Picture being able to live, for free, on an impossibly small island in the middle of San Francisco Bay. That’s living the dream, right? Add two months without electricity, a cranky generator from the 1930s, and a very mischievous seagull attempting to steal your lunch.

Say hello to Desiree Heveroh, who has been one year into being one of America’s oldest lighthouses, East Brother Light Station’s, sole caretaker. Her story is part pandemic survival, part historic preservation, and entirely fascinating.

The Lighthouse that is Full of History-and a Little Drama

So, before we get to Desiree’s adventures, let’s set the stage. East Brother Light Station isn’t just any lighthouse; it was built in 1873 on a small island where the San Francisco and San Pablo Bays meet and has been guiding ships for almost 150 years. In the early days, lighthouse keepers had to maintain the light and foghorn manually. Just think about that: no Netflix, just you, a lantern, and a whole lot of fog.

By the 1960s, the Coast Guard wanted to automate the lighthouse and-get this-destroy it. Of course, the townspeople were outraged, wouldn’t you be? It’s not every day a neighborhood is forced to lose a lighthouse. Following some serious community rallying, it was saved, restored, and eventually turned into a B&B for adventurous souls of the quirky kind.

Then came 2020. Covid-19 struck, and the B&B closed, the island growing eerily still. That’s when Desiree came along.

A Roadside Revelation

Desiree was in love with East Brother Light Station even before she had moved in. She is just driving along, minding her own affairs, when her daughter – maybe 9 or 10 at the time – spotted something unusual.

“She looked out the window and said, ‘Mom, there’s a house out there on the water!'” Desiree remembered in an interview. “I thought she was imagining things, but sure enough, there it was-this little house on an island, like something out of a children’s book.”

Most would have driven on and never given it another thought. Desiree, on the other hand, became consumed. She researched the lighthouse, learned its history, and even signed up as a volunteer. Her first project? Scraping old grout off a window frame. “I worked on that window all day,” she said. “I wanted it to look perfect. I was probably more obsessed with that window than I should’ve been.”

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Climbing the Lighthouse Ladder

Over time, Desiree had become a lighthouse regular: she attended board meetings, helped with marketing, and generally learned the inner workings of the place. It wasn’t exactly glamorous work, but that didn’t bother her.

“I kept thinking, ‘If I learn every job here, maybe one day I can become the innkeeper,'” she said. It was like her own version of career climbing—except instead of a corner office, she was aiming for a foghorn and a killer view.

When Opportunity, and the Pandemic Knocked

In 2020, everything changed. The pandemic shuttered the bed-and-breakfast, sending the innkeepers packing. Overnight, the lighthouse was in desperate need of a caretaker, and Desiree didn’t blink. Her timing was perfect—depending on your perspective, completely nuts. Her rental on the mainland was being sold, and she needed a place to stay. Why not move to a teensy island in the middle of a global crisis?

“Let’s be honest,” she joked, “the idea of being on an island during the pandemic was weirdly appealing. No people, no traffic, just me and the lighthouse. How hard could it be?”

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Lights Out: Life without Electricity

She didn’t take long to realize that living on the island wasn’t exactly made of sunsets and seagulls. Shortly after she settled into the lighthouse, its submarine cables began to malfunction, cutting its power supplies. For two months, she lived with no electricity, using a very antiquated generator that seemed to have its moods.

“I called him my ‘mechanical nightmare,'” she said. “He’d be fine one minute, then, out of the blue, just decide to throw a fit. I had to learn to replace his starter and can tell by the sound when something isn’t right. It was like having a moody roommate who drank diesel.”

When the generator leaked fuel all over the floor, Desiree had to get creative. Over several days, she cleaned it up with flour and baking soda. “It felt like some weird cooking show where the main ingredient was regret,” she laughed.

Keeping food cold was another problem. Without a fridge, she rotated blocks of ice and used the generator to run her freezer in short bursts. “Every hour of power was like gold,” she said. “I started treating my ice chest like a VIP lounge.”

Nature’s Perks (and Quirks)

But despite the challenges, island life had its rewards. Desiree grew her own vegetables and herbs, watched seals lounging on the rocks, and enjoyed sunsets that seemed to be painted just for her. “It was like living inside a postcard,” she said. There were, however, the less romantic moments. For one, the wind could be relentless. “There were nights I thought the whole island might blow away,” she said. And then there were the birds. “Seagulls are cute until they start stealing your lunch or divebombing you for no reason.” Adding to the uniqueness of her experience was the fact that there were no cars on the island, as it is in America’s First Car-Free Community.

A Bittersweet Goodbye

When her residency ended, Desiree returned to the mainland. But the island still holds a special place in her heart. In a YouTube video documenting her return, she was visibly moved to see the lighthouse buzzing with visitors again. This place will always be home,” she said. “It is not just a lighthouse; it is part of me. Lessons From a Light House Desiree’s year on East Brother Light Station was anything but humdrum. It taught her to persevere and find a way around any kind of problem and how to improvise with whatever may be at hand-flour and baking soda included.

Still, it granted her one thing more: serenity. “If you ever feel too overwhelmed, just live on a small island for a while,” she joked. “You’ll either find yourself-or lose your mind trying.” It just goes to show that sometimes, the best adventures come out of very unexpected opportunities. If anything, it’s proof you don’t need Wi-Fi to make incredible memories. Just a lighthouse, lots of determination, and maybe a grumpy generator.

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