I’m getting close to the end of my time here in Oregon working on the school bus. The bus isn’t done, but my time here working on it is.
Two months ago
I framed out, insulated, and paneled the walls; re-installed the windows with weather stripping and sealed them against leaks; and built a front door. Nothing is pretty, because the point was to get functionality - I’ll leave trim, finish work, and painting for them to do later.
Rear wall bulkhead
Lower wall insulation and paneling going in
Working with wool insulation is a dream. I’m definitely using this stuff on future builds of my own.
Forward section
Installing the front door turned out to take way longer than I thought it would. Nothing on a bus is straight or symmetrical, particularly the things that look like they ought to be. Making a house door fit in a bus opening, putting view windows in it, and making the whole thing weatherproof, took a lot of figurin’.
Front door, roof raise
The Experience
I came up here to help a friend out, get experience working on a school bus, spend time with nearby family, and take in this corner of the country.
It was very cool to see an ERE-oriented family operate. In particular, there are a lot of ‘social capital’ based flows going on, that as a long-time wanderer I don’t have access to since they rely on deep local relationships built over time. Fresh eggs are bartered for coffee beans. Fruit is harvested from neighbor’s yards, and then either fermented or dehydrated. Trucks and flatbed trailers are borrowed from friends for lumber runs, and when those friends go out of town their houses and pets get watched over. Vegetables are exchanged for hours worked in gardens. Other tiny-house people swing by to check out the bus and swap tips.
My aunt and uncle live outside of town, and I got to spend some real quality time with them for the first time in years. (I also learned to operate a riding mower.)
This valley is beautiful. I went on several rides to just take it all in.
The weather is starting to turn and I need to head south while I can. As fine as my time here was, two months is too long to go without seeing Robyn. I miss the hell out of her. I’m taking the most direct route to get to her, 600 miles through the empty wastes of Southeastern Oregon and Northern Nevada.