A row of Airstream trailers is parked in a warehouse at Land Yacht Harbor in Thurston County, Washington, on May 28, 2008.(Drew Perine/The News Tribune via Associated Press)
In 2020, with the closure of an art studio I ran in downtown Palmer, I began to dream of building and operating a mobile art studio.My idea is that I take the mobile studio directly to the beautiful outdoor location and paint, meeting people along the way.I chose Airstream as my trailer of choice and started designing and financing.
What I understand on paper but not in reality is that this vision of mine requires me to own and operate a trailer.
A few months after pickup, I had a casual cocktail hour chat with friends eager to hear all the details.They asked me questions about make, model, interior design, which I easily answered based on the detailed models I had researched.But then their questions started to get more specific.When they learned that I had never actually stepped into the airstream, they didn’t quickly hide the alarm on their faces to the point of not paying attention.I continued the conversation, confident in my ideas.
I did realize that I should learn how to drive a trailer before picking up my trailer in Ohio and driving it back to Alaska.With the help of a friend, I did it.
I’m someone who grew up in tents, starting with the ridiculously huge two-room tent my dad bought for our family in the ’90s, took two hours to set up, and eventually graduated to a three-season REI tent, Better days have now been seen.I even own a used four season tent now!Have a chilly vestibule!
So far, that’s it.Now, I own a trailer.I drag it, back it up, straighten it, empty it, fill it up, hang it up, put it away, winter it out, etc.
I remember meeting a guy last year at a dump in Tonopah, Nevada.He fixed this coiled tube on a trailer into a hole in the concrete floor, which I now consider a tedious process of “dumping”.His trailer is too big and blocks the sun.
“The money pit,” he said, as my husband and I filled the station’s drinking water faucet with the battered water jug ​​we bought from the dollar store—while we were demoing life in a van to see if it really was anything We enjoyed it; spoiler, we did.”It never ends. Pinning, filling, all maintenance.”
Even then, with the airflow, I wondered vaguely: Is this really what I want?Do I still want to haul a huge house on wheels and a source dump station where I need to hook up a rough hose and flush the waste water from my rig into the ground?I never really got myself to work on this idea because I was already drawn to my concept, but it just hovered below the surface.
Here’s the thing: yes, this trailer needs a lot of work.There are things no one tells me, like I need to be a reversing guide to align the truck hitch with the trailer very precisely.Is this what humans should do?!There was also black and grey water pouring, which was as disgusting as I guessed.
But it’s also incredibly comfortable and comforting.I’m basically indoors and out at the same time, and my two favorite places are only separated by a very thin wall.If I get sunburned or it rains, I can get into the trailer and open the windows and enjoy the breeze and the view while still enjoying the sofa and taking a breather from the elements.I can have dinner while watching the sunset.
Unlike tents, I can retreat if I have noisy neighbors at the campground.The fan inside made a sound.If it’s a downpour, I’m not worried about puddles forming where I sleep.
I still look around and in the inevitable trailer parks I end up amazed by their easy access to hookups, dump stations, Wi-Fi and laundry, I’m now a trailer guy too, not just a tent camper By.It’s an interesting attempt at identity, probably because I feel like I’m stronger in some way and therefore above everyone else in their prettier, sturdier gear.
But I love this trailer.I love the different experiences it offers me outdoors.I am very open and accepting this new part of my identity, which has been a pleasant surprise while pursuing my dreams.