As I type these words, I’m keeping an eye on my email inbox. I have queried an RV park in California near my sister’s house to see if I might stay there occasionally in the coming year. It’s a very nice park, with manicured lawns and big wide parking pads and a lovely pool. It scores a 10 on the Good Sam website.
And, there are lot of rules. I want to see if The Tiny and I will be welcome there. So when I queried saying that I have a tiny T@B trailer, they asked for pictures. Of course, I sent the most flattering.
All things considered, I’d rather be camping in a national park, with towering redwoods, a view of the ocean, full electrical and water hookups, excellent Internet reception, no pests, and just enough fellow campers to feel safe. Of course, no such site exists. And that’s not what I’m doing here. I’m traveling to visit folks, mainly, with some camping on the side.
I glance again at my inbox. The wait is nerve wracking. Are they discussing my case? Arguing over whether or not we are worthy? Will we be rejected? Accepted? Barely tolerated?
The Tiny and I are leaving our leased spot on the planet where, if we behave ourselves and pay the rent, no one will mess with us, jerk us around, or tell us to leave. It’s a sweet deal, really. But it’s also a safe and non-adventurous deal. And an expensive deal. I’m looking for change.
Another glance. Still nothing. I don’t wish to be so paranoid. I’ll get used to this lifestyle. But I don’t mind feeling the uncertainty this first time, and blogging about it. So much of forward movement depends on living through the moment to moment discomfort of not knowing. Will I get that job? Will I partner up with that person? Will I be OK?
What a marvelous process it is to sit in unknowingness and not give up and and not retreat. Earlier in life, being more brittle and lacking experience, I might have saw the minutes tick by, made up stories about why I might be rejected, and then decide: Oh forget it! Let’s call the whole thing off.
But no. I’ll sit here until I get a response, or until the time for meeting my friends and dog walking has arrived, whichever comes first.
This is the life of a nomad. I was just thinking earlier today how much I’m taking to this idea of claiming a spot in the universe for a few days or a week or a month. But that was before I took this first chance of being rejected.
Another question: Will the allow me to put up my awning and create the “front porch” environment I thrive on? That would be deal breaker for me.
I know that if I had 2018 40-foot RV that cost me $200,000, I would be so very welcome. They might even roll out a red carpet for me. Of course, I totally understand their concern for not having old raggedy rigs in the park.
Most parks have many rules. For instance, RVs older than 10 years old are often not allowed. At this park, they request to see images if the RV is older than 10 years old. Mine is 10 years old. And the fact that I have no bathroom other than a porta potty might also exclude me. I have to respect the owners. It cannot be easy to run such a place.
My heart goes out to people who buy an older RV and fix it up and then find out they are excluded from so many places because of the 10-year rule. And maybe they don’t care. Maybe they will be camping on Bureau of Land Management areas where there are no such regulations. And no fees.
For me, right now, I want a small shady spot in their lovely park where I can do my work in the morning, and then go visit with my sister and other relatives in the area, take my dog on some nice walks, and return to cook dinner and gather myself together.
I hope they accept me. I accept them. Time to walk the dog. Once I get my verdict, I’ll go from there.
Update: The park never responded via email. So I called and spoke with them. They were very nice. I would be welcome there. They don’t want me using my Porta Potty, though, as they have a very nice bath block available. I’ll check back with them in a few months when I’m in the area, and we’ll make our arrangements. Already, I’m feeling more in the groove of my upcoming new lifestyle. And if this place doesn’t work out, another one will. That seems to be the consensus of those who have gone before me. Find the place that’s right for me. It’s out there.