Goodbye Quarantine Campground

Well, that’s not a fully accurate headline, since we’ll be even more isolated where we’re going, but I will always think of this first campground we came to and got “stuck” at as our quarantine campground. We meant to come for a weekend and we stayed for two months.

I can’t say often enough how lucky we were to have been here: that the campground remained open and allowed us to stay, that we had full hook-ups and access to friends and family. It may have been crowded near the end, the lake small and the hiking trails tedious after two months, but it was home.

Final Visits

Our last few days we’ve been spending visiting (from six feet) a few of the people we had intended to visit closer while we were here.

I got in more time with my son and was able to show him around the campground. You can tell he’s my son from his attachment to the couch.

We also went on a picnic and hike with my friend from college, Heather, although I think Banjo was just as happy to see her as we were.

And on our last day in Richmond doing laundry we finally caught up with my high-school friend, John, and his wife, Sue. We didn’t get to hear John’s band play (they’re good: Tin Can Fish Band if you’re in Richmond when bands finally get to play in-person gigs again), but John ever so patiently picked up our once-every-year ukulele lesson where we left off (another Neil Young song), plus we played an impromptu “Birthday” (Beatles’ version) as a video gift for our far-away host, Mary Margaret. Another super-fun day that reminds me what it’s like to be with friends and family again.

Final Dumpster Update

Here’s what everyone’s been waiting for. Five full dumpsters!

Tragically, we’re going to miss what will be a dramatic pick-up tomorrow because we’ll be on the road. The good news is that, with us gone, our neighbors will now get a straight shot of the dumpster action.

Last night Neighbor Dad, Chris, gave Tracy a mason jar of moonshine made from the recipe of someone named Popcorn, a legendary moonshine maker, apparently. I can believe it, since even I think it tastes smooth straight from the jar.

Trading something from your home state with your neighbors is a thing, we learned from Chris. I promised that in exchange for the moonshine we would not talk politics—that’s our gift from the D.C. region.

Cleaning up this Blog

Speaking of neighbors, Tracy and I were on Banjo’s afternoon walk for the final time today when Campground Grandpa caught up with us.

He’d previously asked if we’d stay in touch, so today he handed me a slip of paper with his name and number and a cursive note asking, “Where are you?”

Oh, just as I was working up at least a partial resentment of being stuck in this place, I start getting sentimental. He told us what great guests we’d been, and how his wife was tickled pink that I’d taken an interest in their granddaughter’s new little house. And would I please let them know where we go and how we like it, because he thinks this lifestyle is really interesting.

Poop, Campground Grandpa. Now I really want to share with you this blog, but I can’t remember if I’ve casually dissed the campground. In fact, I do know I’ve gone out of my way not to name it so this page won’t pop up in searches (if that’s remotely how that works). Thankfully, when I mentioned this dilemma to my friend, Lucy, she volunteered to re-read the posts about the campground and flag what might need editing.

I kind of feel like I owe it to Campground Owner Family.

Talk to you guys after we get back on the grid!

And, please, keep staying safe.