farm

When I was hitchhiking toward Medellin in Colombia, I came to realize at one point that I would not make it to the city by nightfall. Alone with no tent in a foreign town, I began to look for a shelter to sleep under. On the outskirts of town, I passed a farm and decided to inquire if I could sleep on the farmer’s land.

I wandered on to the property and found the owner. I told him I was travelling and had no place to sleep, and asked if I could spend the night on his property. He smiled broadly and led me to a pavillion. “You can sleep here,” he told me. There was a lot of scrap wood lying around, and I asked if I could burn it. He said that would be OK.