The opening sentence might be “I swore that once I grew up I’d never again live in a trailer”.
I hated living in a trailer. We tossed around the trailer trash joke with each other and though I actually never felt like trailer trash, it seemed to always hang over my head.
It probably didn’t help that two out of three of my aunts/uncles and one set of grandparents, at the time, also lived in trailers. I remember thinking what is wrong with my family, why do most of us live in trailers as opposed to houses.
Obviously, now as an adult, I couldn’t care less. I’m not embarrassed that I grew up in a trailer. A happy home is less about the size of the structure than it is the humans inside of it, and their relationships with each other. Ours was a happy home.
On Sunday, Cordelia, Sid, Baby RR and I made the almost eight hour drive to Winnipeg. About halfway there we met two large semi trucks, each hauling a brand new house trailer on it. I slowed down and made some room as we passed each other. I wondered to myself if the people, maybe families, who were waiting on those new homes were as excited to get them as we were.
I can remember the day well, when our new trailer arrived. I was in grade 9. I couldn’t believe we were getting a brand new, never lived in home. It was beautiful, even if it was a trailer. My Dad and an uncle built a porch onto it and a ‘redwood’ deck off the living room.
It really was a step up from the tiny two bedroom house the five of us had lived in up until then.
Thirty-five-ish years later my parents still live there on the farm and obviously there’s more than enough room for the two of them. The trailer served its purpose, helped raise three girls and it’s still standing.
That being said, I still maintain that I will never again live in a trailer.
bloom.planted.north 
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