It was spring 2009 and I was returning to northern California, to the place I’d left two years ago in a frenzy of homesick anxiety. This time I was an intrepid traveler; this time I’d promised to stay for the entire season; this time I was not three thousand miles from home. My home was right there with me.
Becoming acclimated to living in an RV in the country as a whole and doing it solo takes time. Not because of space or lack of it; I’ve always considered the entire outdoors my true home. Not because of unfamiliar surroundings; new places always thrilled me and I’d be excited to explore them as soon as the emergency brake was set.
The concept of “home” was at the heart of the matter. My heart and mind had to take their time wrapping themselves around the idea of my little Winnebago being that special place of refuge, safety, warmth, and familiarity. All those things that signify “home” to so many of us.
So here I was in my sanctuary on six wheels, my tin can home, rambling along Highway 95, north toward Needles, California, a place noted for its needle-like mountain spires. I was battling with 50mph headwinds. It was not ideal. There was so much sand kicking around I thought I was in a fog. It was a grit storm! I drove onward mumbling my salvation mantra, “It’s only temporary! It’s only temporary!”
After a seemingly endless day on the road ( and 300+ miles of wind) I arrived in Bakersfield at Orange Grove RV park, a true haven for the road weary. The swimming pool was calling my name. As soon as I parked among the orange trees I was home and the watery retreat was all mine.
Home is a state of heart and mind!
(aka Tin Can Traveler)