Trailer trash? Who, me?
By Dr. Harold A. Black
blackh@knoxfocus.com
haroldblackphd.com
I think it’s time to take a break from the Hobson’s Choice facing the voters and reflect on other things.
Twenty-plus years ago a friend and I bought some land in upper East Tennessee to hunt deer and turkey. I would get up at 3 a.m. and drive the 1 ½ hours to get in the tree stand before sunrise. After hunting I would drive back to Knoxville and then repeat.
My other half said, “Why don’t you buy a small camper so you don’t have to keep going back and forth?”
I couldn’t imagine living in a trailer but I went anyway to an RV show. I was shocked at the amenities, put aside my misconceived notions about trailers and bought a 17-foot travel trailer. I put it on the land and had electricity run to it. I now had a hunting lodge where I could take my dogs and relax after a day’s hunting. That started my love of campers.
We loathe sleeping in hotels – and this was before COVID. We enjoyed going to baseball games in Cincinnati and in Tampa Bay. We also had friends near Asheville, Kingsport and in Florida. We also loved to go to motorcycle rallies. So I bought my first toy hauler. It was 38 feet long with a garage. We now could take the motorcycles with us. We could sleep in our own bed and when we took the bike out, the garage became the dogs’ room. We went to Colorado, South Dakota, Wisconsin, Asheville and Florida. One year while at Bike Week in Daytona, we saw a 42-footer with 1 ½ baths. We bought it but only kept it for a couple of years. It proved to be too big and was too long for many state and national parks. We sold it and got another 38-foot toy hauler instead. When we turned 70, I sold the motorcycles and bought a 36-foot fifth wheel. We had plenty of room for the dogs and us. It meant that we had to unhitch the truck because we no longer had the bikes. But we adapted.
Recently, we downsized again, buying a 26-foot fifth wheel. It completed our end-of-life migration. Unlike the midlife crisis, the end-of-life is where you downsize, sell the Porsche convertible, buy a SUV, sell the motorcycles and get a three-wheeler. The shorter fifth wheel suits us. We still hate hotels. We have had a steady stream of German Shorthaired Pointers and a couple of Scotties. Now, for the first time, we only have one dog, Lili – a nine-year-old GSP. I love dogs. I love their companionship but neither of us wants to bury another one. I have a pet cemetery at the farm in Georgia. I visit them every morning when I am there and tear up each time I pet their headstones.
We no longer go to motorcycle rallies and now we only camp close to towns where we have friends. It is likely that in a few years, we will be too old to keep traveling with the fifth wheel. When we finally sell it, we will probably spend our vacation time at the family farm near Gray, GA.
I don’t look forward to the day when I am too old to go back and forth between Knoxville and Gray. I love Knoxville. It is perfect for access to hunting, fishing, riding motorcycles and camping. Now most of my friends are here. Yet I feel no greater pleasure than being on my ancestors’ land. I will hate leaving Knoxville. But Georgia is home. I was born there, grew up there and educated there. I went from a totally segregated world to one of seven black students at the University of Georgia. Trial by fire is an understatement. But I am better for it and maybe so are the state of Georgia and its flagship university.
In the end, I will go back to Georgia and its red dirt. I want to die on the land that gave my family independence, dignity, economic freedom and the courage to stand against Jim Crow and southern bigotry.
