Here among the pines in this southwest campground, the afternoon energy is beginning to rise. The morning was a quiet exodus of trailers and motorhomes and overhead truck campers getting on with their journeys. Some had been here a few days, and many just overnight. You see them pulling in just about dark or even after dark, maneuvering their rigs into back-in or drive-through sites, or pitching tents in the dark. They lower the steps, put out a rug, walk the dog, and retreat into their private realm. By early morning, they are gone. Some who are camping a few days have gone off to visit tourist attractions or natural wonders, and will be back this evening.
By 10 a.m. or so, the flow ceases, and a quiet descends upon the camp. The staff are relieved of their duties at the front desk checking people in or out, and they move about the campground cleaning restrooms, gardening, or doing maintenance.
You wonder about the campers who are left. Some are here on a vacation that lasts more than a weekend. They read or rest or nap. The come to be restored. A couple with a teardrop said they are here at this mountain camp to escape the heat of their city for a few days.
Some are clearly living here full time, or at least living in their motorhome or trailer full time, and you can sense the heaviness of their site, the solidity of their perch. Some have built aprons around their trailers or motorhomes. Many have protected their tires and windshields from the hot sun. Weeds grow around potted plants.
Before I began this traveler’s life, I had negative judgements about those who live full time in recreational vehicles. Even the name of the abode — recreational — tells you they are not meant for living, but for outings and vacations. We expect people to maintain a home, to have permanent neighbors, to pay property taxes, to be hooked into the municipal water and sewage system. It seemed to me that anyone who lived in an RV was deficient in some way, unable or unwilling to bear the burdens of polite society.
Who am I to judge? Times are rough for many of us. Coming up with the first and last month’s rent for an apartment or house is not easy. The RV life is a way to live for many. And way better than the streets.
But after joining a 10,000-member Facebook group for those who live full-time in their RVs, I started to understand the satisfaction this kind of lifestyle can bring. Most full-timers have fond memories of selling their homes, often referred to as “sticks and bricks,” and getting rid of most of their stuff. Very few rent storage units. They want a clean break from home- and stuff-ownership. These mostly happy people travel with the weather, to visit family and grandkids, or to music festivals or RV events. Some are retired. Some are military who move a lot. Some are young families bored already with the thought of living their lives in one place.
Later in the afternoon, the overnight or weekend campers pull in. You hear the massive diesel pushers, or the turbo fueled trucks favored by young fathers. A couple in a Harley-Davidson pulled in across the way. They are from Alberta, Canada, and are pulling one of those trailers that expand into a tent that I’ve been admiring. They are headed south a bit before turning back home.
Next to them, a young woman in a wildly painted rented camper van pulled in with a child. Around the corner, a couple who are car camping got a site right next to the laundry room where I spent some time this afternoon. I would not camp in a tent just 10 feet from the door to a busy laundry room. But some people are more accepting than I am.
The energy will continue to vibrate as evening comes. While only 1/3 of the sites are now filled, I suspect 2/3 of them will be by nightfall. On the weekend, 90% or more will be full. Friday afternoon and evening are when the weekend families arrive. Some of their cars and trailers look new and barely used. You can tell they have a house somewhere, probably with a nicely trimmed lawn and freshly painted window trim. The joy of the kids tumbling out into the nature of the camp can make you feel happy.
Saturday is the day of activities, of hiking and biking and kayaking and swimming, based on what’s available in the area. Saturday night is campfires and barbecues and portable outdoor screens playing kids movies.
Sunday is mostly a day of departure. Some families leave early, and some later. You look up as you wonder how they are doing, and the site is empty. But Sunday afternoon, we’ll be back to the quiet of the long timers, and the travelers who will pull in as the day ends.
And Monday morning, we’ll start all over again.