Saturday marked the four year anniversary of van life for me. In contrast to the one year anniversary of van life, where I noted every campground, analyzed my expenses, and considered what I’d learned, I came very close to forgetting the date entirely this year. In fact, I had to look it up to be sure. Was it the 25th or the 28th? It was the 25th: a Monday, when I signed the papers letting go of my beloved house and moved on into the unknown.

I realized the date while camping, which seems appropriate. Suzanne had a three day weekend, so we made reservations at Dillon Creek, a National Forest campground in the Klamath National Forest. I drove up on Thursday, with Zelda, and S joined me Friday morning. The campground was terrific — nicely isolated sites surrounded by trees, with a fast-running river providing a lovely soundtrack. On Thursday night, I was essentially alone there — there were a couple tents down the road, but no one in sight. I fell asleep watching the stars beyond the trees out of the window. (Then I woke up a few dozen times because of the realities of temperature control in the van: first it was too hot, then too cold, then too hot, etc. I’m out of practice at sleeping through minor discomfort.)

We had a peaceful day on Friday that included a couple walks, some wading in the river, but an awful lot of sitting in our camp chairs reading. It was really hot, in the 90s, I think. I totally neglected everything I’ve learned about living in the van in hot weather — didn’t cover the windows, didn’t pull the curtain to close off the cab, didn’t open the back door and run the fan in the bathroom — and the van was suffocating. When I went in to make dinner, it was close to unbearable. I was just throwing together things for cold quinoa bowls but within a minute I was drenched with sweat. Outside, however, there were hornets that were unreasonably attracted to the food, and mosquitoes. So, so, so many mosquitoes. I went for the big-time bug spray — I will take ALL the deet, thank you very much — and still wound up needing to cover up with leggings and socks and a hoodie for comfort. Guess what? Leggings and socks and a hoodie aren’t that comfortable when it’s 90+ degrees.

I will say about the mosquitoes that although they were bad, they were nothing compared to the mosquitoes at Mabel Lake in Minnesota or even probably the bugs at Buccaneer State Park in Mississippi, and there were definitely fewer of them than on the hike we went on in the rain forest in Belize… but they still weren’t fun.

I was not, however, the first person to say, “So… camping when it’s too hot to do anything is not so appealing. It’s probably nicer at home.” I didn’t argue, though. We had a nice Friday of quiet camping, S got to try out her trailer Friday night, and by mid-day Saturday — my actual four-year anniversary of life in Serenity — we were packed up and heading home.

I spent Sunday finishing some painting in Serendipity: the cabinet, the bathroom door, the missed spots on the shelves. As I finally put the paint and brushes that had been sitting on my bathroom floor since early June into the storage shed, I admitted the truth to myself: I am no longer a full-time van lifer. My pandemic resting place has turned into a home. I don’t live in a van anymore, I live in an adorable tiny house in the middle of a garden. Lucky, lucky me!

I’m not quite sure what this means for my blogging. I didn’t actually start out as a travel blogger, so does it matter if I’m not on the road anymore? Maybe not for my own purposes — my blog has always been mostly for me, a way of saving my own memories. But I suspect I’m going to fall into only blogging when I feel like I have something to write about, which probably means not blogging very often, and definitely means acknowledging that I’ve abandoned my old routine of blogging every Monday or Tuesday and Friday. So it goes. Life is change, right? For me, it’s not a bad change.

Last week, Suzanne and I took a quick trip up to Eugene, Oregon to pick up the teardrop trailer she’d ordered last year after discovering the delights of camping with a real bed and a real roof on our road trip to Idaho. The planning for the trip kept us busier than expected in the first week of July — her car needed a hitch and then the electrical system developed problems, so I spent part of a couple days hanging out at car places. It felt like there were a host of uncertainties as we headed out: Would the hitch be the right height? Had the electrical system repair solved the problem? Would places be open along the way or closed because of the virus? How hard would it be to figure out towing? Etc., etc.

And our trip did not get off to the best possible start. We left early, just after 6AM, and had been in the car for no more than ten minutes when I realized that Zelda had poop stuck to her butt and that she’d managed to smear it on my jeans, my shirt, my jacket, and the seat belt. Our entire canister of wet wipes later (minus one, saved for a future emergency), I still vaguely smelled like dog crap. And at our first stop — in Crescent City for coffee and a quick beach visit for the dogs — we discovered that the coffee shop & bakery Suzanne loved was gone, permanently, and that Riley had thrown up. Profusely.

It was a most excellent trip.

And actually I’m not kidding at all. We had a great time. The weather was mostly beautiful, the company was excellent, and serendipity was on our side. My favorite example: because of the various uncertainties, Suzanne kept it simple and made a reservation at a La Quinta in Eugene. When we got there in the late afternoon, between the challenges of parking a trailer in a crowded parking lot and Riley being sick, it was clear that we were not going out again. That was okay; we’d brought food with us just in case. But while Suzanne was busy with the trailer, I was browsing Trip Advisor, and it turned out that their #1 restaurant in Eugene, Sabai Cafe, was moderately priced, cautious about the virus, offered gluten-free options, and was half a mile away from the hotel. And it totally deserved its #1 ranking: Suzanne picked up takeout for us while I stayed with the dogs and the food was fantastic.

The next day, we took the coastal route home, 101. It was a perfect day for it. Foggy in the morning, burning off to blue skies & sunshine in the afternoon. We stopped at Fred Meyers for snacks, The Exploding Whale Memorial Park in Florence for a dog break, Clausen Oysters in Glasgow for an outside lunch, Gold Beach for a glorious beach walk, and the Trees of Mystery for a bathroom break.

We wore our masks, stayed generally away from people, and practiced good distancing, but it was lovely to get out and go somewhere. Lots of driving, obviously, but beautiful territory. We’re planning now for a longer trip, to include camping, at the end of August, pandemic-willing.

Unfortunately, the next few days were not so much fun. On Friday, Riley had a 4PM vet appointment but I called Suzanne at work sometime after 11 and said, “I need you to come home now, he can’t wait.” He was panting hard, lips drawn back, not willing to stand. I would have taken him without waiting, but I’m not strong enough to pick up fifty pounds of limp dog and he wasn’t moving. We spent a good chunk of the afternoon waiting in the parking lot at the vet’s office (pandemic rules), finally heading home while he was getting x-rays.

On the way home, we splurged on one last road trip luxury and bought some cooked crab for dinner. Yum. Except on my first bite, I thought, “Hmm, that’s a strong taste, is this okay?” Each successive bite was fine, so I relaxed. Until about midnight, when I got extremely, mercilessly ill. I will spare you the details, but as those who know me well know, my immune system is rather over-protective, so I’ve had a lot of practice with food poisoning. I mostly shrug off a bad night. This one… not so much. Suffice to say, I will not be forgetting it anytime soon.

Fortunately, Riley and I are both doing better now. He’s going to have an ultrasound in a couple days, to see if the vet can find a cause for his misery, but some painkillers and a couple days of relaxation have him almost back to normal. (He might have thrown out his back, which apparently dogs can do.) And I’m not back to eating normally yet, but I will be soon, I’m sure.

In other rather nice fortunate news, Zelda’s on a serious upswing. A mystifying serious upswing. She’s eating — she’s even eaten dog food!; she’s active; she’s communicating, ie this morning she stared at me until I gave in and took her for a walk; she’s engaged and curious… I have no idea why or how, but I love it so, so, so much. I realize it’s just a moment in time, that her long, slow decline will continue, and I absolutely do love my foggy, sweet, confused, slow dog just as much as my alert, aware, curious dog, but it is so absurdly nice to have her back for a few days. We went to the beach early Sunday morning and she actually considered trying to play frisbee with the big dogs. She decided to explore the beach some more instead, but even the interest was unusual. I’m grateful to be given this gift of extra time with her!

The last time I did a “Best of the month” post was March. April & May… yes, apparently, they happened. Maybe it felt like the wrong time to be writing about what was good? Mostly the months passed in a pandemic blur, I think, so picking out one good day from a succession of similarly strange days just felt impossible.

In a way, the same is true for June 2020. I did have one overnight in the van, at a KOA in Willets, but it was a utilitarian trip in which the highlight was not being stranded on a mountain for the rest of my life. (Suzanne later put the odds at 40% that we were going to be walking down the hill and looking for help, which was actually way too high — I’ve been in worse situations, although none quite so scary. Getting stuck in the dirt involves more adrenaline when you’re on the side of a mountain. But it was definitely not Peak Fun.)

On the other hand, the month definitely included good moments (as did April and May, actually.) This was one of them:

The backstory to this is long and painful and hurts my heart, so I’m not going to share all of it. But in the past few weeks, there have been times when the only food Zelda has been willing to eat is food that I have pre-chewed for her and if you think that’s gross… well, at least I’m not the one who’s eating the food. It’s gross for her, but for me it’s just spitting food out into my hand. 🙂

Anyway, at the exact moment of this picture, the plate on the floor holds wild-caught sockeye salmon which Zelda is scorning, and the spoon holds fancy chicken dog food that Z loved a few months ago but will not deign to taste now. And Suzanne is pretending to eat so that Zelda might be willing to try a bite.

It so totally warms my heart. It is a seriously good friend who will both spoon-feed your dog and pretend to eat in order to encourage her to do the same.

But that is not what makes it the best of the month. No, what makes it a highlight is that about two minutes later, Zelda — being Zelda, being a dog — having said, “Ground beef? Eh, really just not in the mood. Chicken? That’s for dogs. I don’t eat that. Sockeye salmon? Well, a bite, maybe. No, no more, thank you.” — turned around, found a piece of dirt on the floor and said, “Oh, yum, delicious,” and gobbled it down.

WTH? Suzanne and I both laughed in disbelief. And then laughed some more, because WTH, Dog?!?

June 2020, a weird month. But one that I was fortunate enough to share with Zelda and Suzanne, which made it a very good month in so many ways.