You're my home away from home. Right now I'm sitting inside your shelter on my bunkbed writing this post. I don't know much about you but I do know you're from Oregon, or so your license plate says. Maybe that's why we get along fairly well? We're the only Americans on this farm.
The caravan I call home isn't anything fancy. It's a big red metal box. It has one door, many windows, a small table, 2 bunk beds and a small kitchen. At some point in its life it lost the step outside the door. We're safe from visits by the elderly as it would be a real hassle for them to enter and exit. I know this because even at the age of 22 a good jog can make me feel as if I'll never make it in or out. Once you have tackled climbing in you'd find yourself standing in our kitchen. Don't be alarmed by the constant buzzing, it's just the flies. Other than the flies in our kitchen you'll find a number of luxurios appliances. My favorite is our refrigerator. It's powered by propane and acts as a small space heater while somehow keeping our perishables at a cool temperature. I still don't understand it. Next to the fridge is our sink. There is no tap and a slight leak from the bottom, it's rarely used. All water comes from the barn, we carry it in in jugs. The first time I filled one up the water pressure nearly blew the jug out of my hands. Below the sink is a small stash of canned goods. And next to the sink you'll find our burners which are all, the three of them, powered by gas. They get the job done and boil water quickly. At the front of the kitchen there's a built in shelf which is where we have our dishes, pots/pans and more food.
Let's pretend you're staying for dinner. Ennio and I may cook up some gourmet Hólmasel cuisine. Just the other night we had one of our specialties, goop. It's a few canned vegetables, lots of garlic, lots of onion, some pasta sauce, cheese (it's put on everything) and of course pasta. Pasta I quickly learned is vastly different from noodles. Noodles are Ramen. Pasta is pasta. Feeling adventurous? Try some mystery meat. What's in it? Ahh, we can't read Icelandic. Don't ask. While you may be concerned don't be, I haven't eaten anything yet that I didn't like. Somehow it always works out.
Plate in hand and with a large quantity of pink cocktail sauce squirted on everything we'll head 6 feet over into our quaint living/dining/bed room. It's all very convenient. You can sit on either sofa you'd like. The one on the right is my bed and 3 feet away on the other side of our coffee/dining table is Ennio's. Be warned if you pick mine I have some socks hanging to... air out. If you feel inclined to spend the night you can have either top bunk. If you've come late we'll be having a romantic battery lit dinner. While yes we do have electricity we don't have lights. After dinner if you'd like to be a good guest and assist with the dishes just grab some toilet paper and give everything a nice wipe. Need to use the bathroom? #1 behind the caravan is ok. #2 a short walk to the barn and you'll find a lovely porta-potty. Take some dish washer with you, you never know. We won't hear you yelling for help.
I surely haven't encourged many of you to come by for a bit of tea tonight. But in all honesty I enjoy my small red box. I look forward to coming in in the evenings eating dinner and crawling into my sleeping bag. Sure when it's windy it feels like we're out at sea which is why we have plastic where our door window should be. The wind took that from us. And yes there are flies. Maybe (definitely) it even smells odd. But in a weird way it's comfy. It's my home away from home.
Thank you for being you Clifford the big (small) red caravan.
Sincerely,
Zeb
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