Setting up and breaking down my daystall at Pike Place Market for 15 years is experience that transfers well to camping life on the road. Hitching up the RV, running electric cords, hooking hoses, extending awning and leveling jacks reminds me of getting ready to sell at the market.
Getting more efficient as I put tools in more convenient places saves a lot of up and down RV steps. Same bungie cords used at the market for holding canvas and tarp up now being used to hold drawers shut while rolling down the road. Binder clips useful for displaying art prints clamp folded bags closed keeping food fresh. Continuing on with comparison I guess my Fifth wheel is like my cart. Cart was 5’ long and I was the horsepower: my fifth wheel is 28’ long and Ford 250 truck is horsepower.
What is also different now is peace and serenity. The market is not where you go for peace and serenity. Each day the market starts out peaceful and quiet but quickly fills with loud, hyped up vendors, excited people from all round the world, buskers belting noise, delivery trucks rumbling by, clang of carts on the cobblestones and then there is the hustle and bustle activity. There is a veneer of community at Pike Place Market but the truth is its every man and woman for themselves; social-political games in full swing.
Campgrounds draw nice people without an agenda, or so it seems. These people are seeking various other intangibles than pursuit of money. An assortment of recreational campers, nomads, families, and drifters slowing down wheels of fast pace life gone spinning out of control. I was entirely caught up between making new art and selling it at the market. Seemed the only time I took a breath was in the elevator. Now I just head up the trail at La Conner Campground drinking in the freshest air and about to be rewarded with of an amazing new panorama to ponder. There are six or seven sites with panorama views of the bay and much in demand. They have to have a lottery to see who gets what space. The meeting is called The Sewer Club. These campsites use to be only ones with sewers. Now most all do. I’m happy being surrounded by old fir trees dappling the light. Beaches here are not sandy, they are pebbled. Not so fun to walk on. Pockets of seaweed and piles of kelp. I like sitting on a fat driftwood tree stump and writing, sketching, or thinking with dogs leashed to wood limbs. There’s a lone tree out on the bay. Standing tall, somewhat broken and twisted by raging Northwest storms. Could stand for anything in one’s imagination. For me it symbolizes the individual struggle to keep a distance outside the forest, and observe the forest to offer a fresh viewpoint. Bed by 9:30. No TV or radio. Quiet is perfect for now.
Getting more efficient as I put tools in more convenient places saves a lot of up and down RV steps. Same bungie cords used at the market for holding canvas and tarp up now being used to hold drawers shut while rolling down the road. Binder clips useful for displaying art prints clamp folded bags closed keeping food fresh. Continuing on with comparison I guess my Fifth wheel is like my cart. Cart was 5’ long and I was the horsepower: my fifth wheel is 28’ long and Ford 250 truck is horsepower.
What is also different now is peace and serenity. The market is not where you go for peace and serenity. Each day the market starts out peaceful and quiet but quickly fills with loud, hyped up vendors, excited people from all round the world, buskers belting noise, delivery trucks rumbling by, clang of carts on the cobblestones and then there is the hustle and bustle activity. There is a veneer of community at Pike Place Market but the truth is its every man and woman for themselves; social-political games in full swing.
Campgrounds draw nice people without an agenda, or so it seems. These people are seeking various other intangibles than pursuit of money. An assortment of recreational campers, nomads, families, and drifters slowing down wheels of fast pace life gone spinning out of control. I was entirely caught up between making new art and selling it at the market. Seemed the only time I took a breath was in the elevator. Now I just head up the trail at La Conner Campground drinking in the freshest air and about to be rewarded with of an amazing new panorama to ponder. There are six or seven sites with panorama views of the bay and much in demand. They have to have a lottery to see who gets what space. The meeting is called The Sewer Club. These campsites use to be only ones with sewers. Now most all do. I’m happy being surrounded by old fir trees dappling the light. Beaches here are not sandy, they are pebbled. Not so fun to walk on. Pockets of seaweed and piles of kelp. I like sitting on a fat driftwood tree stump and writing, sketching, or thinking with dogs leashed to wood limbs. There’s a lone tree out on the bay. Standing tall, somewhat broken and twisted by raging Northwest storms. Could stand for anything in one’s imagination. For me it symbolizes the individual struggle to keep a distance outside the forest, and observe the forest to offer a fresh viewpoint. Bed by 9:30. No TV or radio. Quiet is perfect for now.
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