Camping

Location is everything

(why I’ve been AWOL for a while)

I’ve long thought the appeal of camping is that it’s like playing house. It removes us from the mundane where everything works ...like dishwashers, closets, manageable beds, toilets, sinks, coffee makers...the very structure of a regular day in a house…it’s all there when we need it. We needn’t think about how the house remains upright or where the water and electricity come from. So, we’re free to get wrapped up in work, politics or social life. Not so when camping.

When camping we build and rebuild our home from the ground up every time we break and set up. Even with a camper trailer – that little home on wheels – that we hook up to a vehicle to haul to our next adventure. We set it up, tear it down each time we move. Nothing is taken for granted and nothing happens fast. We hook up electricity and water, even sewage. Oh yes, we determine how and where our shit goes. Cooking is indoors or outdoors, so is eating and cleaning up. And it must all be contained in small, orderly spaces. Chaos ensues quickly if order is not maintained. And, of course, dogs must be tied up to avoid ugly interactions with neighbors. All this is worth it when we’re camping in some beautiful, remote and wooded place by a river. We had that joyful experience for three days this summer – three out of the ten we were supposed to be relaxing in the great outdoors while contractors were working on our house. It was such a good plan...

It all started with the fires that burned out our first reserved campground so we spent two days in trailer parks where we could hear our neighbors fart and their dogs snarl at ours when they weren’t buttoned up in their air-conditioned mobile mansions. After that, we managed to find a gorgeous place on a pristine mountain river for three glorious days before we had to vacate that place and go to Spokane, WA!

If you haven’t been living in a cave you now know that Spokane has been half consumed by tragic wildfires. We spent two days there as the fires spread, waiting with friends for the evacuation order that, fortunately for them, never came. We left Spokane and, in our attempt to honor the deal with our contractors that we’d be gone while they’re working, we sought campgrounds between that ill-fated city and our Island home. But nada...there was nothing free from the risk of fire. So we went home to the wreckage that is construction. Our yards were buried in debris, our deck removed, chimney gone...and no access to inside the house.

That put us in our tiny camper in our driveway – great for outdoor adventures – not great for daily life. My husband, our 50-pound dog and I are now living in 133 square feet of space. With the queen-sized bed, cupboards, full kitchen, bath and a couch, there’s about 40-some SF of floor space to handle the table I must erect to work on, the dog bed and...movement from one spot to another. Yes, it is well appointed and we’re lucky to have it. BUT...camping in the great wilderness is a whole lot different from LIVING in a driveway...at Home.

The poor dog does not understand why she can’t go inside the house or why her favorite yard is crowded with sawhorses, buzz saws and debris. And she’s not allowed to bark at the intruders marching back and forth beside her tiny home all day long. She’s taken to nightmares, that make her wake, whine and nose-poke me at two-hour intervals. My retired husband is trapped on the bed all day unless he decides to cook and/or take another stroll around the same block he rounded yesterday and the day before. I can do my work on the table that consumes half the movement space, sliding it out when the ‘ traffic ‘clears, every time I need to get a drink or take a walk, aiming to avoid sending everything flying off said table. The upside of it is that nothing can go very far when it sails off and everything is plastic.

My morning routine, formerly an hour, now takes two. Like everything else in trailer life, it takes twice as long as it should.

We are hooked up to electrical power from our house, so lights, pumps, etc. all work. The 2-foot square shower works fine as long as I don’t drop the soap or use up too much of our allotted 30 gallons of fresh water per day. (Note: the average American uses 70 gallons of water per day for indoor activities.) It’s definitely a spray-soap-rinse activity...no lingering hot showers, and there’s no risk of falling, just sliding down the wall into a crumpled, wet heap on the floor.

Sewer! Oboy, this is a revelation. We can poop and pee in the camper toilet as much as we want, but we have to monitor the ‘black’ water tank (which also holds 30 gallons) ‘cause if it overflows we’ll be swimming in our own shit. Sounds like a metaphor for life.

All this has created a few new daily routines...like flushing the poop tank through a 10-foot long-reticulated hose every night – we call it ‘date night.’ We also refill the fresh water, take out the day’s trash, air out the dog (and ourselves), and dream of anything we can do the next day to get out of the trailer...with the dog. This definitely wasn’t the best time to quit drinking.

Yet...we are ‘getting away from it all’ in our driveway staycation — as in all things convenient. As long as we can refrain from chewing each other up (We’re learning things about each other’s personal habits that no couple should share.), we’ll survive this temporary situation. The truth is we are darn lucky to have this option, to have a house that needs repair and an alternative living space while it gets a facelift. Our problems are those of the privileged. And our home will be beautiful when it’s done, hopefully, before we die.

Mansions on Wheels-our neighbors in RV parks

Our tiny home…in a happy place