Trailer Trash

Not many women would do what I do. Live where I’ve lived. And let me be the first to say, those women are a lot smarter than me.

Many times wildlife biologists work in remote places. Live in remote places. Live with our coworkers and supervisors. Live in crap-holes with no running water, no electricity, and mice nesting in our hair. This is not a forty-year-old woman’s dream. At least not mine. So imagine my elation when I realized that not only had I signed on to a project for which I—the bear biologist—would be studying song birds, but I also got to live in a crappy trailer with three men young enough to be my sons. That is, if I had gotten busy at a really young age.

The four of us lived together. In a trailer. With no running water. No working toilet. No electricity. Not really what we were expecting. But we were tough and we dealt with it. We didn’t have a choice. Besides, we had a water spigot outside the trailer and the water was potable. We had a campsite with a shitter a quarter mile down the road and a hot springs with a waterfall three miles down the road. And we had camp stoves. We were set. I was doing okay.

Until the night the mouse crawled across my face.

It’s not that bad, I told myself. Go back to sleep.

I did.

And the next night another mouse skittered over my head.

This was going to be a long summer.

TSWB