Into the Gila: Squatter’s Paradise II

I am the Uninvited.



Sometimes you stumble upon places you don’t belong. Not every place evokes warm feelings or imprints fond memories. Dark bits of the past have been scattered across the backcountry like ashes. Sometimes we are lucky enough to stumble upon these lost treasures and go back in time. We must respect these places, take nothing more than the experience and move along.


Nestled deep in the woods, a crumbling shanty would provide a glimpse into a seemingly dark past. While approaching the front door I shout “Hello!” and wait for a response. In my imagination, this is when the inhabitant watches quietly through the site of his rifle; or worse—waits quietly in the backseat of my truck. Of course there is no response, the last person that had stepped foot in this house was probably dead.

Clawing through a tangle of spider webs at the door, my eyes fought to gain focus of the dim interior. Through the broken roof, streams of light interrupt the darkness to reveal the remnants of Squatters Paradise.
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