Baby Blue is a 1968 Shasta Compact camper. She started the whole chain reaction of my life out of the nest.
A domino, disguised as a mobile hunting shack, sitting at the side of the road. The motorcycle and rowboat next to her had for sale signs on them. As I drove past she looked sad I hadn’t taken notice of her. So I spun around and pulled into the driveway. I had not planned to buy a camper; there was no money in the budget for luxuries. But my bank had just called me to ask if I wanted an unsecured loan, half the interest of my credit card. I bit, planning to flip interest rates.
But she beckoned.
Baby Blue, monikered because she really is a badly painted baby blue on the outside, is a 1968 Shasta Compact. A mere 10 feet long by 6 feet wide, she has since blossomed into a little glamping palace. (Yes, that’s 60 square feet including cupboards.) Technically unrestored, but reinforced enough to be safe, and renovated enough to be adorable.
The hunter’s dog barked at me while I sat at the end of the driveway. Eventually, a woodsy local came rolling out of a forgotten looking mobile home and walked toward me.
“Is the camper for sale too” I asked?
“Well, we were thinking of selling it, we have a newer one” he replied.
“How much would you want?” “We’d have to have at least $800.”
And I had to turn around and drive back to the bank to get the cash.
My favorite music festival, Blissfest, was in 4 days. The camper got a vacuuming, new tires, a bath, and de-trashed before she went on her first adventure. I wanted to do more, but it was a race just to be able to leave my tent behind and take the camper instead.
That week was my first experience staying in a tiny space, and I was in love. I never wanted to go back to the real world, I just wanted to live simply, soak up the adventures, travel and bond with Baby Blue.
The tiny space of Baby Blue was suddenly filled with very large visions of possibility.