#6: 1 of 6--Exploring the S. Klondike Highway

The unexpected! When the four of us (that being Wayne, Stanley, me, Bethany) set out to explore the South Klondike Highway out of Skagway, not even sure where we'd pitch our tent that night, we came across the most unexpected find of all. Almost immediately we deemed it the best. I say almost because I had to jolly my reluctant friends along, at first, their reluctance to embrace the trailer a little less than enthusiastic.

It came about this way. The purpose of our getaway from Skagway, where we 're all bus driver guides (though Bethany this year is working at Jewell Gardens), was to simply wander. No agenda. No destination. Just follow our noses and see where it would take us. We'd been nosing into all the little dirt roads that branch off the only highway into town and just now had come across a narrow, sorta windy dirt road that ran alongside Nares Lake just before getting to Carcross in the Canadian Yukon. The road immediately intrigued us because of the plastic flowers--hanging in baskets from the trees, crowding the road, set on stumps, planted in planters. For about a quarter mile these plastic flowers bloomed amidst the forest, showcasing the trail into nowhere. "What the--?" we'd all ask from time to time, marveling at the complete and total bizarre. And then, suddenly, the trailer.

Now, my companions have all been properly brought up. I, however, have not. My folks have never been able to teach me to mind my own business and I snoop into anything old. Already the four of us had been climbing into abandoned log homes of the 1908 ghost town once called Conrad City. My friends were okay with that. No one lived there anymore. But the trailer?

Stop the car!" I hollered.

Wayne hit the brakes. The trailer called my name, and I heard the echo in the wind.

My friends were freaking out. "You can't go up there!"

Up I went and looked through an end window. Oh, my, it was like being Snow White. I half expected to find seven dwarfs. 

A wee table, little stove, frig, cupboards, bed, pots, pans, a shelf of murder mysteries. Any Sue Grafton? I had to get in there. A notebook, open on the table. Waiting for me? I climbed up two tire steps and looked through the front/side window. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Stanley.

Truth be told, I was playing with the bungee cord holding the door shut. Pandemonium from the car. "You can't go in there! It's breaking and entering! BRENDA!"

Next thing I knew, I was inside and, for the record, it wasn't breaking and entering. It was just entering. No breaking involved. My my my. What an adorable little place. And then, before you could count to five, my pals were crowded inside with me, my winning example paving the way and I was happily introducing them to the thrill of stepping into someone else's life.

"Dear Bee--" That's my name. Granny Bee. It didn't take long to figure out that Bee was a grandma and that her cute little place was open to friends and family. Dutifully all emptied the "mouse bucket" and then reported on their stay. "Here a week, reading." "So peaceful, thank you, Bee." "Dear Grandma...."

"Should we write something?" Bethany asked. The last entry was June 6, 2011. It was  now June the 11th. The journal, I noticed, started way back in 1998. I was forthwith elected to say a little something and so picked up pen and confessed that this magical little place had just called my name, truly. We all thanked Bee, signed our names, and sat on the porch outside, to just "be." 

Bliss, harmony, engagement. Beauty. Serenity. In my head I tallied my friends scattered all over the Lower 48 and determined I'd beg them all to come up and enjoy this gift of wonder, magic, and utter enchantment.

Bethany and me with Bobby Burns, the Scottish poet,
on the end of an andiron. Who would have thunk?

There is something about generosity, open spaces, cozy trailers, and companionship that encourages, inspires, and sets the soul to sing. Reluctantly we said goodbye, but not before lovingly reattaching the bungee cord and blessing Bee. 


The unexpected is the best.

Goodbye, cute little trailer in the woods...

Goodbye.