There is a large homeless population in our county. Volunteers hit the woods annually to survey the residents anonymously and take a new count. Throughout my 22 years living where we do, I have supported the various organizations that provide services to this population. That support has ranged from donations of money, food, clothing, or home goods, attending fancy gala fundraisers (hello silent auction!), educating county leaders on social services organizations, and making blankets and summer lunches with my co-workers. I know I can do more, such as volunteer at the shelter on Thanksgiving Day, but I selfishly and fiercely protect family time.
Because of my community involvement and friendship with employees who work for the social services organizations supporting those in need, I know a little bit about the challenges facing both those who receive and render support. So, when we bought our camper in July 2020 and had no choice but to perform our renovations at our storage space, I was disheartened to learn a man was living in a run-down ambulance in the storage lot.
It was never lost on us that our camper storage facility backed up to one of these support organizations. Every time we rolled up to work on the camper, I felt like a jerk. Our assigned space was three down from Mr. Ambulance man, who I’ll call Jim. It was July, in Georgia and the heat and humidity were sweltering. As we worked on the camper with the generator running our A/C, tossed out the bedding and mattress, or brought in newly purchased things to make our camper feel like home, I felt anxious. Here we were, fixing up a second home while Jim lived in a parking lot.
We learned he planned to take his ambulance to Africa in the winter to render medical aid. Will often went up to the camper solo to take measurements or finish up a project, and he developed a rapport with Jim. One day, Jim needed help with a jump for the ambulance so he could run the A/C, and Will was able to help. Another time, Will asked Jim if he could let him know when the wrecker parked behind us moved, so we could take advantage of the extra space and flip our camper around. In agreeing to do so, Jim also offered to keep an eye on our camper, and Will gave him his cell phone number. I wondered if we should offer him the short queen mattress since we were replacing it with something new. (We ended up donating the mattress to a group who knew of a woman living in the woods who could use it to sleep up off the ground.) But, despite my volunteerism over the years, now coming face to face with someone in need, coupled with my shyness and introverted nature, I wasn’t sure how or if we should assist him. We weren’t sure if we should call attention to his situation by sharing his living arrangements with my friends at the social services organization. We were stumped.
This experience wasn’t the first time we recognized that the COVID-19 pandemic’s impact on people was vastly different. As RV and camper sales soared in 2020, we were mindful that the reasons behind these purchases varied. Sure, plenty of people like us bought a new or used RV to find a new way to vacation due to travel restrictions. But on the flip side, some of those purchases were by people who lost their job, can no longer afford their home, and moved into an RV. Still others are traveling nurses and doctors.
For the hundreds of thousands of people who started RV life in 2020, many likely never saw themselves in an RV. As we reflect on our experiences since buying our camper, the money we have spent on it, and the differences in how the pandemic impacted people across the world, we count ourselves as lucky. Life is unexpected. For some, it brings heartache and others happiness.