A dozen years have passed since Barb and I were semi-snowbirds–calling Arizona’s Sonoran Desert home during the winter months, and hitting the road when summer came.
On one such occasion we were accompanying friends while they drove their daughter to Missouri. We weren’t necessarily traveling all the way to Missouri. The fact was, we had no destination. We were simply on the road.
They were pulling a small travel trailer. We were modeling, but since they were staying in trailer parks, we brought along our tent. With an air mattress and camp stove we got along quite well– alone or with companions.
Our friends were carnival veterans, having spent 35 years traveling the east coast and wintering in Florida. Hazel knew people.
Evening was upon us. It was time to find s place for the night. We had no objections to the park they chose.
“You let me do the talking,” Hazel said, as she and I headed for the office.
Hazel spoke to the manager and I didn’t hear say anything I wouldn’t have said. Yet, when we stepped from the office she informed me that they had two nights for the price of one, while Barb and I paid nothing for our grassy space.
Hazel knew people.