Everything we've ever done in our lives seems to be for a reason, sounds cliche, right? Well, it is, kind of, but it's the truth when it comes to the path our adventures have taken us. It wasn't a month after Maria's idea to sell our Airstream, and I had a buyer contact us from the web site I posted The Mothership on. He seemed excited, and since I'd never pulled a transaction like this off, I explained to him that I would need a two thousand dollar deposit sent via mail in a Cashier's Check or Money order, this was before PayPal, and before internet transactions existed, or were in an obscure existence. The guy seemed so into The Mothership and that he sent us the money with urgency, with the agreement that he'd meet us halfway instead of coming to our home. He was living in Alabama and my halfway meeting point was Tennessee.
A couple days after, Tom, the owner in waiting, of our Mothership, called, he was frantic because he was having tow vehicle issues. I explained to him that if he could give us the full asking price for the Airstream, that we'd deliver it. Remember we had a brood of children, but I reached out to my savior's, mom and dad, and they agreed to watch the children while they attended our annual family camp. It was a relief to know that the kids would be in good hands on our "road trip."
This was 2005, Katrina still warming the southern states, but not quite ready to strike. It was at the end of July. Tom was located, which we found out after agreement to the delivery, at Fort Rucker in Alabama. He had just finished a tour in Afghanistan and was using his battle pay to purchase his new home, The Mothership. Upon finding out that this man had just finished a tour, we had to do something special. Maria wanted to give him a housewarming present. She purchased a grill, some dishcloths, and a bunch of other homey items that would come in handy to Tom. Our travel was on, we dropped the family off at a State Park and headed south.
Our nerves were like piano wire, tight and on edge. We were traveling with this Airstream for twenty four hours and had to be careful not to destroy it, get in an accident, or totally obliterate the fact that it was going to be someone's home. The drive was intense, through the mountains, around curves, every bump in the road, rattled us. We drove to the northern part of Alabama and pulled into a Walmart parking lot. It was so hot and humid that we couldn't sleep. Our skin was a slimy mass and clothes stuck to us as if they had been fused to our bodies. We traveled on, until we reached our destination about noon.
The soldiers at Fort Rucker had to inspect the Airstream and when we got our passes and the "all clear", we followed Tom, who was waiting, to The Motherships new landing sight. The park was wooded and beautiful with a lake set off to the side. There were out buildings that consisted of bathrooms and a mess hall. I drove to the spot where Tom had stopped his truck. I got out to inspect the situation and how I was going to back it in. Tom and a Lieutenant who was walking his dog nearby and "helping" were stating that we could back it in straight up this small hill of dirt/sand. I, sleep deprived, feeling dirty and sweaty, agreed, while Maria doubted my skills. I should have listened to her intuition, the receiver of the Airstream got stuck in a clump of mud with my attempt to back it in.
I got out, had to think fast and lifted the tongue up until the Airstream and the receiver got lifted from the dirt. I then found another way to back it into Tom's spot. I backed it in, got out and looked at my last handy back in job. Tom, who was laughing at The Mothership decals on the front above the Airstream logo, wanted a picture with us, and I wish I had it available to include here. You can visibly see the front of his gray t-shirt soaked with sweat and a grin spread across his face from ear to ear.
The Mothership had it's new home base, quite literally, a section of wooded paradise quaint with an Alabama scenery of wooded land and wildlife, a place where soldiers could live or camp with their families. Tom was a happy new homeowner. We left, cash in hand, and a new connection. Sometimes I wonder what happened with Tom, where he went? If he ever got married to the fiance he had mentioned from Texas. He was a good young man, just beginning his journey of life, and was so inspired to hear our Cliff's note version of our own life. As we drove off, looking back from time to time, still feeling that phantom limb, the missing Airstream, on the back of the van, a small tear, of gratitude, for Tom, and a little sadness, for the Airstream that wasn't ours anymore, filled me. We drove to a really great southern restaurant, to relax, take a break and to regain our bearings before our twenty four hour trek back home to Michigan.
Just before our dinner came to the table the cell phone rang. It was Tom, he was so grateful for the housewarming present, that Maria had placed in the closet out of view, and couldn't stop saying thank you. We told him to enjoy. The restaurant served the best southern Grouper and cobbler that we ever ate, someday, we just may find it, if it's still open and eat there again in a future adventure.
Tom stayed in touch for a little while. He sent our four sons post cards with pictures of Army jets and then we kind of drifted like people so far away from each other often do. The memory's still there, though, and we began the next challenge, after all, we couldn't camp without a travel trailer, right? The search for another Mothership was on.