May 23, 2016:
Looking out the RV windows at the lavish vegetation of the Ozark Mountains, I marveled at God’s creation. Both deserts and mountains provide beauty. However, growing up in the arid western section of Texas left me with a supreme appreciation for trees, water, and the color green. Roads through the mountains offered many twists and turn with narrow strips of asphalt and almost no shoulders on either side. Fascination trumped my fears as we traveled up and then down the sides of mountains.
Our motor home has become our home. Although the RV seems huge while driving down the road, it shrinks as a place to live. Surprisingly, we like our new lifestyle. No room for clutter. Nothing extra belongs here. We have no space for dirty clothes. (Does this imply that when clothes get dirty, we throw them away?)
And then. . .suddenly between Branson and Bentonville, Arkansas, systems began to close down. Instead of parking in my first husband’s driveway, which had seemed like such a good idea a few hours earlier, we decided that we had to get to a campsite where we could plug into water, electricity, and sewage.
At that late hour of the day, very few RV camps availed themselves to our needs. Previously, we had been a bit snobbish by refusing to stay at a camp with less than a four-star rating. As I type this, we sit on a site with a single, tiny star. Snobbery slips and slithers away. A quick trip to the dumpster and a walk around the area assures me that we have nothing to fear. As darkness approaches, we discover that even while plugged in, we have no electrical systems. (I seem to recall that this has happened before.) Newly purchased frozen foods drip down the back of the refrigerator screaming for us to eat quickly.
When the RV works, we have a terrific time. When one thing breaks, a ripple effect sweeps through the coach dragging everything down. Should we make it through the night (and we most certainly will), we homeless vagabond grandparents will continue our trek across the USA — or not. Stay tuned.