A Camper for Thanksgiving

 An excerpt from, Escaping The Despondent Sea book 1-

Thanksgiving drew near, with the leaves finally changing; late in the city due to the impact of concrete, asphalt, condensed populous, sewer gases and automobiles.

We walked around town quite a bit but especially now, enjoying the fall air, and the colors of the leaves blowing away from the trees.

We happened upon a small camper that was put up for sale after a member of their family had passed away. It was a Little Gem, made in Grand Rapids back in 1963.

The camper door was open, when we walked by it at eleven o’clock that night so, we went inside to look around.

We sat at the dining table with our mixed drinks, (vodka and grapefruit), getting a feel for it, while taking pleasure in our little hiding spot.

It was reminiscent of something we did as kids, back where I grew up- pool hopping at night when no one was home.

The sign in the window conveyed that they only wanted four hundred dollars.

Since we were getting hassled by Richard for being together, we saw it as an Opportunity to move somewhere else, living in the camper.

Sandy had lived in a cube van that was set up as a camper when Richard was a little boy, defecating on paper plates or in buckets, as an alternative to not having a bathroom or plumbing.

The camper was taken by the man she had been living in it with, when he broke off the relationship with her for another woman, causing for Richard to be taken by his father.

Sandy then turned to staying with friends, living with elderly persons she cared for. And, living in shacks in the mountains and desert, where water had to be hauled in from hundreds of miles away.

Living the life of a gypsy may have been the reason for Richard’s animosity towards his mother.

Living in the camper with me was very appealing to her since she was accustomed to living on the rough side of existence.

What appealed to me was to be out of the city, away from people who find pleasure in involving themselves in everyone else’s business but their own.

We decided to buy it, and went back the next day to secure it.

Salih had been providing me with work since the log cabin job with Dan Doyle had ended abruptly. His wife had a van that she was trying to sell at the time, which I bought for about three hundred and fifty dollars.

The idea was that I would use the van to haul the camper with but She had sabotaged the vehicle by slicing the serpentine belt with a razor, just enough to weaken it.

The problem was that it was broken at some point after I started driving it, leaving the motor and accessories to drain on the battery that was apparently already weak. The next time I tried to start it, I found that the battery was dead, and the belt was gone.

Sandy and I walked up to an AutoZone store on Fuller Avenue to have the battery tested and get a belt.

Who knows if the battery was any good, of course, the person who was selling batteries told us that it was not.

We walked back from the store, with the battery and belt, taking small breaks every block or so along the two-mile trip- kept elated with the thought of the day Sandy and I would finally have enough money saved for the camper, planning on the big day when we would be able to move away from the drama that wasn’t, entirely, our own.

Richard’s wife, Angie, would continue to taunt her mother-in-law by keeping the kid, and herself, too busy for Sandy to have any time with her grandchild.

Hiring a Babysitter to watch the child was especially grating since Sandy was there waiting for the opportunities to arise, as they had been Promised.

The day finally came when I got paid from Salih. We could pick up the camper and bring it to the house to prepare for living in.

That evening, around dinnertime, Sandy and I were inside the camper, celebrating the outlook on our new Independence, with a drink, and thinking of the new living situation.

Thanksgiving was ten days away. We had been investigating various RV parks, discussing the pros and cons of each one and, had just smoked a joint, when Richard and Angie knocked on the door.

Richard was smiling and seemed to be in a good mood. His hand went to his face as if he had a tear to wipe away, informing his mother of a phone call, relaying to her that her sister had just now passed away of Liver Cancer.

He tried covering the smile as it widened, having difficulty concealing it.

He had a hard time resisting a chuckle as he spoke.

It was a pain he felt she deserved, and he was laughing at her despair.

It seemed he was taking advantage of the in-your-face punishment.

A person could possibly perceive it to be dealt to Sandy by Jehovah.

The money we had been saving, for our season payment at the RV Park, would come in handy. It helped make it so that she could fly out.

There was money coming in from another two weeks of work to make up for it.

She got on the phone that evening to make arrangements for a flight, which happened to be two days before Thanksgiving- and the day before we were to make our move with the camper.

What she would find is that it was a waste of effort on her part since the sister’s daughters were now getting a bit of money from it, and proved to be ungrateful, and unreachable as far as uniting the family. Truly selfish they were, causing a great deal of grief for Sandy to endure.

We drove to the airport, where I waited with her until she could board her flight.

The plan was that I would move the camper to the River Pines Camp and RV Park the next day.

When she boarded the airplane, I returned to the house.

Contemplated my options, I considered calling my mother while on my way back from the airport, to explain how I needed to move the camper.

It wasn’t going to be easy for me to ask her but I had no other person to ask.

She was accustomed to hauling her large horse trailer. I knew it wouldn’t be difficult for her.

The more to it was, that I didn’t feel confident that my van would pull it. Don’t ask me why I had that feeling but something told me it wasn’t going to work.

Trusting my intuition, and setting aside my pride, I called my mom to help.

Mom came out with her boyfriend, Tom, and hooked the “Little Gem” up to her truck.

It made sense to stash the quarter ounce of weed I had, inside a panel near the wheel-well, along the foot of the bed, so that if we got pulled over for some reason, it would not be found- just in case I had a warrant for child support, again.

We took the most direct and inconspicuous route, which was M-45, all the way out to Allendale, turning north on 60^th Avenue, where an intersecting road leads to The River Pines Campground and RV Park.

The RV Park was nestled in some very tall pines, and had a pretty nice pond out front near the road.

We checked in at the manager’s office and found our way to the site to place the camper, having chosen the site closest to the bathhouse because of the convenience of the washroom and laundry facilities.

It didn’t take long to drop it off, and, within minutes my mother and Tom returned to their home just eight miles back toward Grand Rapids, in Marne.

The next thing I needed to do was, go right over to Arek and Ruth’s house to surprise them with the news that I am living two miles away from them. [expand on Arek]

Some time after my mother had left, I was working at hooking the electricity up to the camper. The cord extended just short of my connection point.

No problem, I just backed my van up to the camper, attached the ball to the hitch, and lowered the weight of the camper onto it.

After backing it up to where I needed it, the Park Manager, Jerry, came cruising up on his little utility golf cart to see how I was fairing.

We discussed a bit about the park, with him making particular mention of the strict five-mile per hour park speed limit.

He zipped away on his cart at fifteen miles an hour while I returned to unhooking the camper from my van.

What I found was that the weight of the camper had collapsed the Reese hitch assembly, folding it down as if it were tinfoil.

The rust had taken over and eaten the steel almost entirely. The only thing that was holding it together was the paint and the rust that hadn’t been cracked apart.

Now, it hung like a wet noodle, and, if I would have been relaxed about it, I may have been able to see it being blown slightly by the wind.

That may be a bit cynical. The hitch maintained just enough integrity for me to stand on it but if I were another five pounds I’d have need to be treated for a laceration.

What occurred to me was that my intuition in calling my mother to move it was correct, yet I had no idea that the hitch was no good. And it hadn’t even dawned on me, when I had to pound the tongue into the receiver with a maul.

It was my first hitch and my first camper- never had any experience with towing.

The Cops were the ones who always towed stuff for me.

One of the things I have been searching for years for is, information to gain a better understanding of ESP and the paranormal. It’s been more of a subconscious effort than anything but my conscious curiosity and experiences keep motivating that search.

Anyway, my drinking wasn’t a problem at the time of moving in to the park, mostly due to having no one to wrestle with for ‘who’s got more in theirs.’ And it’s funny, I don’t recall scraping the bong either but I also didn’t recall stashing a sack of grass in the camper.

The Nature was Magnificent, at River Pines.

There were very, very few to no leaves left on the trees.

It was pretty windy the next day, as I climbed from the camper to soak up the sun of the morning.

Grabbing a cup of coffee from my campfire, I strolled out toward the river to check out the wildlife.

As I walked, there were Sand-hill Cranes standing here and there.

Bits of rabbit fur were lying about in quite a few places, looking like a hunting ground for something or other.

There were two Bald Eagles flying in the area, which happened to be over the flood plains and bayous.

There were plenty of areas to fish from around here.

I suspected the eagles as being the hunters, feasting on the rabbits, and that a nest must be somewhere nearby.

The river, itself, could not be reached on foot because of the nature of the swampy area outstretched beyond the bayou. Oh well, I was satisfied with the wildlife anyway.

It was time to get back to the camper and be off to work.

As the day progressed, I told my friend, Joe Grimminck, all about the new digs.

He was pumped about coming out after work to check the place out. We made a plan to get some beer and hang out at the campsite, and since it was Friday, he planned to camp out for the night.

When we got out to the campsite, with our thirty pack of beer, we went out back to explore the bayou a little bit.

Sitting on the bank, smoking a bowl, Joe spotted an otter that was floating on it’s back with some food he had found. It was an exciting thing for Joe, who had been out of the city very little.

A short time went by, when Joe suggested we go back to the camper, and, to make a campfire to sit around while knocking back some brews.

I tried to tell him that it was too windy but he set right to gathering wood from a row of trees that separated the adjoining westward field.

It was a bit windy but what the heck. I had to give Joe the real camp treatment- we just had to watch the fire closely.

Watching the fire closely was a pretty big job because the winds whipped up the flames, making the fire bigger.

Sparks were being sent into the air by the heat as it intensified, helped along by the wind.

Huge pieces of burning debris were being blown everywhere, causing for the leaves to catch fire and be blown into more leaves that had been piled up by the winds, where branches on the ground had grabbed them, holding them down in masses.

After running around, stomping them out in a panic, we got some water to put on the fire, knocking it down quite a bit.

My hopes were, that everyone was too occupied with their own affairs to have been watching the new guys try to light the forest on fire.

Joe never heard me say, “I told you so.”

After having about four beers, Joe wanted to make his bed near, what was left of the fire.

I tried to tell him that it wasn’t a good idea to sleep by the fire with the winds blowing as hard as they were because embers being blown about could set his clothing on fire.

He didn’t care. It was his desire to do it Cowboy Style, like in the movies he had seen.

It was pointless to argue with him, if that was what he wanted to do. He was going to do it anyway.

Joe said he would watch the fire. And, I went inside the camper to sit at the table, and to reflect on my day- an excuse to drink until I was ready to pass out.

The next day reminded me how windy it was during the night.

Beer cans were scattered all across the grounds, all the way past the tree line, which was fifty yards away. Most of them were stopped from blowing into the field by the remains of a fence and the weeds. The rest were over a hundred-fifty yards away, falling just short of the wall the forest made along the west and north sides of the field.

I picked up over four dollars in cans, matching up with the thirty-pack we drank, and what was left of the second one.

[This was an average night of drinking- one to two thirty packs of 5.9 percent alcohol by volume. At this rate a guy (me), can drink about four hundred and fifty bucks a month. That was taking into consideration, the beers Joe drank, and, that my average, alone, is thirty. Let’s not forget smokes and weed, which would be another two hundred and fifty bucks a month, for a total of approximately seven hundred dollars a month.

Strangely enough, that’s about how much money people get from the government who are receiving Social Security and other compensations- like monies for Native American peoples. So, you can see where it would be cost effective to grow your own “smokables” and brew your own Hooch.

Just food for thought for the underachievers in your life because this needs to be said by someone, and I know, for a fact, that unless they’re using this for study materials in prison or rehab, they aren’t reading squat except for…

Oh whom am I kidding? I don’t care what they read. Many of them spend their reading time trying to figure out how to “get down” on someone.

As far as I’m concerned, at this very moment I write, I am “getting down” on them by not sharing what little knowledge, or understanding, I have.

Now, if they search for it, that’s different.

Knowing stuff isn’t for everyone. It’s for sharing with your children, loved ones, your team members- whoever they are.

That makes me sound a bit dictatorial but you can only share knowledge with those you are bound by moral obligation to, and to those who seek it in earnest. Or, reconsidering the options, share with those who can evade the bullets- and the dogs.

Where was I before my display of disgust for my, so-called, fellow man, and for my foolish desires, motivations, concerns with the prison environment that I am forced into… the cost of existence when you are consuming all of the things that keep you in the maze, frittering your life away while working to replace them on a daily basis, and, never getting anywhere in life accept the poor house, which happens to come with a tell-lie-vision. That way, you won’t miss “the big game.”]

Shortly after cleaning up the mess, Joe and I were having a cup of coffee, while watching the northern section of the property, when we saw an Eagle flying over the trees to the right of the trail that led to the bayou. It was carrying a large stick in its talons.

Joe explained how Eagles are constantly building onto their nests, and that they will occupy them for a very long time.

As he spoke, the Eagle flew westward.

The area the Eagle flew towards was the forest that lined the corner of the field where I had just picked the cans up.

As I scanned the top of those leafless trees, I backed up to the camper, watching for a change in the direction it was flying in as I went feeling my way for my binoculars- grabbing them and zeroing in on the Eagle.

Then, I looked at the treetops for a sign.

Through the limbs, there was a dense looking area where a bunch of branches came together in one spot. I had found the Eagle’s nest!

The nest was the largest nest I had ever seen, the size of an upside down Volkswagen Beetle.

As I marveled at the sight of the nest, the bird flew around it, landing on the edge of it.

Just then, a head popped up. There were two! It was a functioning mated couple, and, it explained the pieces of animal fur that were scattered all over the morass around the perimeter of the bayou- (handing the binoculars to Joe so he could view the sight).

At that moment, Jerry cruised up on his golf cart- stopping, and getting out.

He wanted to know why we tried burning the woods down last night, exclaiming that we needed to be more careful with the fire pit.

After apologizing for it, I quickly tried to hand him the spyglass to see the Eagle, mostly to take the subject control away from him, and schmooze him over a little bit.

Jerry said that he had seen them before, that they were planted out here by the DNR as a rebuilding project, and, that there was a nest somewhere nearby that he has been unable to find.

Offering him the spyglass again, while I explained that he could see the nest pretty easily.

He snapped his head around to look where I pointed, saying that he had been here for years trying to find it.

His comment that I had come to find it in two days revealed a bit of animosity, and, didn’t help in building a good report with him. I sensed my troubles were already beginning with this man. And, between the speed limit, forest fire, and now, the eagle, my fate was almost certainly sealed.

Great. Wait until Sandy gets here. The rumors are sure to fly when they see us together. And they did.