Living Simple, Sawing Hard: A Month in the San Juan Mountains

Spending a month in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado with my portable sawmill was one of the most rewarding and humbling experiences of my year. It was a mix of hard work, solitude, natural beauty, and connection—with people, the land, and myself.

I lived out of the back of my truck and camped for a month, moving between sawmill jobs, camping in remote places, hiking on days off, exploring the bush, old mining roads and constantly adjusting to life without the comforts of home. When you remove the cushion of modern convenience, even the simplest parts of daily life become meaningful challenges—and surprisingly, that’s where a lot of the magic happened.

Sawdust, Sweat, and Satisfaction

My days started early. I’d wake up to cool mountain air, boil coffee over a small stove, and mentally prep for a day of milling logs. The work was physical and grounding. I had the opportunity to connect with a range of folks—ranch owners reclaiming timber from their land, home builders sourcing locally milled lumber, tree service pros with salvaged logs, homesteaders with stories, and woodworkers looking for unique pieces. These conversations around a pile of logs and in the bush were some of the highlights of the trip.

There’s something about working in the mountains that sharpens your focus. Maybe it’s the thinner air or the quiet, but every cut felt more intentional, every board more satisfying. I wasn’t just making lumber—and helping people shape their lives with local, sustainable materials.

Truck Bed Living: Lessons in Simplicity

Living out of the back of my truck taught me more than I expected. Organization wasn’t optional—it was essential. Every tool, tarp, and toothbrush had to have its place. I had to plan out meals, think about water and plan ahead in case there was no water at my next stop. And I came to appreciate the little routines that brought some comfort and normalcy. If I had access to water at the next stop then it was a good day.

Simple things we take for granted—like warm water, indoor plumbing and electricity—became top priorities. I have a solar panel mounted on the top of my truck to charge my computer, phone and other small items, but if was cloudy then I knew I had to conserve power. My portable shower setup worked, but it wasn’t always easy. I’d fill a black bucket with water in the morning and let the sun (hopefully) warm it through the day. If clouds rolled in, I knew what was waiting: a cold, breath-stealing rinse at the end of a long day. And after hours of running the mill, stacking lumber, and making man glitter, skipping the shower wasn’t an option.

Even using the bathroom became a lesson in humility and planning. There’s no wandering to the bathroom in the middle of the night—just a headlamp and a system.

Nature, Stillness, and Reconnection

Between jobs, I hiked trails that wound through forests of aspen and spruce, explored alpine lakes, and took in the views.

Without cell service in many areas, my evenings were quiet. I read or just sat by the fire and listened to the sounds of the forest and practiced gratitude.

This trip wasn’t a vacation, like most think—it was an exercise in living simply and purposefully. I had to balance the demands of work with the rhythms of the wild. But in the end, that balance felt more real than anything I’ve felt in a while.

Final Thoughts

Leaving the San Juan's wasn’t easy. The freedom, the community I found, the work I did—it all felt aligned with what Responsible Timber is about: using what I have, treading lightly, and creating something lasting for my clients.

Living out of my truck reminded me that comfort isn't the same as contentment. Sometimes, contentment comes from chopping wood, heating water, and crawling into a sleeping bag under the stars—knowing that today, you did something that mattered.

If you’ve ever thought about unplugging, simplifying, or chasing work that feels connected to the land, I highly recommend it—even if just for a week. It might challenge you, but it’ll also change you.

Best!

Jason