Tepid welcome

There were six earthships in the gravel pit. Ours would be number seven. We were excited. We drove down into the area to have a look at our land.

The woman who lived in one of the single-level earth houses across the pit from our land emerged from behind a brown slope of tall dried sunflowers. She was cradling a steaming mug with both hands and scowling. She leaned toward my window. "Can I help you?"

"Hi Carly, it's just us. We met last week."

Her expression went blank.

"We're the ones who just bought lot number 7," I gestured across the way, toward the heap of old tires and rubbish. Our slice of paradise, a little under one acre in size, extended from the north wall of the pit across its wide floor. Fluffs of pale desert blooms dotted the dry landscape.

Carly stood back, still studying our faces. "Oh. It's you guys. Okay," she said, nodding.

We drove slowly to the end of the short dirt road and turned around. Carly's two dogs barked and chased us, just as they would each time our car passed for the next three years.