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In A Little Texas Town

February 25, 2012

I may not pass this way again.  ~Rod McKuen

*   *   *

Fairfield, Texas

Nell arrived from work a little before 2pm Friday, fresh from what was apparently an emotional farewell luncheon with her Dallas staff.  I had given the onboard generator a 30 minute workout, and by the time Nell got there, I had unhooked us from all the “landlines”, raised the leveling jacks, and lowered the TV antenna.  It was time to roll.

We may not have taken the best route to get away from DFW, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.  We spent an hour and a half circling the metroplex, ultimately ending up on I45, southbound toward Houston.  Aside from a frustrating missed lane change in heavy traffic on I20 on the way out, the trip was pretty uneventful, which is the way I like it.

We arrived at Newman’s RV Park in Fairfield, Texas just after 5pm.  An email from Amy Newman the day before had said to just pick a spot and hook up when we got here.  Which is exactly what we did.  A Sheriff’s deputy who lives here was out walking his dog.  After a quick “How ya doin’?”, he said it was a really quiet little RV Park.  Most of the trailers belonged to people who worked at the big power plant outside of town.  While Nell made a run to McDonald’s, I walked the dog and put the leveling jacks down.  Nell wondered if we really needed them, but my feeling was that we had them, they’re part of the motorhome, so why not use them?

We got hooked up to water and electric and settled in.

We don’t have a tow bar yet, so Nell drove the Trailblazer and I followed in the motorhome.  As we rolled along Interstate 45 and I looked out at very familiar countryside, it occurred to me that this was not just another weekend trip to Houston.  This was one-way.  We hadn’t packed any bags.  Our clothes and everything else we owned was back there behind me.  We weren’t coming back this way.  And with no family in the Dallas area, and no jobs there, we had no reason to ever go back if we didn’t want to.  Our life was in front of us, described in the words of a Rod McKuen song:

So let’s go run the ridges, mister.
Let’s go find the rainbow, sister.
Come along, stranger. Come along, friend.
I may not pass this way again.

We’re sitting inside, all buttoned up and cozy, yawning at 8pm.  We opted not to put the TV antenna up.  Nell’s reading while I type this.  We can hear an occasional car go by on the street.  Newman’s RV Park is two blocks off the main drag in Fairfield.  The county courthouse is a couple of blocks away.  The Sheriff’s Department is a block from us, and the Fairfield Police station is a block further on.  Although we still have five weeks to spend in the Houston area until Nell retires, our adventure has begun.  What better way to start this adventure than to spend the night in a one-block square RV Park in a residential area two blocks off the main street of a small Texas town?  I walked across the street to a house with a sign out front that said “Office”.  The office was closed, but a sign above a drop-box beside the door instructed me to drop my money in the box.  It also told me the wifi security code.

We haven’t met Amy Newman, the owner of Newman’s RV Park.  But we have corresponded by email.  She told me she looked at my blogs and liked my work.  And she said she had been a painter herself in a past life.  So I can tell, even if I don’t get to meet Amy before we head out of here in the morning, I like her.

If it stays as quiet outside as it has so far this evening, we just might get a decent night’s sleep.

Not bad for fifteen bucks a night.

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