11 May 2026 8 min read NP Tour 2025

Sanctuary: An Adventure Interlude | The Big 2025 Parks Tour, Part 8

Serendipity is actively happening all around us. I don’t doubt it any more.

During my "National Parks Tour" (which was quickly becoming a "just go explore whatever looks fascinating" tour), I spent several days at a tiny home on the Santa Clara River, in a quaint unincorporated Utah community called Brookside. A place that time forgot. A piece of land that I swear must have been calling out to me. A piece of land where the word “idyllic” was the only word needed to perfectly describe it.

How did I get there? Through a confluence of small events. Through (perhaps) some not-so-random building blocks that were put in place to nudge me right into this position. Isn’t that how fate seems to work?

My video tribute to "Sanctuary."

One of those small events happened a couple days before I went to Snow Canyon (stay tuned for that memorable adventure), while I was still in Cedar City. I started feeling this creeping lower back pain that was reminiscent of the same minor injury that put me out of commission earlier this year, between hiking Leg 1 and Leg 2 of the Oregon Coast Trail.

Honestly, it might have been from hurriedly getting in and out of the car 30+ times per day while driving such scenic roads – like on the way up to Cedar Breaks National Monument.

I just knew that going back to car camping or tent camping wasn’t going to do my back any favors, so I impulsively decided to look for a hotel or Airbnb with a hot tub.

The very first one I clicked had this description:

“Located 15 min north of Snow Canyon State Park in the desert mountain cabin community of Brookside, this cozy private getaway is equipped for up to 3 guests and includes access to a communal riverfront acre of park-like grounds with a hot tub, swimming hole, hammocks, BBQ, dining tables, tree house and more.”

My eyes only saw “HOT TUB” and “RIVERFRONT,” and I booked it, encouraged by the high ratings and a single photo of the hot tub.

Turns out the hot tub was maybe 25 feet away from the Santa Clara River. Which ran right through the property!

The tiny home on this land was a Timberwolf Mini-Loft trailer that had clearly been upgraded and configured to be used as a stationary rental. But it wasn't the trailer that stole the show. It was the land in front of it. And it was how that land felt. Like its sole purpose was to quiet your mind, and wrap you in a comforting layer of calm.

There was the alcove, which I used for eating, researching, editing a podcast, and taking shelter from the rain while still enjoying the sound of it, the crickets, and the gurgling river at night.

There were all the little sculptures (which the owner called “nature spirits”) that were all crafted with resources from the land itself. There was the little meditation corner that was steps away from the river, with the steel tongue drum, seashells, and Buddhist-inspired prayer flags — those reminded me of my time in Nepal and really struck a chord.

More serendipity: a week prior to me landing here, my best friend K sent me photos and videos of a campground neighbor’s dog she befriended while in the mountains. She fetched pinecones, and she was adorable. It made me crave some canine companionship. Not permanently — I wasn’t ready to make that commitment again. Just a little fun to scratch the itch, you know?

Then Ruby and Nelly showed up an hour after I arrived. Apparently they cross the river from time to time to see if there's anything new and exciting happening. Nelly, the yellow lab, wasted no time bringing me a pinecone! I proceeded to throw it about 45 times. By the time my arm was worn out, she was probably just getting warmed up.

Ruby was a sweetheart too. Quieter, calmer, and older, but just as awesome.

Eventually I had to go inside and make some dinner, but Nelly still wasn’t satisfied. She laid on the porch patiently for a while I talked at her about my Utah adventures. Eventually she trotted off, probably back to her home across the river. But she left that slobbery old pinecone right at the bottom of the steps for me, like a promise that she’d be back.

Sadly, I didn't see either of them again. The owner said they both returned half an hour after I checked out :(

But the real mind-blowing bit of serendipity was what happened when curiosity consumed me, and I asked Kim a simple question.

I was so enamored with this property that I wanted to stay an additional night. So I pulled up Airbnb and noticed that after the next few nights, there was no availability for months. It was blacked out through at least March. Maybe it wasn’t rented out during the winter? Were the winters rough in Brookside? (Nope, turns out they were pretty mild! An occasional dusting of snow that melted off, some nights in the low 30s.)

Then I thought: maybe they rent it out long-term, outside of Airbnb. (Most people don't know this, but that's exactly how I came to live at my place in Merced – a monthlong stay turned into 2+ years.) I sent Kim a message asking, and she invited me to her back porch for some coffee and a conversation.

I could write pages upon pages about her life experience, how deeply we connected on topics of nature and creativity and fate, and the finer points of the nearly 3-hour chat we had! I could tell you how she was fighting Parkinson’s and that this land seemed to keep it at bay. I could tell you that she slept terribly for years until she found and (somewhat miraculously) bought this property in a community where nothing ever came up for sale…

But here’s the clincher: hours before I arrived there, she had floated the idea to her son about renting out the tiny home long-term, but only to the right person. Someone who respected the land.

That person could be me, and the offer was enthusiastically extended, for a monthly price that was less than my rent at home. This was all unfolding during a time where I'd vowed to not spend another summer in the hot hellscape of the Central Valley, to explore more of this country and its abundance of inspiring nature. And Utah was just overflowing with it around every corner.

Maybe this was where I’d spend my next season, the next chapter in my life?

I felt deeply conflicted when it came time to pack up and drive away, and I wasn't able to give her an answer. She just smiled and reassured me it could rest in the “pondering pool” for as long as it needed to. And when I was confident about an answer either way, I could let her know.

The thought of having that acre of serene riverfront land to bask in, a hot tub to enjoy any time of the day or night, a private outdoor alcove to work or read in, and being close to so much adventure in Southern Utah was more than a little tempting. And NOT having crime, sirens, and the ceaselessly cacophony of neighborhood noise.

Kim called her land “Sanctuary,” and that was exactly how it felt to be there, with the sound of the river and crickets and birds, and the protective canopy of cottonwood trees all around you.

I’m not some mystic new-age kind of guy, but I’m starting to believe there are pockets of creative energy in the world, and sometimes they’re concentrated in a place just like this.

EPILOGUE

I eventually, reluctantly, passed on the offer of calling "Sanctuary" my home. With the benefit of hindsight, I now understand that I needed to finish walking the current path I was on. I needed more time to realize that staying immersed in tech, and mentally draining myself with the grind of YouTube videos, wasn't the right trail for me. Not remotely.

But "Sanctuary" was instrumental in my decision to eventually embrace a nomadic life and call the open road my home. As of this writing, that next season begins in less than two weeks. And I'll always be grateful to that wonderful land, and its caretakers, for being an important catalyst to new adventures and life experiences.

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