I moved into my van during COVID, August 1st to be exact. At that time the world didn’t know how long the lockdown would last or who could be trusted. My 35lb, 5-year-old mini-australian shepard and I had to safely navigate staying in driveways, city parks, scenic pull-outs and trailheads. We remain lucky and grateful to have many dependable spots as well as the freedom to move about within our community, and share time in friends’ homes.
As the world’s reality continues to shift, vaccines and understanding both improving (I write optimistically), and I am safely able to interact with others, I am continually reminded of the awesomeness of this mobility. To witness and share in life experiences with many people because my little home is mobile remains the most unexpected gift.
Turns out my appreciation for van life was imprinted early. Amidst my first solo multi-week road trip since COVID, my Pa first texted me a photo with the message “Your first van life trip, Morro Bay, CA 7/20/1978” where I am sitting in a car seat just above the slider door step. A couple more photos followed of him installing my child seat and one of Ma cooking at the small two burner kitchenette. The van, it’s interior and our clothing all screaming 1970s. And it looks like I’m smiling. 9 months old, chubby elbows and ankles, sitting in my car seat mounted on the variegated brown shag carpet, I look at the eyes and smile of my much younger self now and think, “home. I am home, and my home is on wheels.”
The 1975 Ford E250 high top van conversion Family Wagon had a bunk above the driver and passenger seats that my parents added a baby gate to create my infant sleeping loft. The dinette folded flat and the seat cushions laid out to make a double bed where my parents slept. There is a story I’ve heard multiple times, perhaps it was on this very trip captured in the photos, that my Pa woke up to see my chubby legs and diapered butt hanging through, caught only by my head. Instinctually he hoisted my butt to reverse the awkward hanging baby back up into the bunk. And likely adjusted the gate so my wiggly sleeping body didn’t sneak through ever again.
There are a lot of teachable moments living full time in a van. I’ve learned to manage power usage, and how to love to be alone. I add Blue DEF without spilling a drop (most of the time) and scare rats away with dryer sheets. I’ve modified the simplest things, with the sewing mastery of my Ma, which make the biggest difference in a small space. I’ve lived with the same relatively few things for nearly a year now and am starting to wonder what I will do with the six 5’x10’ crates I have in untouchable storage.
This minimal living reminds me of what I love about backpacking. I love the freedom of having everything I need on my back. Kind of like a turtle carrying its home. I love minimizing the weight and carefully selecting items that have multiple uses. Within the larger shell of my van the same principles apply, I always have everything I need with me, everything has to have more than one use and everything has to be used. With one exception. I have a Luggable-Loo toilet (essentially a 5-gallon bucket with a toilet seat) that is brand new and it is my intention to keep it that way. I feel responsible to have to have it for “just-in-case” but I’m keeping it as a personal challenge to never have to use it. (*Update* the luggable-loo has now been used! A late night street sleep made it mandatory)
Some surprising gifts that came with mobile living showed up soon after we took to four wheels. While my Ma was in and out of the hospital multiple times last fall, I didn’t need to abandon my life and home to be present and help out, I just took my home with me and for multiple days at a time I could be there with them and likewise have a dependable place to park. I witnessed the passing of a dear friend’s husband, week by week. I stayed each Monday night to check in on her while he was in a care facility and continued during his final weeks at home. I’ve entertained friend’s kids in the van and enjoyed their wonder of what it is like to live in such a small space. I’ve learned to ask for help. I’ve learned to take solo time. I visited the van’s namesake’s hometown and feel closer to her in death than I did in life. I get to explore the physical world, which triggers deep personal introspection – funny how ever unfolding landscapes behind a windshield create a similar curious headspace as running long distances. All surprise gifts from mobile living.
I’m quickly approaching a year living in my van – less three months during the winter where I moved in to attempt a relationship, fix the heater, write the second edition to my book(!!!), and dry out a bit amidst a typical PNW rainy season. What was intended to be a 3-to-6 month bridge-the-gap between condo sale and home purchase has easily stretched out with no end in sight. I feel lucky I’m not desperate to try to buy in this high priced, all cash offer market, and there are also times I wonder when PD and I will find our little place to call home each night. But I quickly remember, we are home, and our home is on wheels.
