Trash or Treasure?

While running away from home for a few days last weekend I was able to scratch another item off my bucket list. I stayed at Cades Cove in the campground. For twenty years my husband Jerry and I have been traveling to Cades Cove, Tennessee. The cove is about forty-five minutes from Gatlinburg in The Great Smoky Mountain National Park. All these years we?ve lodged in hotels about thirty minutes from the cove in a small town called Townsend. Every year we?d travel back and forth from the cove to Townsend. As we left the cove each time I?d always look at the campground and wish I were staying there. I wanted to be where the action was with the bears, deer and turkeys. Thanks to a wrecked F-450 motor home I was finally able to.


Last winter Jerry came home from his job of picking up scrap metal at junkyards. He started telling me about a motor home at one of the yards. It had been rolled over on its side and the insurance company had totaled it. Jerry and I had been drooling after an RV for some time. We would travel to RV lots and look at those eluding homes on wheels. They?d stare at us with their glowing headlights, sun reflecting off shiny wheels, satellite dish perched on top, and their slide-out proudly extended. Occasionally a salesman would crack one up and the motor would hum out a tune that sounded something like: On the road again, like a band of gypsies we go down the highway.


One thing has been holding us back from purchasing one of these beauties. Green backs, cold hard cash. Yes, these traveling abodes cost a small fortune. There is no way we would put that much money in a vehicle. Even one that sports a queen sized bed. Then the day came when Jerry found the one that had been bumped up a bit. He came home telling me about the totaled motor home and my eyes lit up and my heart picked up a beat or two. This might be a RV that we could afford. Then the next week Jerry came home from the junkyard and said he didn?t think he?d buy it. He was sort of afraid we?d be traveling down the highway and parts of it would start flying off. Regardless of the homes flaws he wouldn?t stop talking about it. It took Jerry four trips to the junkyard before he drove the RV. That day he came home and told me he wanted me to go see it.


I was reluctant at this point, but he kept bragging on how good the motor ran, and how nicely the junkyard man had fixed it up. New awning and mirror, a little body work here, a swipe of paint there. So next day off we go. Two hours later we arrive. There she sat. I wasn?t that impressed. It was way bigger than I expected. Even though it was only 29 feet long. The first thing I saw when I opened the door was a hole in the wall. During the crash the microwave had flown out of its space and smashed into the paneling. Some of the cabinet doors hang by one hinge and it was dirty, real dirty.


I sort of slipped out the door and stood in the sunshine thinking my husband had really lost his mind this time. While the junkyard man and Jerry talked about generators; and why the step wouldn?t go in, I was thinking, no way is this thing going to my house. When the junkyard salesman left us alone Jerry asks the big question, ?What do you think?? I proceed to make a list of all the things I see wrong. Jerry says, ?Only cosmetic, easy to fix.? I again protest. Jerry then reminds me how cheap the motor home is. Finally, seeing his mind is made up I give in. Age has brought about a kinder me, more agreeable. Besides, I hate fussing. As we left the junkyard I followed behind the RV in our pickup. Goodness, that thing in front of me was big. It took up the entire lane of the country road. I knew I?d be scared to death riding in it. As the trip home progressed my fear lessened. Jerry did a great job of holding it in the road and my confidence in his decision grew.


After some minor repairs, lots of elbow grease, a picture of kitty cats from the dollar store to cover up the microwave boo-boo, and a simple tablecloth to hide the cracked table, everything looks pretty good. Jerry was right again? only cosmetic. Since our second trip in it to Cades Cove this past weekend I can honestly say, I love my junked house on wheels. Camping in the cove was even more special than I?d hoped for. Yes, sometimes others junk can become another ones treasure. We can?t always judge a book by its cover.


Note: Don?t laugh, but for 25 years I took a bath in a bathtub that was purchased at a junkyard. It had a few scratches, but hey, it held water just the same, and it only cost a few bucks. You gotta’ love a good bargain.

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