A Canned Ham Camper

On the way to the grocery store one day, I spotted it - a circa 1970 camper. The once shiny white paint is now rather milky, but I had to take a second look at it as I passed by.

It's J. Moore's fault. My friend J. Moore was on a mission a few months ago to find and buy such a camper to serve as lodging for guests visiting her house by the river in South Carolina. During her search, a holiday catalog featured a canned ham-style camper with Christmas lights strung on it. The look reminded me of what she was striving to accomplish. Another friend and I became rather involved in her search. We all went out to look at one on a Friday after work, and we searched Craig's list for the perfect camper with the perfect price. Finally, she found her camper and set it up as her guest house.

So as I passed by that old camper, I began to wonder how I could use such a camper myself. Soon I had convinced my husband to drive back by on Sunday afternoon so he could see it and I could jot down the phone number. I called and told the owner I planned to come back by to have a look.

One day led to another and it was Thursday before I knew it. I still had not been by to peep inside the camper. No sooner had I realized this on my drive home from work than I found myself making a sharp turn onto Grapevine Road. I parked the Jeep and jumped out.

I tiptoed across up to the camper to keep my high heels from sinking into the moist ground. I opened the door and stepped inside. It was OK, but I knew how this would go if we bought this camper. First I'd fix A and it would cost a couple hundred bucks. Then, I'd want to fix B and that would cost $100 and then C. You see where this is going? A money pit.

I was just about back in the Jeep when the owner pulled up. A man, who I'm guessing is in his late 70s, stepped out and we began to chat about the camper and where we used to camp.

"Where you from?" he eventually asked.

"I live across the river," I said.

"Whose your daddy?" he asked.

I told him, but it was only Pop's last name that resonated with him.

I know some people by that name, he said. Often this type of comment leads to Uncle Ace, so I threw it out there to get it on the table. "Oh yeah," he said, adding that he had painted Ace's brother's garage once. Guess who that is.

Knowing my family, the man agreed to sell the camper to me for the lower end of the range we had discussed. Soon, he was asking me about my great uncles and telling me stories about the neighbors who were either my grandfather's or father's friends. I told him where all their kids and grand kids lived.

I glanced at my watch. An hour had passed. I had long since given up on tiptoes, and it was now taking some effort to withdraw the heels of my shoes from the ground. As I pulled my heels upward and out of the ground, I backed into the Jeep.

"There's an auction on Flint Hill Saturday," I yelled as I climbed into the driver's seat. "You should go and catch up with your old buddies...."

The next morning I was telling my Dad about the man and the camper and the lengthy conversation.

My father said, "Well, now I believe his dad was Jake. I think he used to take Uncle Hubert......"

I glanced at my watch.