Like most folks, COVID fucked up our plans for 2020. The idea was to move into the van shortly after Jeremy retired from the Navy at the end of January. We would then move to Oregon to work and live on a friend’s hemp farm.
On March 21, 2020, Jeremy drove west to Oregon to drop off his truck before flying back east to my sister’s so we could drive my car and the van to Oregon together. My sweet sister flew up to Virginia to drive my car to her place in Savannah, Georgia while I drove the van.
As we were all driving, the country started shutting down because of COVID. Thankfully, Jeremy was able to fly to my sister’s after dropping his truck off at the farm. Although disappointed because the pandemic thwarted our plans, we were grateful to have a driveway to park in and a place to stay, thanks to my sister.
I absolutely love my sister, so I spent a fair amount of time inside absorbing as much quality sister time as could. Still, I did what I could in the van. In the mornings, I made coffee, and in the evenings, I brushed my teeth before bed. It’s the little things.
Although there were plenty of beds in the house to sleep in, we slept in the van. Moving into the van was our dream, not moving into my sister’s house, and I was not about to let go of that dream because of COVID!
There were also three showers in her house, but I showered with a solar shower (basically a black bag with skinny hose) on a pallet under my niece’s treehouse overlooking the marsh. My mom lives with my sister, and me showering outside drove her crazy.
She asked, “Why don’t you just shower in the house? We have plenty of showers.”
“Because I can’t look at the beautiful marsh if I shower inside.”
Mom would give me a disapproving look (which I’ve become accustomed to over the years), shake her head, and walk off.
Aside from working at the farm, Jeremy and I figured we could get jobs as campground hosts or working in food service because those folks are always needed. Until COVID. Then those folks weren’t needed anymore.
I panicked. Although my family graciously kept us fed, our savings still dwindled because bills. Our job prospects disappeared overnight. I saw a reactor operator job open in Idaho and jokingly applied through Facebook.
Come to find out, I didn’t actually apply through Facebook. Instead, I sent a message to my friend who manages the Facebook group that posted the job. He sent me the link to apply to the job for reals. After careful consideration, I polished my resume, uploaded it to the application, filled out all the information on my resume in the application (along with some other tidbits), and submitted it.
The first interview was over the phone. My sister doesn’t have a landline, the cell service sucks at her place, and so does the internet. During the interview, the call dropped three times. At that point, I expected not to hear back from them in three weeks or less for a second interview. Oh well, I tried.
The spring weather in Savannah is lovely. A light breeze blows in from the marsh, and the temperature and humidity are mild enough to enjoy the outdoors. Although not what we’d hoped for, we enjoyed staying at my sister’s and relished the solitude of her little oasis. That all ended in May.
Spring doesn’t last as long in the South as it does in other places. Once May rolled around, the temperature and humidity forced us indoors. Soon the humidity was so high the cabinet doors in the van swelled and could no longer shut. I wanted to get the fuck out of the South.
My mom’s late husband’s family has a ranch in Wisconsin. She made a bit of a memorial for him out of his old Army jacket and wanted to take it to the ranch. Mom is old. She can’t drive more than a few hours a day. Her plan was to spend five days driving up there, stay for the weekend, and spend another five days driving back.
I’ve been to the ranch before. The cabin sits right next to a lake, and the lake has boats you can take out and great fishing. It’s amazing. The cabin is more of a mansion with its two wings (okay, maybe not a mansion because it’s not that big, but way bigger than what I consider a cabin), and the lake is more like a pond because it’s way smaller than what I consider a lake. Perhaps the person who named these things wasn’t very good at their job.
A trip to Wisconsin sounded way better than dying in the brutal heat and humidity of Savannah, so Jeremy and I volunteered to drive up there with Mom if we only took two days to do it and stayed a week. She agreed, and we arrived at the ranch the first week of June.
Although we’d be staying in the cabin-mansion, Jeremy drove the van to Wisconsin while I rode with Mom because our sweet cat, Oreo, was with us. She hated riding in a car, but in the van, she curled up on Jeremy’s lap, content.
Wisconsin was a dream. The mild weather, isolation, and fishing made us never want to leave. Our one-week stay turned into three.
The deadline to hear back about a second interview for the reactor operator job came and went during those three weeks. Again, I panicked. I began frantically looking for camp hosts jobs because by that time in the pandemic, some things had opened back up. And I found one, not far from where I grew up. We applied for it and got it!
The day after we accepted the campground host position, I got a call to do a second interview for the reactor operator job. Huh.
The cabin-mansion had piss poor internet, so on the day of the interview, Jeremy and I drove the van to town. Parked right next to the Verizon cell tower, I turned my phone into a hotspot and did my second interview. The interview went swimmingly, and they said I should hear back from them in two weeks.
In the meantime, Jeremy and I drove back to Savannah to pack all our shit, drop off Mom, and head to California to be campground hosts. Three days after leaving Wisconsin, and less than a day after arriving in Savannah, we went west.
Somewhere in a Nebraska cornfield, I received the call that I got the reactor operator job! Less than two days later, we were at the campground, cooking bacon and burgers for the 4th of July celebration. The place instantly felt like home.
Our spot was right next to the campground office, so it took me all of 30 seconds to get to work in the morning. I manned the office, taking reservations, checking folks in, and selling ice cream and other whatnots from the camp store.
Jeremy cruised around on a golf cart (lucky!), cleaning up the campground, delivering ice (which he didn’t have to do, but he’s a sweet guy), bullshitting with people, and turning down beers so he was shit-faced by noon.
Unlike a lot of campground host gigs, we got paid in addition to a free spot to live. The job was dreamy, but the folks at the campground made our experience even more wonderful.
The campground had a lot of seasonal folks, meaning they rented out their spot for the entire season, from May to October. Some of the seasonal folks were retired and stayed there throughout the entire season. Other folks still worked and came to the campground on the weekends. We quickly became friends with many of the seasonals.
Many nights, seasonal folks invited us to dinner and drinks. Many mornings, seasonal folks dropped off fresh-caught trout from the lake next to the campground. The weekender seasonal folks brought us fresh-picked vegetables from their home gardens. They made us feel like family.
When we weren’t enjoying life at the campground, we explored what we could on our days off. Trips to Lassen National Park, Redwoods National Park, and southern Oregon, along with fishing local streams and lakes. Our adventure kitty, Oreo, thoroughly enjoyed the excursions as well.
But all good things must come to an end, as they say. Whoever “they” are.
In mid-August, I packed up my car and started the drive towards Idaho to start my new job. Jeremy stayed at the campground to finish out the season, and he joined me in Idaho at the beginning of October. We moved into an apartment and became structure clowns once again.