One Month In: Pizza, Propane, and the Fish That Got Away

We’ve officially been on the road for a full month. One whole moon cycle of living small, driving slow, and learning how to make a home in 400 square feet. Last night, we ditched Lake Fork—too quiet, too residential, too much like people hiding from each other—and made the short drive back to Lake Palestine.

It felt like a homecoming of sorts. We wanted the weekend to ourselves, to mark this milestone with something more celebratory than a Saturday spent packing up.

I cleaned the house after we arrived. No one warned me that living small means cleaning often.

When something’s out of place in a tiny space, you feel it immediately. Two adults, two oversized dogs, and two office setups mean everything has a designated spot—or chaos creeps in. I hate cleaning.

Rob's Sunrise Snap. I haven't seen a sunrise since the last time I stayed up all night.

I also still haven’t figured out how to turn on the oven. A month in, and it remains my nemesis. Tonight’s attempt was thwarted by empty propane tanks. So, dinner is leftover pizza, reheated in the microwave. Not exactly the feast I imagined, but it’ll do.

We briefly considered trading our veggie-less fridge and cold pizza for a plate of fresh fish. The lake is teeming, and the campers next door were hosting a Fish Fry. We watched them pull monsters from the water, filet them with practiced ease, and fry them golden.

A man even knocked on our door—our first knock in a month—and invited us to join. We were halfway there when I got shy. The crowd was large, and I needed a moment. We walked the dogs instead, planning to swing by on the way back.

That’s when we learned they were a church group. Now, religion isn’t really our thing. We keep that part of life quiet, personal. But the fish smelled divine, and we were willing to risk a little fellowship for a hot meal. Call us transactional. As we approached, they were deep in group prayer.

So we pivoted. Again. Plan B: microwaved, left-over pizza.

Despite the petty annoyances—propane, mosquitoes, and my oven incompetence—this life suits us for now. Lake views from every window. Dogs swimming daily. Kind strangers. Amazon delivery.

It’s not forever, but it’s working. And tonight, even with reheated pizza and skipped salvation, I’m grateful.