Imagine the freedom of traveling the open highways and byways of North America. Following the winding roads, stopping when and where you’d like, and enjoying the solitude and refreshing pace of travel on your terms.
It’s something I’ve always envisioned for myself and now it’s a reality. I bought a tiny home and I’m in love with her.
A whirlwind purchase
My brother is driving back to his hotel room after a day long visit with my parents, who live with me. He calls, not wanting the joy of the day to fade. We both understand that our parents, both in their 80s, aren’t promised a whole lot more days on this earth. He laments something has to be done to make these visits easier. We hatch a plan that all three families will pitch in and buy a travel trailer. It will serve a dual purpose. He and his wife will have a place to stay on my property and I can take it on the road whenever I need a quick escape.
I’ve had a burning enthusiasm for purchasing a travel trailer for many years. I researched, joined Facebook groups on RVing, and priced various models. One would pop up in my price range and I would pine over it, wondering if this was THE one. But I never made the jump.
I log onto Facebook Marketplace after hanging up with my brother. Immediately, I see two lightweight trailers that I think my truck can pull. Then I see HER: a Bohemian-style tiny home. I’m immediately in love. She’s painted in gaudy colors, has a curved metal roof and demands my attention. I can’t stop looking at her. It’s love at first sight. When I look at the price, I think it must be a mistake. How can she be priced so low? Perhaps the owner left off a zero?
Introducing Jolene
I read all the specs on her. Jolene, as her owner Shonnon had named her, began her life as a 1998 pop-up camper. She was purchased with damage to the top, but had a sturdy axel. This renovation project was just the thing to take Shonnon’s mind off her diagnosis of breast cancer. And it would be a way for her to reconnect with nature through her travels while recovering.
Shonnon stripped everything down except the lower part of the camper. Then, drawing on her skills as a homebuilder, she set out to make it sturdy, yet light enough to easily travel down the road.
I pore over the pictures Shonnon posted online. The interior reflects her flair as a decorator, with a shabby chic/farmhouse look. Jolene is more than what I ever expected to find in a portable home. Instead of camping, I can be glamping if I get the keys to this sweet abode.
Everybody loves Jolene
But I’m not the only one who has eyes for her. She was posted for sale three hours earlier and already has over 1,000 saves. Response is so great, Shonnon has to update the listing. Jolene can be seen in person the next day. It will not be sold to anyone who won’t come to inspect it in person. Since I have to take my brother to the airport that day, I know we have to drop by and check her out.
When I meet them in person, both Shonnon and Jolene are delightful. Shonnon is chock-full of helpful information and Jolene’s charm is even more delightful. Shonnon is a member of Sisters on the Fly, a sisterhood of over 8,000+ active members who meet in their vintage campers and connect with the outdoors. She advises me to join, even if I don’t own a camper. The social organization provides a safe place for women to bond, exchange ideas and experience great recreational time outdoors.
After a thorough inspection, I’m a smitten kitten. She’s sturdy, funky, portable and ticks all the boxes I require. I can envision myself in this Bohemian beauty, parked beside a lake in a secluded valley, just me and Mother Nature communing.
When the universe conspires
Call it manifesting, the universe aligning, God’s will or whatever you want. But this feels so right. I try to make a list of the pros and cons, but I can’t find the cons. And the price is set where I could afford to buy it outright, without help from my family. Within a couple of hours of negotiating, Shonnon agrees to sell Jolene to me. Even after our agreement, she has another offer for more than I paid, but she holds firm and honors our pact. All signs point to this decision being the right one.
A new chapter in my life
The purchase of this tiny home/travel trailer is a life-changer for me. I have a dream that after fulfilling my commitment to caring for my parents, I will take to the road and travel whenever and wherever for as long as I desire. It has solidified my self-esteem, making me realize I can negotiate and carry out a sale on my own. And I’m learning new skills with tools. Heck, I’m even learning the difference between a socket wrench and a hammer.
I have a couple of upgrades I want to make on her and want to gain more knowledge about life on the road. After I begin traveling with her, I know I’ll learn more skills. I look forward to having her open conversations with folks at the campgrounds and making more connections, drawing me out of my introverted personality.
I realize she’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but all 84 square feet of her is perfect for me, aside from her name. I’ve decided to change it to reflect her Hungarian caravan appearance and her Southern roots. Henceforth, she will be called Zsa Zsa Belle.
Do you have a nomadic desire? Could you live in a tiny space? Follow our adventures on Instagram at zsazsabelle_bohemianglamper.
I sometimes become obsessed with an activity. It’s like a worm, crawling around, squirming into each crook of my brain, begging to be plucked out. Thus it was with kayaking. My first experience was in Puerto Rico on a moonlit night to the bioluminescent bay in Vieques. It was fun, strenuous and very stimulating. It was just enough of a taste that I knew I wanted to do it again.
When I ran across an article from a regional travel magazine about a kayak trip to a bat cave, I knew it was an adventure I had to experience. Don’t lie to me or yourself. Admit it. You’ve always secretly longed to utter “To the bat cave…” in your raspiest crime-fighting voice.
And so it was that I left the dusty hills of home to traverse the state for my adventure. It was a sticky-hot, humid day when I headed toward the bountiful mountainous range of North Alabama. The farmers had already mown their fields and their large, circular bales of hay dotted the rolling landscape. It was a holiday weekend, so traffic along the two-lane road was light, affording the opportunity to enjoy the rural scenery to Guntersville, AL.
Phil Walton, owner of Unphiltered Kayaking, leads group tours, gives lessons on the sport, and offers invaluable water safety lessons. Walton is a professional instructor, recognized by the American Canoe Association and certified by the American Red Cross in CPR and First Aid. Phil’s aim, according to his web site, is to “get you your family and friends out on the water to enjoy the beauty the region has to offer.” He’s a gregarious character, always ready for a laugh, but extremely serious about water safety.
Our small group gathered at Honeycomb Landing on Guntersville Lake. Phil readied the kayaks, while his wife Cyndi coached me on the basic skills I needed. We left the shore around 5:00 pm. The blazing sun was beginning to fade, its reflections skipping and dancing across the water. It was a shaky onset for me, taking time to find my rhythm. But Cyndi gently coaxed me, teaching me how to find my flow.
“Imagine there’s a monkey sitting on the tip of the kayak and then punch him,” she urged as she smoothly placed her paddle into the water propelling her watercraft gracefully forward (seemingly without breaking a sweat). By comparison, I paddled in circles like a one-legged duck, trying to get acclimated to the water. I was flaming hot, drenched in sweat, making little progress moving onward. My strokes were choppy and I often set my paddle in the water, bringing it out covered with vegetation and splashing water all over myself. But Cyndi patiently glided alongside me, helping me coordinate my timing and strokes for maximizing my energy. Meanwhile, Phil offered interesting facts about Guntersville Lake and the bat cave.
We had ample time to reach our destination before dusk, when the bats would exit their cave. I’m not going to lie. I’m an older woman, in good health and I work out regularly. But this trip was challenging for me. Because it was a holiday weekend, watercraft dotted and dashed across the lake water. Their passing created an aftermath of rippling wakes and causing more resistance in my paddling. Perhaps it was the heat; or maybe just wishful thinking, but I envisioned a handsome man, all buff and tan, on a Jet Ski coming up beside me, tossing me a rope and offering me a tow back to shore. No, that didn’t happen.
We reached the cave, along with many other boaters. It was a great group of folks, just waiting to experience the wonders of nature. The cave opening is protected by a chain link fence to prevent human disturbance. Any disruption of the bats’ routine can lead to an unnecessary expenditure of energy. This energy loss can affect the entire colony, especially the lactating females.
The gray bat (Myotis grisescens) population in Alabama once flourished, but in recent years has been classified as endangered by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. It is protected by the Endangered Species Act since 1976. Reasons for their decline include human disturbance of their habitat, flooding, pesticide use and water pollution. Hambrick Cave, on Guntersville Lake, has the largest summer colony of gray bats. The cave houses females during their maternity roosts. After sunset, they emerge from the cave, swooping down over the water to feed on night-flying insects.
While we waited for the tiny creatures to emerge, I took the opportunity to enjoy the beauty of the lake. We had spotted blue heron earlier and I scanned the sky for an egret and listened to the choir of birds and frogs serenading us. By this time, I had cooled off and enjoyed the gentlest breeze rolling across the surface of the lake, creating a peaceful atmosphere in contrast to the amount of people and boats drifting about.
Suddenly, the serenity was shattered by the flapping of thousands of wings as the tiny mammals swirled up and around, but always missing boats and people, swooping down to snatch an insect in mid-flight. Those of us who had never seen the nightly foray made by the bats sat in our craft with mouths agape, trying to absorb the perfect imperfection that is nature. The show ended too quickly, and the stream of bats slowed to a few stragglers. Phil advised us to wait while the larger boats cleared out, which was a good thing, since I was still stunned by the sheer genius that I had just witnessed.
Darkness was now upon us, which is why amateurs like me need professionals like Phil and Cyndi to guide you on such trips. We wore special headlights and our kayaks had lights attached to them. But it is so easy to get disoriented. I thought, several times, that I was close to the shore, after hearing shouts from a nearby cabin. But, alas, I was still about a mile out. Cyndi was still coaching me, heading up the front of our group, while Phil kept behind and watched over us.
By the time I felt the kayak drag through the milfoil, hydrilla and other vegetation, my heart leapt for joy and my buttocks finally unclenched. I can’t recall whether I accidentally fell due to my sea legs or if I actually tried to hug the ground in gratitude for just being there. It didn’t matter. I had made the arduous trip and survived. Would I do it again? You bet, ’cause I’m just that batty.
For more information about this trip and others that Phil Walton offers, contact him at www.unphilteredkayaking.com The trips to the bat cave are just beginning for the spring and summer seasons. Throughout the fall, the leaves are turning, the birds are migrating south and the water is still warm enough to catch sight of a bald eagle from the gorgeous lake.
Phil Walton can be reached via email (phil@unphilteredkayaking.com) or phone (256) 270-3080.
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