Cold nights, warm hearts

 

It’s cold tonight.

The wind is howling around the caravan, nudging at the walls, whispering winter’s arrival through every seam. I’m tucked in bed, under a pile of duvets, a hot water bottle at my feet and a mug of warm coffee nearby. Yes, the caravan is cold—but not colder than some of the houses I grew up in.

I remember my childhood winters vividly. We lived in a good house, nothing fancy but decent, and still we’d gather in the lounge inside sleeping bags, hopping up and down just to get warm. At school, we’d huddle near the furnace pipes, hands outstretched like tiny pilgrims in search of heat.

So when people worry about us living in a caravan through winter, I smile. I appreciate the concern—truly, I do—but I can’t help but wonder: what’s the real difference?

In the caravan, we have less space to heat, and more reason to get creative. Heated blankets. Hot water bottles. Wool socks. Sherry, coffee, and that all-important sense of humour. And most importantly—we have each other.

I think sometimes people fear what doesn’t fit the mold. They hear caravan in winter and picture suffering. But I see it differently. I see freedom. I see simplicity. I see a life lived with intention.

And yes, I see the privilege of choosing this life. Because there are others out there who don’t get a say. Those who live rough not by choice but by circumstance. Tonight, my thoughts go to them too.

We are not naïve. Winter hasn’t even begun and we know the cold will test us. We’re not fully prepared—and yet, we’re okay. Because we are together. We are warmed by laughter, wrapped in grace, and shielded by the hands of angels.

So yes, it’s cold. But my heart is full. My soul is warm. And this little caravan? 

Leave a comment if you feel moved, or simply sit with me in quiet.

If you’d like to walk this road with me, follow Nomadic Grandmother for new stories.

— x Elsabe