Where You Belong

Rarely does one live in a place by choice; most of us live in a place by default, a place where our family grew up or where there was a job available. Many of us have a dream place tucked away that never becomes a reality. Pulling the plug on a life that was working in chase for something better... grander, even, well--that's just suicide.

So, here we are driving around Washington looking for that place in our minds, a place where we belong, and after town after town, I kept bringing up that damn grocery store in Olympia.

"Sure would like to stock up on some of that produce at that Top Foods in Olympia...remember that place?"
"Yep," Sean quietly drove looking at the farmland and day dreaming of owning one.
"Well, you want to start heading back that way? It was really nice there..." I trailed off thinking of the exotic plums and nectorines.

We drove south I-5 hitting every town that was recommended and wondered why anyone would recommend it in the first place. Sure they were nice places, but they were either too far from SEA/TAC or had no shopping/downtown area or had no views of the mountians, etc. We had kids with many needs of good schools, sports, dance, bike paths, nature at their fingertips, and I needed to be near business so I could resume some line of work once the economy picks up. We wanted to be around people like us, outdoor enthusiasts and into healthy living.

We headed back to Olympia and stayed at a campground in Tumwater, WA--a suburb of Olympia that took us in for three weeks at a good rate. We belonged there. The people, the views, the lifestyles, and nature galore. We found an apartment complex high on the hill overlooking the Olympic Mountains, Puget Sound, the State Capitol, and Mt. Rainer--all in one sweeping look out our belcony. It wouldn't be ready for another few weeks for us to move in, so we hit the road and headed to Long Beach, WA. Twenty-eight miles of unobstructed beach just north of the Columbia River outlet into the Pacific.

A beautiful place to rest and explore for the week!

Stuck

There we were, on top of this steep, stupid hill with no turn around. The incline grade was more than 10% and it was impossible to go back down in reverse. Sean got out and looked around. Imagine a huge steak on a small plate. That was our van and camper on top of this big hill.

To the left, the metal gate lead to a grassy area near some kind of city power structure. Sean swung it open and I felt my heart leap with hope. Ah! If we could somehow go in reverse about 20 feet and then drive into it, we could then attempt to turn this thing around.

Problem was, the top of the asphalt was chopped up; bits and pieces were missing and deep grooves in the exposed dirt were where we needed to back up the camper. It was a no go. We would bottom out. I suggested we drive it into the bushes and then reverse it in a small clearing to turn it around. Sean disagreed.

Acting like it was no big deal, "Okay, just bring it over there through the gate and then back it up over there," he said matter-of-fact.

"'Just,'" I muttered, "Whenever you say 'just' I know you are trying to minimize something. Turning it into there will get you stuck." I was pissed but couldn't be. We had to work together and doing the blame game wouldn't get us out of this mess.

"I would turn it into there," I said pointing, with the same chipper voice like he used.

"No, that's no good."
"Yes, it is...you'll need to jack knife it real hard though."
"Driving through the gate will be easier. I'll guide you," he persisted.
"Fine."

I hopped in and the kids were quiet. I explained what we were going to do and that I would need it real quiet so I could think. The kids didn't make a sound.

I backed up the camper straight about 20 feet to pull forward so I could pull in through the gate. The weight from the trailer pulled the van back and my wheels started slipping. We went sliding down the hill a couple feet and I locked the breaks. We still slid.

Growing up in Minnesota gave me some advantage: I knew how to drive on slippery roads.

I put it into first gear and held my position. The wheels caught traction and slowly we heaved up to the top again and made the turn. My heart was pounding and my legs were shaking. I pulled into the grass and hopped out to look at what we had to maneuver next.

A chain link fence ran along the right-hand side of the van. Straight back was a big dip and then further back a deep ditch. If I could go part way out and then jack knife it to the right, drive the camper into the bushes, we could clear the gate and the other ditch and make it down the hill.

Sean hopped in. It was his turn to give it a go. He carefully began to back it up but then began some weird turning that made the camper nearly hit the fence.

"STOP! STOP!" I yelled, waiving my arms, "You have to turn it the other way!"

He pulled it back forward to give it another try. This time he made it through the gate but then went into the deep dip. The bike trailer in the back of the camper dug down into the dirt and then hit the asphalt lip bending the frame and making a loud scraping sound.

"STOP! STOP!" I screamed up to him, "DO NOT MOVE!" Sean jumped out to inspect what was going on.

"The dip is too big. You drive it and I will try to lift the bike trailer to clear the lip," he said.

I watched in the rear-view mirrors as he tried to lift the 200lb bike trailer and four bikes up as I backed up. It was no good. We were now stuck further on this damn hill. I started muttering to myself all the things I had to get out like, "If you see a big hill and you think that it looks too steep, STOP DRIVING!"

Over and over we tried to back up. Two hours went by and we were still stuck. The children still silent with fright. Finally, I said,"Sean, let me go back down the way I got in here, I'll pull forward again where I wanted to, and then I'll jackknife it into the bushes."

We cleared the asphalt with a different angle and slid down the hill a few feet until I finally regained some footing. Pulled it up into the bushes, jackknifed it into the bushes while scraping the paint through the wild blackberries and through a few more forward and reverse maneuvers we were facing the right way: looking down the narrow street in front of us.

I jumped over to my seat and looked at Sean as he climbed in. We did it. He slowly made the descent. He made a few chuckles of relief then said, "Now! Let's go look at that house!" I looked at him perplexed how he could be so flippant. I watched the road finally level out. "Okay...but park here. Don't drive up the street."