Deep in the wilderness, I carved a shallow pit into a hillside, framing it with sturdy logs for walls and support. Layer by layer, I packed moss between the gaps—nature’s perfect insulation. A sloped roof of bark and branches shed rain, while the earth kept the interior warm. The dugout took shape: low, hidden, and snug. Inside, I laid a bed of dry leaves and built a small fire nearby. This shelter, born of forest materials and survival instinct, offered safety and warmth. In the heart of the wild, I found comfort—not with tools, but with instinct, patience, and the land’s gifts.
