All seventeen of us sat around the campfire on a chilly Thanksgiving in Indian Creek. When the bottle of whiskey and prompt for thankfulness made its way around to me, I thought about my struggles to maintain deep relationships and roots amongst 15 months of van living. I was feeling pretty fucking thankful for all the old and new faces I spent the week with out here in the dirt—two Thanksgivings in a row now. Making bonds as strong as family, then disappearing on our separate ways with the changing of the seasons...only to stumble back together a year from now. Enriched, traveled, older and open as ever. This place means more than words to me.