It is, by no means, the first time I've brought home what others considered trash(y). For most of my adult life, college move out, Goodwill, curb clean up days, and garage sales have been as fruitful in producing "finds" as have Target and Ikea. Seconds, thirds and forths are littered throughout my home sharing space with the likes of West Elm furnishings, Apple products, and professional-grade appliances.
So it is, perhaps, fitting that my driveway is now home not only to the newest vehicle that I've ever owned (2011) but also to my newest (oldest) camper. Formerly empty space, now enclosed by 3000 pounds of maple and metal, the 1959 Yellowstone Sunset is my prize from a lengthy search for the right vintage travel trailer.
"Right" is, admittedly, a subjective term. In fact, before I invested my $1000 and the slice of homemade pie that I promised the owner of a borrowed tow vehicle, I received some very well-meaning and cautionary comments. Before bringing home my new project, I heard and ignored one honest opinion from dad, one declaration of our different styles from my sister, one emailed link to a newer camper from mom, and a very loving (what-are-you-getting-us-into) "sure, let's get it" from my spouse.
My parents, in particular, can talk me out of or into most things. "Are you sure you don't want more tomato plants? But these are the Brandywines you like. You could plant these three in back and then ten more right there in your front yard where you still have some space left. Come on, I'll help you make salsa." To avoid overuse of my poetic license, I should state that I don't really have tomatoes in my front yard. But I do have a moss garden, a row of Barberry, two Peonies, a rock wall of sedum, a bunch of day lilies up close to the house...and so far I've put my foot down to the notion of adding a terraced garden. That's just the front yard.
But not this time. Their kind attempts to save me from taking on more than I can handle left me further convinced that, if I could dodge their doubts and still feel good about the decision, it needed to be made.
So it is, perhaps, fitting that my driveway is now home not only to the newest vehicle that I've ever owned (2011) but also to my newest (oldest) camper. Formerly empty space, now enclosed by 3000 pounds of maple and metal, the 1959 Yellowstone Sunset is my prize from a lengthy search for the right vintage travel trailer.
"Right" is, admittedly, a subjective term. In fact, before I invested my $1000 and the slice of homemade pie that I promised the owner of a borrowed tow vehicle, I received some very well-meaning and cautionary comments. Before bringing home my new project, I heard and ignored one honest opinion from dad, one declaration of our different styles from my sister, one emailed link to a newer camper from mom, and a very loving (what-are-you-getting-us-into) "sure, let's get it" from my spouse.
My parents, in particular, can talk me out of or into most things. "Are you sure you don't want more tomato plants? But these are the Brandywines you like. You could plant these three in back and then ten more right there in your front yard where you still have some space left. Come on, I'll help you make salsa." To avoid overuse of my poetic license, I should state that I don't really have tomatoes in my front yard. But I do have a moss garden, a row of Barberry, two Peonies, a rock wall of sedum, a bunch of day lilies up close to the house...and so far I've put my foot down to the notion of adding a terraced garden. That's just the front yard.
But not this time. Their kind attempts to save me from taking on more than I can handle left me further convinced that, if I could dodge their doubts and still feel good about the decision, it needed to be made.
So this is my first photo of the sunset as we make our way home. I'm curious how things will look in tomorrow's new light.
