We rooftop camped in a hidden glen beneath the locust trees, the kind of place you don’t stumble onto by accident—it feels chosen. There’s unlimited firewood stacked high, waiting to set the mood, so the nights stretch long and wild under the stars. A toilet and shower are there if you want them, but it still feels like your own outlaw’s hideaway. You don’t run into people here—only the quick flicker of bunnies in the brush, and the slow, sinuous reminder that snakes still call this land home.
The air hums with locusts, the fire spits and cracks, and suddenly you remember what it’s like to live without distraction, to let the night take over. With my partner by my side, the fire’s heat on our faces and the sky wide open above, it felt romantic in that raw, unpolished way—the kind that sneaks under your skin and stays there.
This place isn’t polished, it isn’t fake—it’s real. It’s beautiful.
Thanks for sharing your little piece of paradise with us Steve. It’s the kind of haven we’ll think about long after we leave. And we’ll be back—no doubt about it.
—Reeves and Moses and @duckythewanderjeep