlier."
A full-time van lifestyle became untenable when COVID-19 closures closed campgrounds, laundromats, and gyms and provoked hostility toward out-of-state travelers. An urgent need for stability led to an impulsive purchase of a tiny house on a rented lot in a small Wyoming town. The move felt like an upgrade from van life and aligned with an intent to settle in the Mountain West. Prior inexperience with the town did not prevent the decision, as rapidly rising housing costs elsewhere made the tiny-house option seem like the only viable way to put down roots. Years later, the occupants remain unable to leave.
Read at Business Insider
Unable to calculate read time
Collection
[
|
...
]