I've declared my broken shoulder healed and took some time to really think about that trailer. I forced myself to remove the rose colored glasses, take stock of reality, and weigh the handful of pros against the mountain of cons.
Every nook and cranny of our little home that offers any shelter from the elements is literally stuffed with bits and pieces of that old tin can of a trailer. I walked around and looked at it all.
Here there was a section of the golden birch plywood, over there the windows... all complete except for one that had shattered in the collapse of the trailer. And oh hey, check it out. Here's that cute little fuse box.
I put my hand on the surface of the teeny little teal-green stove and pondered the sections of the side wall I'd manage to preserve. The curves of the rounded ends still intact.
But damaged... oh so badly damaged by rot and neglect.
Sigh... I know it's utter folley. But I can't walk away from this. I want very badly to lie in one of the beds of that trailer, listening to the soft sounds of my kids sleeping. I want to open a window to smell the scent of sage, pine, even the salt-sea of the ocean.
And so, the very next warm, sunny saturday I have, I'll begin the frame tear down and preparations for mig-welding.
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