Why I Leave Tennessee Every Summer to Saw Logs in Colorado

In a few weeks, I’ll pack up my truck, load my sawmill equipment, organize blades and supplies, and head west toward Colorado for the summer.

For a lot of people, that probably sounds stressful or unstable. For me, it has become part of the rhythm of life.

Most people live in one world. They wake up, drive the same roads, work the same schedule, see the same scenery, and repeat that routine year after year. There’s nothing wrong with that, but my life has slowly evolved into something different. I spend some of my time in two completely different places, climates, and markets.

Most of my year is spent in Middle Tennessee. The other part is spent in the mountains around Durango, CO and the San Juan range of Colorado, sawing logs, camping, hiking, and living out of my truck while working portable sawmill jobs.

Every spring, the transition begins again.

Before I leave, there’s a long checklist to work through:

Haviland Lake

• sawmill maintenance

• spare parts

• extra blades

• fuel cans

• camping gear

• tools

• chainsaws

• oil

• work scheduling

• customer communication

• mapping routes

• organizing supplies so I can survive and work efficiently for months at a time

Living this way requires preparation most people never think about. If I forget something important in Tennessee, I can’t always just run down the road and grab it once I’m deep in the mountains. Colorado work also brings completely different challenges than what I’m used to at home.

The climate is different. The trees are different. The terrain is different. The customers are different.

In Tennessee, humidity, mud, and hardwood logs are part of daily life. In Colorado, I deal with elevation, dry air, steep terrain, sudden storms, and a completely different species of timber. Even the pace feels different.

You have to adapt mentally as much as physically.

That’s one thing this lifestyle has taught me: flexibility matters more than comfort.

There’s something about crossing the country with your work loaded behind you that changes your perspective. You realize quickly how dependent most people are on routine, convenience, and predictability. When you live seasonally, you learn how little you actually need and how important it is to stay adaptable.

Some mornings I wake up in the mountains with no cell service, drinking coffee beside my truck before heading to a sawmill job surrounded by peaks and ponderosa pine trees. Other days I’m dealing with equipment breakdowns, changing weather, customer logistics, or returning messages.

It’s not always glamorous, but it feels real.

I think a lot of people are searching for more freedom in their lives, but freedom almost always comes with tradeoffs. In my case, I traded predictability for flexibility. I traded routine for experience.

Over time, I realized I wasn’t just building a sawmill business. I was building a lifestyle business.

There’s a difference.

A lifestyle business isn’t only about maximizing growth or revenue. It’s about designing a life that allows space for the things that matter most to you. For me, that means creating time to think deeply, spend time outdoors, reflect on where I’m headed, and reconnect with myself away from constant noise and distraction.

Some of my best business ideas haven’t happened sitting at a desk. They’ve happened while driving mountain roads, hiking trails, sitting beside a campfire, or staring at stacks of fresh-cut lumber at the end of a long day.

Distance creates perspective. When you step away from normal routines, you start evaluating your life differently. You notice what matters, what doesn’t, and what kind of future you’re actually building.

Living between two worlds each year has taught me that people don’t necessarily need a completely different life. Sometimes they just need enough flexibility to breathe, think, and experience something beyond the same routine every day.

For me, Colorado has become part work, part reset button.

It reminds me that there are still ways to build a life around freedom, craftsmanship, nature, and meaningful work — even if it looks unconventional from the outside.

And in a few weeks, I’ll load the truck and head west again.

Best

Jason