Krista Diamond reflects on the temporary housing she lived in while working at various national parks in the United States. Given her transience and impermanence in these spartan, often dilapidated spaces, she considers what it means to make a home for yourself. Sharing the landscape with the insects, mammals, and amphibians that inhabited these wilderness outposts, she comes to the realization that home is much more than simply a location.
The contracts were short. A summer. A winter. But I moved in like I meant it, like I was staying forever. With each new park, the cycle began again. On each first night, panic and regret and loneliness transformed into a desire to make the bed, put clothing into the drawers, hang photos on the wall. And with this homemaking came a home. And with a home came community, familiarity, a sense of belonging. And then, the season ended.
The goodbye party, the packing of boxes, the stuffing of clothes into garbage bags. Enough gas money to drive somewhere new. Everything back in the car.
The cruel irony: by the time you get settled, it’s over.
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