I recently vacationed in an Arkansas RV park. Back home in Cook County, winter continued its icy grip, but in the Ozarks, trees were green, hordes of birds fluttered and chirped in the trees and herons fished in the White River, a stones’ throw away from our RV site. It was lovely.
The RV life fits me like a glove, and I regret Dick and I didn’t start sooner. However, it’s not for everyone. If you’re considering the idea of taking an RV vacation and wondering how you’d like it, this column might help you make that decision. Here are my suggestions.
You must be a snoop: Not in a serious way, but in a heightening-of-awareness way. For example, one morning I noticed that my neighbor put on fancier clothes than she normally wore, hopped in her vehicle and along with a friend disappeared for most of the day.
Observing this, as we sat at our picnic table, lazing away the day, I told Dick, “They must be out shopping. They wouldn’t dress like that to go fishing.”
He gave a non-committal answer and continued observing the eagle flying across the river. He calls my curiosity “snooping.” I think of it as being inquisitive.
When my neighbor returned, I couldn’t help but ask if she had been at an arts and crafts show I’d heard about but never found. She hadn’t but was only too happy to give me the details of some cute little shops she and her friend found.
People in the RV life are pretty laid-back and casual, and the atmosphere is relaxed. People come and go. Arrive and depart. Walk their dogs. Stop and chat. And snoop. At least I do.
You must be able to remember names or become very creative: When we arrived at the park, the people next door popped over and introduced themselves and their little poodle. When they left, I frantically asked Dick. “Do you remember their names?”
“Uhh. Not really. I think he’s Jim.”
“What about her?”
“I’m drawing a blank.”
“I think the poodle’s name was Chloe.”
After a lot of head-scratching, we ended up calling them Mr. and Mrs. Poodle, desperately trying to catch their names but never did. This happened with many people we met, so we began nicknaming them.
By the end of our stay, we had met “The Cowboy”…” Snowbal l’s Owner” (Snowball was a large yellow Lab)… “The Boston Terrier’s Owners”… “The Highway Patrol” and one couple we simply called “The Old People.”
I had the sneaking suspicion that everyone else was in the same boat. Again, RV life is relaxed so–no big problem.
You must learn to love wood ticks. This was a bit difficult for me. I’m not a fan of parasites, so when Mr. Poodle mentioned ticks on his poodle, I blanched and begged Dick to search Mr. Magoo’s fur.
Yes indeedy. There was the little fellow, happily traveling over hair shafts, looking for a good anchoring spot. Dick dispensed with the vile little tick, and all was well.
Until the next time we walked Mr. Magoo. And the next time. Face it. It was a banner wood tick year, and the good thing is that I finally overcame my impulse to scream at the sight of one and calmly called Dick to give it the coup de grace. I call this a new level of maturity and deem it to be another plus for the RV life.
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