Over the years, Zena and I found ourselves drifting — not just away from city life, but from the suburbs too. Each move pulled us deeper into the wild, chasing fresh air and open spaces. We spent more time planning gold panning in forgotten creeks, tent camping under endless skies, and even hopping trains just to see where they’d take us. As our incomes became less tied to a physical location, the itch to break away completely became impossible to ignore.
Then came the pandemic — a curveball that forced us to sell our home, unload most of our possessions, and move onto my mother’s property to care for her. When that chapter ended, one thing was crystal clear: we wanted out — out of the rat race, out of the endless cycle of bills, and into a life stripped down to the essentials — simple, free, and ours.
So we said, “Screw it.”
We grabbed a 2003 Coleman pop-up tent trailer and hit the road, searching for a place to call home. Somewhere deep in the Sierra Mountains, we found it — Wild Holler — a rugged former mining camp carved into the mountainside, perched by a narrow traverse. The place had last been home to cannabis farm workers, but to us, it felt like destiny — raw, wild, and just right.