We said goodbye to Kimberly in Vidalia, LA. Kimberly is the first solo woman RV traveler I met. It amazes me that with all the traveling Bob and I did, I never noticed any solo women until I met her. We met her and her sweet dog fittingly named “Sweetie” in the Teton several years ago at an Escapees Hangout Bob had talked me into going to. He said we’d make travel friends. I wasn’t feeling it, but went along, and holy cow, what an impact that decision made!

Kimberly was parked next to us at the Hangout. She was very friendly, and Bob loved Sweetie. We became good friends quickly. Kimberly recalled recently how Bob had to work at winning Sweetie’s affection, as Sweetie wasn’t terribly fond of men. He fed her a lot of bites of hamburger, and Sweetie finally decided she loved him. I often thought that Bob liked dogs more than he liked people.

If it wasn’t for Kimberly, I know I would not be on this trip. We met Christine and Debbie at that Hangout too, but Kimberly was the one who prodded us to travel together at first. We wound up meeting her at Rusty’s RV Park (where Christine and I are headed) in New Mexico and going to another Hangout with her in Baja, Mexico.

Bob loved Kimberly, as he did the other women we travel with. We were quite a combo. Bob and the ladies. Bob and Kimberly shared an affinity for making up stories about people they see. Kimberly has picked up her game since Bob left us. Bob’s stories were a little more “fruity,” shall I say; Kimberly’s are quite imaginative. We all laugh about how Bob liked to sit in his bed at Rusty’s, look out of his window with his binoculars and keep tabs on everyone in the park.

The day before we left Vidalia , I spent some time reading reviews about our next stop, an RV Music Park in Woodville, Texas. I started feeling apprehension. I read that the park is many miles into the forest. Deep into the forest sounded scary to me. Like a creepy fairy tale.

Writing about it now, it seems crazy, but also important to admit. I grew up in a suburb of Chicago, lived in an urban suburb for many years, then moved to California and lived in the country for many years. I love quiet, dark places. I love nature. I love the country. But my city-girl part still gets scared by the people who live in those places because they seem so unfamiliar, so different to me. I get the feeling that I am not safe.

I read about the almost three mile bumpy private dirt road that led into the park. I told Debbie I was nervous about it. She said “just go slow.” I realize that she thought I was worried about driving on the road. I wasn’t worried about that. I was worried about going deep into the forest where it felt unsafe. I guess I was wanting her to say something like “Oh no, that’s scary as hell! Maybe we shouldn’t go!” Clearly, she did not share my apprehensions. I wanted to argue and tell her why she should feel scared too, but when I looked into her eyes, that seemed like a dumb idea. Why would I want her to be scared like me?

Christine and I left River View RV Park in Vidalia, LA, caravanning together. Debbie was already on her way. We said goodbye to Kimberly, as she left for home. We had a few delays along the way. I started worrying that the sun would go down and that we would have to ride down the dirt road into the scary forest in the dark. 

Christine was in the lead. When we were about two hours away, it became clear to me that her navigation was taking her a different way that was longer. We have Garmin GPS systems that are made for RVers. You enter the size and weight of your rig, and it helps you avoid places that you shouldn’t go. Because Christine’s rig is bigger, it may take her on a different route. She called me and pointed that out. She said she was going to continue to follow her navigation, but that I could go the other way if I wanted to get there faster. I said “no I’m sticking with you” but what I wanted to say was “HELL NO! Don’t make me go into the scary forest on my own!” 

More delays… we hit some construction and we were crawling. Farther down, they were working on the road and we were stopped for ten minutes. We were heading straight west and the sun (that was quickly setting) was blinding me. Finally, just before sunset, we got to the private scary road into the forest.

We went slow. It was bumpy and dusty and getting dark. (The upcoming photos were taken later, during the day.) We came upon this sign almost immediately after turning onto the road:

Debbie, who was already there, texted us that there was a funny sign on the road. We learned later, from Anna, a young woman who helps run the park, that the owner loves funny signs. Seeing this sign took my fear down a notch. As we went along, we saw more signs:

And my favorite:

When we got to the park, Debbie was waiting for us. The place was funky. It looked disorganized. There were old and new rigs, sheds, ATVs, scattered about. Debbie led us to our site, and holy cow, backing into my space was going to be difficult. Christine and Debbie have motor homes, which makes backing in easier, because, like Christine said, “It’s like backing in a car.” Backing a trailer in is a whole different animal. My site was oddly shaped and the approach to it was confusing to me. I had a lot, a lot, a lot of trouble.

It became clear that I couldn’t get the damned thing in, and just as I was beginning to panic, I see Christine marching over to this older,  bearded rural type guy who is parked near us. I heard her say: “Do you know how to back trailers in?” She explains to him that Kimberly, the friend that has a trailer and was good at helping me, was on her way home, and because they have motorhomes, they aren’t good at advising me. 

He comes over to me to direct me. I tell him that I recently lost my husband and this is my first time out by myself. The guy, Charlie, as we came to find out, was meticulous in his directions. “Turn sharp, now just a little, straighten up, go forward again, the next time you’ll be in there.” He had a calm, comforting, quiet, assuring voice. He didn’t offer to back it in for me, which I appreciated. Some men in these situations just want to take over. I followed his directions and I was in. 

I thanked him profusely. He told us he was there hunting. That he and his son and daughter-in-law, and their kids are staying in that trailer. They come here on the weekends to hunt. He said they had 400 acres of land close by and it is deer season. I thought he said his daughter-in-law had killed a hog today. Not sure if I got that right. Before he left us, he said “If you need anything at all, I am right there. Come get me.” He repeated it several times. All the fear I had been fighting all day vanished. 

Suddenly, this place was not scary. The people were not scary. They bent over backwards to be friendly. They wanted to help me. Helpers, so many of them. Yes, there some bad people out there, but Charlie is not one of them, and most people, maybe even all people I’ve met on this trip are not one of them.

I am troubled by the divide in our country. I see clearly that if I allow myself to see people who are different, have different political beliefs, have different ideas about how to make things better, as “other” or “evil” or “stupid,” I am participating in creating the divide. One of the goals of this trip is to learn about people, try to understand people who are different than me. I am learning how my preconceived notions of people are harmful. I am fearful of, and make enemies in mind of people I don’t know. Why? Because I don’t really know them. It is stunning to me how when I actually interact with people, they transform into something very different.

I am reminding myself that I committed to approaching this trip with curiosity, approaching people with curiosity, with openness, with love. I am trying to see beyond my own fears, biases and assumptions. I am trying to understand why people think the way they do, why I think the way I do for that matter. I am not better than anyone, and nobody is better than me. I may think I know the answers, but the older I get, the more I know that (as Bob would say) I don’t know jack shit.

Maybe you think I’m naive. I don’t care. At the heart of it, I know that love is the only answer. Hatred never ceases by hatred, but by love alone is healed. This is an ancient and eternal truth.

At 5:45AM the first morning there, I saw Charlie and his family get on their ATVs and head out to hunt. Seeing him warmed my heart and made me grateful.

Christine, Debbie and I took a walk around the park. We came upon a little house with an woman inside, I think Diane, can’t remember for sure. It was a quilting house, filled to the brim with quilting equipment, tubs and tubs and tubs of fabric and quilting supplies. Diane spends a lot of time in the place and loves it. She and her husband live in the park full time. The quilters there sponsor quilting workshops every now and then.

That evening we went to listen to music in gathering hall. Unfortunately, we came on the fifth weekend of the month which is the only weekend that they don’t have organized music. There were a few musicians sitting around playing music informally. We were told that on other weekends there is quite a crowd, and especially on bluegrass weekends, many “pickers” that come to play. They say it’s fantastic. I may have to come back.

I talked to Anna, a young woman who runs the park with her parents. They lived in Illinois, near Peoria, and would come down sometimes in the winter. Marc, the owner, eventually asked them to run the place, and there they are.

I am so grateful to travel like this, to be willing to go places that are out of my comfort zone, to feel my fear and challenge it. I am learning.