Alone in the woods, I turned discarded pallets into shelter. Each weathered slat became a wall, a beam, a dream realized. With only hand tools and relentless resolve, I deconstructed hundreds of pallets, salvaging nails and planks. My tiny house rose slowly—insulated with moss, roofed with tarps, warmed by a salvaged stove. Beside it, a lean-to garage sheltered my bicycle and tools. Rain drummed on the roof; wind whispered through chinked walls. No mortgage, no noise—just self-reliance and silence. In this forest retreat, built from society’s castoffs, I found freedom. The pallets, once trash, now held up a life pared down to what truly matters.
