The Small Small Trailer

An essay in inadequacy.

When I bought our twenty foot Jayco Lite travel trailer before our house closed in the spring of 2017, I figured we’d be living in it for a few months while we looked for a new home.

I was wrong.

We lived within the confines of it’s half-inch walls for almost two years.

When I spotted it in an ad, I was sucked in by the extra amenities and the price. Plenty of room for the job as I saw it at the time. It came with a TV, radio, an air conditioner, central heating and something else so appealing I’ve forgotten what it was.

It also came with a badly rotted floor which I didn’t know about at the time. The rest was standard.

We spent a summer living in the thing expecting to find a property with a house. We didn’t, and ended up crammed in for much longer than we expected. The single table inside was only big enough for my son and his computer so I spent a lot of time in our bunk at the rear or outside in our half-built shed. My husband even moved his TV and Xbox outside during the summer. It was too cramped in the tiny house on wheels.

The sink was too small, the bathroom was too small and the hot water heater was glitchy. It became an art form to take a shower. We had to set the timer for twelve minutes exactly from the time we turned the hot water heater on. Whoever was taking a shower had to be ready to jump in at the mark or the water would boil out of the tank outside within a couple of minutes.

We managed to break not one but two windows and had to tape them up and when the freezing temperatures hit, we had a major problem on our hands with the canvas walls of the pullouts.

We ended up putting rigid sheet insulation and plywood around the walls and over the roofs of the pullouts but zero degrees doesn’t care. The rain had a tendency of finding a way through the tarps we put over them too. Wet mattress pads, sheets and pillows were the order of the day. I don’t know how we survived but we did.

Some time during the summer the rotten floor made itself apparent and we crawled under the contraption to shore up the floor with two by fours to prevent a “yard sale” while driving down the freeway at sixty-five miles an hour.

There wasn’t much between the outdoors and us in a canvas pullout.

One night shortly after we’d set up camp on our new property, we heard a distinct scraping sound against a trash barrel outside just feet from our heads. We’ll never know what was out there. I took the outside position only one time and ended up on the inner side within minutes.

Last fall we got a fifth wheel, not knowing for sure when we’d be able to build a real house but our fifteen year old insisted that he didn’t want to see the Jayco go to waste. He’s a teenager and he still lives in it.

We were quite happy to say goodbye and move next door forty feet away. At least we no longer have to worry about Mr. Foot reaching his hand under the canvas wall and making away with my husband.

 

What We Do and Don’t Have In Common With Cousin Eddy

It’s scary to even think we have ANYTHING in common.

I’m lumping the do’s and don’ts together.

  • Neither me nor my husband have steel plates in our heads; yet.
  • We both live in trailers.
  • We don’t live on a former atomic testing site.
  • Our child isn’t in the sex trade to supplement our family income.
  • We don’t fry our food on the rocks (although we brewed coffee with a blowtorch once).
  • We have a sense of taste in clothing (although more often than not, we’re semi filthy from doing some sort of project or another on the property).
  • We don’t have a dog with a sinus infection but our cat slobbers profusely when petted.
  • We both quit toting a beer around in a beer holster a long time ago.
  • We sweat, but not as profusely as Cousin Eddy.
  • We have a sense of social awareness, unlike Cousin Eddy.
  • did ask the tour guide where the damn bathroom was when we visited Hoover Dam.
  • Our son hasn’t been kicked in the head by a mule; hopefully won’t ever be.
  • We have to empty the shitter on a regular basis, just not into the sewer.
  • Our son has a tongue.
  • We haven’t had a case of lip fungus in our family within recent memory.
  • We don’t have to deal with Mississippi Leg Hound Syndrome.
  • Our garden isn’t spitting out 50 pound tomatoes. The deer ate them all.
arizona asphalt beautiful blue sky
Photo by Nextvoyage on Pexels.com

What My Fifth Wheel Looks Like To Me

A translation.

No, not a turkey. I am temporarily out of my own pictures pertaining to RV repair.

I didn’t know how to install a water pump so I went to see the local RV repairman last week. He’s probably been doing this for about 100 years now and doesn’t give a rat’s ass about customer service anymore. When I asked him about the wiring he said in an extremely tired and irritated voice while gesturing violently at the water pump I had in my hand “red is red and black is black”!

Well, I made this picture for him to translate to him what I saw. No, he hasn’t seen it nor will he ever. 🙂

wiring3