|Me, Mom, and Joe in front of the green bean trailer|
I've wanted a house, a real house, one that's mine and fully attached to the ground since I could actually formulate a thought about it. When I was little, in Anchorage, we lived in a real house for a few years. It was yellow and had a basement, which I don't remember, and a nice family room/living room area that I still remember to this day, although we moved when I was about three years old.
After that we lived in a green bean trailer that my parents bought from some friends and it was plopped onto the five acres they bought in Wasilla, Alaska. Later, it was hauled miles away to Houston, Alaska, and backed into a shallow spot on the end of the road at the Far North Recovery Homestead on Heath Road. It had green shag carpet, dusty brown couches, and faux wood paneled walls, but it was a well-loved home. I actually burst into tears when I think about it. Partially because of all the memories of the people who walked that narrow hallway and sat around the heavily waxed kitchen table--some who I'll never be able to see again in this life--but also because leaving there was not done in the right way~~thanks, Dad :-(