My parents had an old camper they kept in the yard of our old home in the 80’s. Our home sat in front to the left of a decent plot of land. Probably an acre with little outcrops of dilapidated buildings, old cars and random finds my stepfather would bring home. Tom liked to collect things. I imagine if he wasn’t driving back and forth from California to Piedmont on long truck hauls he might’ve had time to play with his things he’d bring home.

Man do I get that vibe.

I would go out in the yard and build things with his discarded finds or shoot my BB gun at them. We had a basketball goal at the very end of the property that sat in front of an old high grass covered corn row that usually stopped the basketball from getting away. Should it bounce over you’d sink into the soft dirt as you tried to climb over it. Weeds brushing my face as thorns dragged their nails down my legs. We had two old mercury comets that sat side by side in the backyard that I would practice kicking a football between the them. I had teenage dreams of being a place kicker that would carry me away to college to get the fuck out of Piedmont. I recall kicking about a 40 yarder right between the uprights in front of one my high school coaches during gym class that got an eyebrow raise and then I never got my college phone call.

We had an old camper that resided in our backyard. I’m not sure of it’s original intention I don’t think we ever took it camping. Tom had an off grid trailer located on his property in Westminster woods. I never liked that trailer or camping there but now I visualize a similar setup in my future. Small plot of land with a cabin or off grid storage container to have my own little getaway.

I’m tangenty today

The little camper looked exactly what you’d think a 70’s camper would look like. Retro colored lines down the side, corrugated aluminum, dented all to shit, heaving spring awning on the front where the dinette/ spare bed sat. It leaked like a sieve, I spent several of my hot morning summer days tarring the cracks or tying a lightweight tarp over it when the tar stopped tarring. I’m sure I’m still recovering from the mold I inhaled in there. Full size bed and bunk on the other side. One wall held the tiny press wood kitchenette with its retro colored counter top while the other housed a closet and a tiny bathroom that never worked and was never used.

The camper was my bedroom for one winter with my two brothers. We had a space heater that probably kept the camper from turning to ice. It was never warm in there I’d wake up with iced snot from sticking my head under the covers all night. My mom would walk out in the morning in her house coat and bang on the aluminum door to wake us up. I’d be the first one out. I’d grab a quilt and lie by the kerosene heater in the hallway to warm up while my mother made breakfast.

When people make the assumption that I came from money these are the first memories that pop into my head.

Man you have no fucking clue.

Once my brothers moved out the trailer was moved to the back of our yard and I had it all to myself during the summer. Our home was a hostel for siblings the population would fluctuate depending on who was currently unemployed or out of school. Often times it was just my mother and I and then two months later it would be 6 of us.

I’d have to say it was the summer after my father’s death that I started to sleep in the camper by myself so that puts me at 14. Adolescence was turning me into a teenager rapidly and I started sprouting my own independent wings. There was no such thing as privacy in that home the only doors with locks led to the outside. I would find all of Tom’s extension cords and tie them all together into one long 200 foot drop cord so I could power up the camper. The AC was ice cold, I’d throw a quilt over me while I read comics and shuffled cassette tapes in my jam box. I was often times depressed in Piedmont but for some reason I managed to escape from some of that in the camper.

Solitude suited me.

I was in need of some privacy.

I was happy in that camper

Literally a happy camper.

It would take a couple of more summers before the roof of that camper to finally give in and collapse. By that time I was driving and able to escape Piedmont in a different way. Once I got my license that camper was soon forgotten.

But

Man did it dig its fucking nails into my soul.

The camper was an escape from my childhood.

It planted the biggest of seeds

I went ten to twelve years before I camped again, in a tent off a random Colorado trail in the Rockies. A month long trip that changed the trajectory of my life. Real adult solitude. A two person tent I bought for that trip, nomadic lifestyle, resting my soul for what would be a long 25 plus years of chaos and drunken comas.

I’d put that memory to sleep once again for about two decades.

Reality always seems to stick its tongue out at me.

Then I bought my truck and insisted a camper be installed on it immediately back in 2019.

And here we are.

Life sometimes, ties your shoestrings for you.

Trail markers have followed me around my whole life. You sit still long enough you’ll remember them.

I’m tying this quickly to make a quick connection. It all leads up to this trip next week.

Summer nights in that old camper planted the seeds for my long transformation four decades later.

It jolted me again ten years later. I’d take almost a month off to acclimate with nature in Colorado. My first real solo camping experience. It was a calling.

Here I am again exactly 30 years later.

Same month.

That light in my head has been directing the show on this one. It planted the seed last year before I went to Michigan. Maybe it was on my trip I can’t recall.

Maybe it all builds up to this? I’m careful not to overdo the meaning of this trip. It’s not meant to be authored as a pilgrimage.

Let’s not overdo it.

But

That goddam light is shining and it keeps getting brighter this week. To the point of distraction.

I’m anxious.

I can feel a shift.

A connection separated by decades. Knotting those shoestrings together.

That’s all.

Peace.