By Chuck Woodbury
Rain is pounding on the roof of my motorhome. It’s so loud that it would be hard to talk over it. I’ve headed off to the forest for a week, by myself this trip. I do my best thinking (and writing) when I’m alone, and my very best of it when I do it in my RV. It’s been that way for me for 30 years.
My neighbors are fir trees, cedar trees, and assorted ferns in every direction. The nearest RV is 100 feet away, but hidden from me by trees and bushes. It’s like I am all alone. It’s so green and lush here I could easily imagine I were in a rainforest. It’s not, but it looks and feels like one today. Drip, drip, drip. . .
My 32-foot motorhome is “my mountain cabin.” I’m not in the mountains, but it feels like it with the tall trees all around. I grew up near Los Angeles, which is a desert. Our family camping trips were often to the mountains, where we camped under pine trees. To this day, anything that resembles a pine tree reminds me of those magical days from my childhood.
It’s too wet to go outdoors, so I have stayed inside all day, writing, Zooming with friends and associates, and savoring the sound of the rain. I love camping on a warm summer day, but I am equally happy on a dark and wet day like today. It’s incredibly cozy in my little portable home. I am content and happy.
OK. It’s 3 p.m., the time of day when I often begin to fade a bit. I think it’s a good time for my afternoon siesta. The pitter patter of rain on the roof will probably knock me out quickly.
I love my little motorhome, and I marvel how happy it can make me, even on a dark, wet, and otherwise miserable day.