The motorhome exterior has been de-bugged and waxed, and is presently shrouded in its winter wrapper. It’s a treacherous job that involves climbing on the roof, which Ben also keeps waxed. His pal Jay comes over to help, which allays my fears somewhat; at least if he falls when I’m not around, there will be a witness.
I enjoy gardening. I don’t grow anything practical like food; I leave that to people who are more attentive than I. I enjoy puttering around in the dirt and messing with different kinds of plants. I plant things like kale in the fall to keep things pretty until the killing frost arrives. In winter I bring home cut flowers and tend a few houseplants and in February start perusing gardening catalogs. I call that the “between time.” You’re winding down for the year, but also looking forward to the time when you can start cleaning out the flower beds and getting ready for the season.
We’re not full-timers (yet) still we travel as often as we can. Family, most notably my very independent 95 year old mother keeps us closer to home.
Presently we’re settling back into the house after spending the summer months on the road. Mountains of junk mail have been sorted through. In the RV, drawers are emptied, the refrigerator is clean and dry. The toaster has been de-crumbed, but I decided to bring it in where I can keep an eye on it. Toasters are a siren song of easy eats for mice, no matter how hard you bang them around, crumbs stick on the innermost parts. Laundry has been put away. The motorhome has been to the mechanic and now sits in its parking spot bagged in yards of Tyvek, silently taunting us. Our next pull out date is in February. I can’t say exactly when we leave, because each time we talk about leaving we push the departure date ever earlier. We peruse the internet and maps for likely destinations. It is the between time here, but as we grow used to being on the road, the between time grows more and more short.