So I'm cruising the Internet, checking for boondocking sites (a piece of ground we can park on overnight, for free, like Walmart.)
I find instead a curious thing. A city (very small) park, with water, gas and electric hookups, for $10 a night (cheap!). On the honor system. The little write-up warns the park has four unmarked spots with hook-ups.
Four sites? They're probably taken. So, I find a nearby Walmart, just in case ...
As we enter the small town, I warn Allen to drive into the campground slowly. It must be run down. Remember, $10 a night? So let's watch for nails, pipes, broken wood strewn across the road.
I see the sign up ahead and tell Allen to turn left, then slow down. Watch out for debris. He does.
We enter a park so luscious, so meandering, so lovely we're mesmerize. We pass a long manicured grassy area landscaped with war memorials and mock antique street lights. We drive by a swimming pool, a beautifully-appointed playground, a small softball complex surrounded by an exquisite shoulder-high stonewall.
And the trees! Beautiful live oaks gracefully reach out here and there, creating large pools of dappled shade.
It doesn't look like a campground. No concrete slabs or numbered pavilions. Only dirt/gravel lanes that swirl around shaded grassy areas. We know we're in the camping area because we see one other motorhome. Just one. We don't see any others, or any other sites.
So we ask our fellow camper for help, and he directs us to what becomes our own piece of earth, in a grassy circle far away from him, where we hook everything up and stay planted. Paradise.