Vintage Trailer Addiction
Vintage Trailer Addiction (VTA) is a serious illness. It is particularly dangerous because the early symptoms are not readily detectable until the disease has progressed and taken hold of the patient’s vital resources (e.g., thought processes, time, energy, finances). I know. My name's Steve, and I'm a Vintage Trailer Addict.
Like so many others, I slowly and unwittingly walked down this addictive path. My gateway to addiction began when Carrie and I restored a beautiful home in the historic district of Flemington, New Jersey back in the 1980s. It was a great experience, except that the house had no wheels so we couldn't take it with us.
When we moved to Sherman, Texas in 1990 in order for me to teach Christian Theology at Austin College, we immersed ourselves in raising and homeschooling our three children and pursuing my calling to teach. Though my fledgling trailer addiction was not causing problems, I realize in retrospect that I was simply holding it at bay by the frantic pace of our existence. (This is sometimes referred to as “white-knuckling it” in VTA recovery circles.) When our antique-filled home burned to the ground in 1995, we focused on the design and re-building process, further forestalling the full-blown emergence of my disease.
The first recognizable symptoms of VTA appeared when my brother was searching for a way to live on some land down in Terlingua, Texas. In that process we stumbled upon a couple of vintage trailer sites and the book Silver Palaces by Douglas Keister. Immediately, I was awe-struck –- the captivating curves, the sensual pleasure of wood grains and polished metals, the quality craftsmanship, the form-follows-function embodiment of natural beauty. Though I told myself I was just helping my brother, there were deeper longings being cultivated and expressed.
My brother and I decided to take a road trip -- or was it a pilgrimage? -- to visit Vintage Campers (http://www.vintagecampers.com) in Peru, Indiana. After walking through a variety of vintage trailer finds, we returned to Texas towing a classic 1960 Avion. I was hooked. Now, eight trailers later, I'm looking for number nine. If you see a vintage trailer for sale by the side of the road, please call me at 903-271-7775. I'm generally available, except on those evenings when I'm attending my VTA recovery meetings.
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Here's what Carrie has to say about Vintage Trailer Addiction:
When my husband caught the vintage trailer bug, I started to itch too. I heard someone, somewhere refer to that as being a co-addict. Come to think of it,
it may have been our counselor who said that.
Anyway, when we acquired our first trailer (it was given to us, free for hauling it off the owner’s property), I started thinking about the time when our children, then all teenagers, would be leaving our nest empty and me forlorn (we co-addicts tend to project into the future and catastrophize). And the nest they’d be leaving wasn’t big enough for their future spouses and children that I wanted to call me Gammy or Maw Maw or Whodung (see what I mean about the future-tripping?).
So, what’s a soon-to-be-retired homeschooling mom to do? I'll tell you: go along for the ride as your husband acquires a second free-for-the-hauling trailer and purchases six more. Then pick out curtains and collect ashtrays. And do quality control when your husband misses a spot here or leaves a bit there. Then ooh and ahh at what your husband has accomplished. And throw a tea party in the trailer for your girlfriends, so they can ooh and ahh too. Then finally, get a job. I teach adults who are, mostly, trying to get a GED. And get this, I teach at an outreach center to the addicted culture. It takes one to teach one.
When we moved to Sherman, Texas in 1990 in order for me to teach Christian Theology at Austin College, we immersed ourselves in raising and homeschooling our three children and pursuing my calling to teach. Though my fledgling trailer addiction was not causing problems, I realize in retrospect that I was simply holding it at bay by the frantic pace of our existence. (This is sometimes referred to as “white-knuckling it” in VTA recovery circles.) When our antique-filled home burned to the ground in 1995, we focused on the design and re-building process, further forestalling the full-blown emergence of my disease.
The first recognizable symptoms of VTA appeared when my brother was searching for a way to live on some land down in Terlingua, Texas. In that process we stumbled upon a couple of vintage trailer sites and the book Silver Palaces by Douglas Keister. Immediately, I was awe-struck –- the captivating curves, the sensual pleasure of wood grains and polished metals, the quality craftsmanship, the form-follows-function embodiment of natural beauty. Though I told myself I was just helping my brother, there were deeper longings being cultivated and expressed.
My brother and I decided to take a road trip -- or was it a pilgrimage? -- to visit Vintage Campers (http://www.vintagecampers.com) in Peru, Indiana. After walking through a variety of vintage trailer finds, we returned to Texas towing a classic 1960 Avion. I was hooked. Now, eight trailers later, I'm looking for number nine. If you see a vintage trailer for sale by the side of the road, please call me at 903-271-7775. I'm generally available, except on those evenings when I'm attending my VTA recovery meetings.
________________________________________________________
Here's what Carrie has to say about Vintage Trailer Addiction:
When my husband caught the vintage trailer bug, I started to itch too. I heard someone, somewhere refer to that as being a co-addict. Come to think of it,
it may have been our counselor who said that.
Anyway, when we acquired our first trailer (it was given to us, free for hauling it off the owner’s property), I started thinking about the time when our children, then all teenagers, would be leaving our nest empty and me forlorn (we co-addicts tend to project into the future and catastrophize). And the nest they’d be leaving wasn’t big enough for their future spouses and children that I wanted to call me Gammy or Maw Maw or Whodung (see what I mean about the future-tripping?).
So, what’s a soon-to-be-retired homeschooling mom to do? I'll tell you: go along for the ride as your husband acquires a second free-for-the-hauling trailer and purchases six more. Then pick out curtains and collect ashtrays. And do quality control when your husband misses a spot here or leaves a bit there. Then ooh and ahh at what your husband has accomplished. And throw a tea party in the trailer for your girlfriends, so they can ooh and ahh too. Then finally, get a job. I teach adults who are, mostly, trying to get a GED. And get this, I teach at an outreach center to the addicted culture. It takes one to teach one.
