Hazel's Story

Who is Hazel?  You're about to find out.  

Many years ago, perhaps a decade, maybe more,  I became fascinated (read: obsessed) with vintage camper/trailers.  I can't even recall the initial spark that fueled my flame, but I have gawked at and web-stalked and chased down nearly every vintage looking trailer I meet.

My house, albeit (allegedly) minimalist, even has a room with trailer decor.  Granted, it's the laundry room, because that was the only one the family permitted me to colonize with trailer-ama.   I have numerous Christmas ornaments that are little trailers: some are Shastas and some are silver twinkies, and they are all adorable.  

A few years ago, Marnie (Thelma, to my Louise) and I rented an RV and did a road trip about 250 miles from home.  It was a boring old 19 foot vanilla thing, referred to by the Airstream elite as "SOB" or "some other brand".  I had no idea what I was doing, but we hooked that RV up to my truck and hit the road. I could even back it up and figured out how to use all the hook ups at the KOA.   I was hooked.

My children are fairly weary of listening to me prattle about my someday - when my nest is empty and my road is open.  They won't even go to the RV show with me anymore, and they can't understand why I don't just buy something NEW and NOW, and quit yearning for old and someday.   If I can't have an Airstream or a Shasta, I won't have anything at all.

In 2015, Shasta (also my dog's name, by the way...) released a brand new version of its 1960's style 16 foot trailer.  I thought I had discovered the perfect solution.  New AND old!! It was very reasonable in price, but after I followed a few owners' groups online, I discovered many design flaws like leaks, windows falling out in transit, low quality air-conditioner, etc.  It was also tough to get warranty work done as there were only a handful of service places to manage all of these issues. So my dream solution wasn't to be.  

I couldn't justify spending what a house costs on a new Airstream.  I had resigned myself that I was never going to find the perfect vintage one, and I can't drop 100 large on a new one.   I've been busy with graduate school and kid life anyway, and RV life isn't on the docket right now.  

But then, Hazel...

Hazel is a 1970 Airstream Overlander Land Yacht and was parked on some property only a mile from the ranch.  "For Sale" called to me as I drove home from the grocery store only a day after returning from holiday.  I nearly drove off the road gawking at her.  I pulled off into the closest driveway and grabbed my phone to take pictures.  She was behind a barbed-wire fence, and I had to consider the likelihood of my hair or a shoe getting stuck in the fence if I lept over it.   I just took pictures from the safe side, then jumped back in the car to alert the family.  

I breathlessly told the hubby and kids about her - after all, I had known of her for 5 whole minutes.  I phoned the number on the sign and made arrangements to visit with her that weekend.  Of course, I was about 98% sure I was going to buy it; no need to fuss with approval from the other family members.  

I went armed with my clipboard and eye glasses that Saturday,  inquiring about her windows (plexiglass or glass?), her axles (replaced recently or no), wheel bearings (replaced?), and ownership history.   I crawled underneath to inspect the subfloor, wondered how in the HELL I was going to get a new bathroom in here (there wasn't one), and finally considered my offer.  

The seller and I came to a mutual agreement, and he was going to deliver her to the ranch the following week (his truck bigger than ours).   Oh yeah, then I let the family know to help me clear a spot out here for her new home!  

Within two days I had already identified a restoration guy to do the work.  Sadly, his waitlist is up to two years, but I am prepared to wait.  I made the pilgrimage to meet him at his shop about 40 miles from home, and it was Airstream heaven.   He does great work, and I need the time to save the money and finish my doctorate anyway.

So now Hazel sits on my property, and she and I have worked out some details for her renovation.  Sometimes in life, timing sucks, but sometimes, it's just perfect.  I see her every day when I walk out the door, and I know that someday we'll share adventures (after I rip out the 1970's cabinets).  

Occasionally, I question my minimalist-ness a teeny bit, only because now I have acquired another thing that has wheels and requires money and attention.  But I will have my tiny house on wheels, and that's minimal, right?

Welcome to the ranch, Hazel.   

A Minimalist Abroad

I left Cowtown.  For my 50^th birthday, I embarked on an adventure.   It would be my longest trip away to date, aside from our annual pilgrimage to our Canada cabin.  That always seems like going home in its own way, since my things are there, and my family’s spirit embodies each board and stone. 

I went to Europe.  Because my brain knew I loved Paris.  Bearing in mind I haven’t seen Paris since I was a preschooler when I lived in the UK with my parents.  Preschoolers don’t give a shit about the Sacre-Coeur. But I would love it now.

I packed as sparsely as my Americanadian self would permit. I knew I could figure out how to buy shampoo in German and for sure en français, so I packed only my necessary things.  Of course, the laptop went too, because graduate school stops for no man. 

I learned many things.  I learned I don’t speak German.  Many Germans speak English, which I greatly appreciated.  But I couldn’t read signs or understand any conversation after please and thank you.  In the US, I don’t thing we appreciate the universality of our first language.  We expect things to be in English, people to understand us, and things to be in USD.  I learned I need to fluently learn another language.  I know enough Spanish to interview many of my patients and give medication instructions.  But I can’t explain a complicated treatment or speak with any semblance of fluency.  I will fix this, my linguistic inadequacy.

I learned we in the US don’t spend enough time marveling at things.  I have tried to appreciate sunsets, the perfect balance of lime, tequila and triple sec on a hot July evening, and the art that has visited our city from time to time.  Seeing things you haven’t seen before gives the opportunity for marveling.  I emerged from le métro and walked out in to the Paris sunshine with La Tour Eiffel in the horizon.  I stood, awestruck, and marveled.  I had to wipe away the watery stuff leaking from inside my sunglasses.  Can you imagine, going to work every day and the Eiffel Tower is just standing by on your route to the office?  Do Parisians marvel at it?  I presume no, because the stupid tourists are in the way.   

I learned to not need to be entertained, but to appreciate pleasure.  The Europeans sit in a sidewalk café, order alcohol any time of the day, and enjoy their food and drink.  There is no rush to consume, no urgent bucket list, and little watch-looking.  Just enjoy.  The concept seems so foreign to us in the States.

One thing I am doing right?  Photos.  Instead of clamoring to get a photo of the Mona Lisa (which is available in a zillion Google images), I stood in her presence.  Even with the scrum of knuckleheads obstructing my view with their iPads (good thing I am tall), I breathed in the life of the room, Lisa’s aura, the majesty of being in La Louvre and seeing Da Vinci’s work that evolved after many years into Paris’ top tourist attraction.   It was spiritual.  I did same while standing on the beaches of Normandy, conjuring up visions of young men staring down death amid gunfire and waves of the Channel to liberate the world from evil.  Only one or two pictures; just experienced the moment. 

As minimalist as I could be, experiencing unfamiliar cultures, foods, and languages, I realized I didn’t need much at all (Google maps, however, is a life-changer for the foreign traveler).  What a gift for making it through a whole half century.  One more half to go...