Mr. Write's Page

About 10 years ago, I was returning home from a road trip in my RV, and I stopped for the night at a campground on a remote stretch of US 84 in southern Alabama. It was in the middle of nowhere. I was relieved to find a place to stay.

The campground was a small private place, attractive and clean, with spacious campsites and lots of tree cover. Sometimes, you get lucky.

In the office was a woman of about 50, the owner, who lived on-site and ran the operation. She checked me in and told me to take any site I wanted.

I selected a campsite and, rather than hooking up for the night, drove to the nearest town for supper. I prefer restaurant meals on the road. Cooking in the RV is a pain.

Later, back at the campground, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it, and there was the owner. I stepped out of the RV.

She said she wanted to make sure all was well and to ask if I needed anything. I told her I was fine.

But she seemed reluctant to end the conversation. She sat down at the picnic table and kept chatting in an awkward way. I could tell something was on her mind.

The story slowly came out. She and her husband had bought the campground five years earlier. He later died, and she now ran the campground alone. Life there was quiet and routine.

The operation wasn’t a huge money-maker, she said, but the books would confirm that it remained in the black.

I continued listening politely.

Eventually, she came to the point. She wanted to sell the campground and move back home — I forget where that was — with her parents and siblings.

She said the property was listed with a broker, but any passing guest might be a potential buyer, so no harm in asking.

I told her I wasn’t a candidate. I was retired and leading a comfortable life close to relatives and friends — precisely what she wanted — and I didn’t want to change that.

What a terrible situation for that poor woman. Essentially, she was trapped there, probably lonely and depressed, if not still in mourning.

I think about her sometimes and wonder how things worked out.

Life is a crapshoot.