Finding New Ground
- Rachel
- Jun 30
- 5 min read
Medicine Bow, a mod that was a long time coming, and some news. Life happens. Roll with it.
My latest adventure started on Father's Day weekend, and Medicine Bow was still full.
I went out Sunday morning ahead of everyone else to scout. The spots we'd flagged on our last trip, the ones I'd been thinking about all week, were taken. I found one that might work, windy as anything and tighter than I wanted, and drove back to meet my husband. While I waited, parked beside a road I'd scouted before, I kept glancing at a small clearing set back in the trees. A truck had been there. Now it wasn't.
I grabbed my husband and took him back to see it first. Better than anything I'd found all morning: sheltered, spacious, room for the friends who'd be joining us later in the week. He gave it the thumbs up. We went back for the Dawn, pulled Curiosity in, and got to work making it home.
"What is for you won't go past you."
I've heard that said about campsites. I think it applies to most things.
We spent the afternoon celebrating Father's Day with family, exploring the new area, seeing what this particular piece of Medicine Bow had to offer. Luna disappeared into the sagebrush approximately 100 times. Penny found her patch of shade and stayed in it. I made something cold and good and finally sat down.
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Something Finally in Its Place
I've been meaning to drill the hole for months and months.
Quick backstory for the non-campers: the water in my tanks is for cooking and showering, not drinking. For drinking water, we bring along a few extra 6-gallon containers, one of which lives in the Dawn. The countertop pump makes dispensing from it so much easier than wrestling the jug every time you want a glass of water. It's a simple system. The only problem was that the pump had been sitting on the counter without a permanent home, getting shuffled around every time I needed the space for dishes or cooking.
The fix was obvious. Drill a hole in the countertop, mount the pump properly, done. I'd known this for months. And yet.
The problem wasn't that I didn't know what to do. The problem was that I was afraid of ruining the countertop. What if I drilled in the wrong spot? What if I cracked it? What if I made a permanent mistake on something that couldn't be undone? So I kept shuffling the pump around and telling myself I'd do it when I was sure. When I had more confidence. When the timing was right.
You can probably see where this is going.
This trip, I drilled the hole. The pump is in. It doesn't move anymore, the counter has breathing room, and getting drinking water now takes about three seconds instead of an entire production. It has made life so much easier that I stood there looking at it, thinking: why did I wait so long? Why did I let the fear of getting it wrong talk me out of something that was just... better?
Sometimes you just have to take the risk in the hope that something better is waiting on the other side of it. Usually it is.
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Something New on the Horizon
My brain has been busy lately. The good kind of busy, the kind that means something is shifting.
The last four years have been a season of learning. Of stepping back, looking hard at what I know and what I still had to figure out, and doing the quiet work of growing. It hasn't always been linear. It hasn't always been comfortable. But I can feel now that it was building toward something.
About a month ago I clicked on an Instagram ad. I have zero regrets about it. It led me to Strawberry.me and a career coach named Adam, who in just a few sessions helped me cut through a lot of noise and get honest about what I actually want next.
So here it is: I'm heading back to the classroom.
I'm excited for this next part of the journey. Genuinely, quietly excited. Not because the last four years didn't matter, but because they did. All that learning, all that growing, it's time to put it into practice. And sitting out here in the wide open of Medicine Bow, watching Luna tear through the sagebrush and Penny claim the best patch of shade, it feels less like a leap and more like the next right step.
The Sol Wanderer isn't going anywhere. Neither am I.
If the Sol Wanderer has taught me anything, it's that the route you planned isn't always the one that takes you somewhere worth going. Somewhere between the maps and the mistakes, I've learned to trust the detour.
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Work in Progress
I'll be honest with you. I skipped last week's post. There's a lot going on right now, and I'm trying to give myself a little grace about that.
This trip has not been without its chaos. I left my backup BLUETTI and my full solar panel setup at home.
Again.
After the exact same thing happened last time.
And yes, it was a deliberate choice.
I had convinced myself I had it all figured out from the last adventure. Ha. Life is putting me in my place again. One day I had to go into work, another day brought nothing but clouds, and I've spent more time than I'd like to admit scrambling to keep things charged and running.
The stubborn part of me would not admit defeat. The practical part of me knows I did this to myself.
But that's so much of what this life is — figuring out how to make things work, and then run, and then run better. Refining the system. Perfecting it as much as anything can be perfected. Every trip teaches me something I wish I'd known on the last one.
I've been thinking about how much that mirrors what I'm doing with my career. Still refining. Still perfecting the craft. Still learning what works and what I need to leave at home next time.
A work in progress.
Aren't we all?
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Still Here
When I started consulting, I was adamant. I would not be going back to the classroom. Ever. I said it out loud, more than once, with full conviction.
And here I am.
Nervous. Excited. Questioning my sanity just a little, which, if I'm honest, is pretty much how every good thing in my life has started. I'm ready for the challenge ahead, and I'm genuinely excited to be back with kids. That part surprised me most of all.
Change has a way of sneaking up on you. One day you're certain about something, and then the road shifts, and you find yourself somewhere you never expected, wondering why it took you so long to get there.
I bought a camper once. Hauled her across the country. Three times now. Every single one of those trips started with a little nerves, a little excitement, and a serious question about my own sanity. Every single one of them was worth it.
Never say never. And never underestimate what's waiting on the other side of the thing that scares you a little.
What is for you won't go past you. I'm starting to really believe that.
The pump is in, the spot was worth the wait, and Medicine Bow is as good for the soul as it always is. Two more weeks out here. I intend to make the most of them.
Keep Moving.
Rachel
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