Skylight

The latest DIY upgrade to my schoolbus home

When I first set out west in January 2021 to begin life in my school bus, I hadn’t actually built it into a home yet. It was just an empty rectangular prism with a new floor, bins of books, and a mattress in the back. I didn’t know how to build anything. But I made friends in the nomad community by sharing my books at Skooliepalooza as the Skoolie Library; those friends then helped me begin to convert my bus into a home. Along the way, across many years, my nomad friends taught me everything I know about building. Eventually, I began to execute projects on my own.

One of my favorite features in my bus has long been the way my bedframe is built below the emergency exit hatch on the roof, so I can bounce myself right out of bed onto the roof with ease to enjoy a sunset. But I’ve long dreamed of replacing that stock hatch with a clear, see-through skylight right over my bed. I imagined how cool it would be to have natural light in my bedroom, and to see the clouds or blue skies or bright stars that float over my bus wherever I park in nature, while lying down cozy in my own bed.

However, if I wanted a skylight that still opened so I can hop on the roof, I’d have to do a lot of extra custom work— a frame, a hinge, a latch, waterproofing, and many other little touches. There were a few examples online, but none really fit what I wanted to do— and most involved cutting into the metal roof of the bus, which I wanted to avoid. Still, I felt that I was finally at a skill level capable of building the skylight of my dreams. I ordered a clear plexiglass dome skylight lid online back in November in the redwoods, and carried it around til I settled down long enough for a real building project.

Finally, this February, I settled on the classic Joshua Tree Dry Lakebed with a wonderful neighborhood of buses, vans, and fellow nomads— the same lakebed where, in 2022, while building my kitchen, the old hatch over my bed ripped off in a windstorm.

Now, in 2026, after three weeks of building, my dream skylight is finally installed. It took many Home Depot trips, and planning out the vision with my experienced builder friend (Dexter of the WanderBox). But I decided I wanted to build it by myself— after all, I’d be looking at it every day. After my friend left, I altered our original plan, instead choosing to make a frame out of redwood 2x2s— redwood is resistant to the elements, looks gorgeous when sanded and oiled, and it matches my redwood writing desk and redwood kitchen.

I bolted the redwood beams directly into the existing hatch structure; it’s strong enough for me to put my weight on as I monkey my way out of the hatch. I made a second frame out of PVC attached to the plexiglass skylight, and connected the sandwich with a piano hinge cut to length. I installed a white latch to lock and unlock the hatch from the inside; I also installed eyelet hooks and light chains to hold the hatch open without scratching it on the roof; finally, I waterproofed it with weatherstrip foam and copious amounts of special caulk.

Throughout the process, I had to adjust my plans to new discoveries along the experiment of actually doing the thing. I had to use small construction skills I’ve picked up over the years— adjusting metal with pliers, or pre-drilling to avoid splitting the wood. I had to attend to endless little complications and details to make each individual part of the project work in line with the ideal vision; and, the ideal vision adjusted itself to adapt to the data of experience as I went. Turns out, building a bus has a lot to do with American Pragmatism.

There are few better feelings than building something meaningful with your hands, especially a piece of your own house.

The first night the basic skylight was in place, I couldn’t sleep. I was too giddy looking at the perfect stars from my bed. I could see the arc of the Big Dipper; from that little window on the universe, I was able to orient myself entirely— if the Dipper is there, then the North Star is there, and Arcturus is over there, and the stretch from Cassiopoiea to Perseus to Pleiades to Aldebaraan to Orion to Sirius extends that way. Even though I couldn’t see them all from my bus, I could imagine them; I could orient myself to them. After 5 years living under perfect stars, I know very well the map of the cosmos as seen from the Northern Hemisphere; they are like family to me. And now, with this little window, I’m able to relate myself to this whole family, all in place, from my bed. I sleep more fully entangled in nature than ever.

That night, I saw two shooting stars streak across the skylight.