Old camping trailer turned time capsule houses handful of treasures

Ours was not a camping family when I was growing up. When high school friends talked about planning weekends to go to “the lake,” I wasn’t even sure where they were going.

My dad — who had grown up regularly sleeping outdoors on the ground or in shacks that offered only minimal protection from the elements — always told us he had worked hard his whole life so we wouldn’t have to follow in his footsteps.

We stayed in some pretty sketchy motels in our travels, mind you, but we never slept on the ground.

For some reason, about the time my brothers and I were grown, my folks got the camping bug and purchased a fifth wheel travel trailer.

They bought it from friends who had used it lightly and lovingly, so it was practically brand new when it was pulled into our driveway.

It was marketed to sleep four people, but really this was a two-person rig, with a pair of twin beds. The pull-out sofa, which theoretically could sleep two more, was best left for its original duty.

This rig housed my parents on many happy campouts during the years it was road-worthy, and then served as a handy “guest room” for a long spell after those years were behind it.

When my daughter and niece were small, they considered it the perfect playhouse with everything made their size.

For many years now, it has been only a remarkably efficient trap for miller moths and wasps, so last weekend was a long overdue cleanout.

The contents of the trailer were a bit like a time capsule.

In the first closet, I found the custom-altered sheets my mom created to stabilize the bedding on the lightweight mattresses that were back-breakers to make.

In another, I found an afghan she’d made to match the colors of the built-in furniture, along with four jigsaw puzzles from my childhood.

There was a September 1989 issue of Reader’s Digest … 248 pages long. I didn’t remember that any magazines were ever 248 pages long.

Although the tiny microwave that used to sit in a specially made cabinet was taken out long ago, I found a microwave cookbook featuring recipes for everything from glazed ham to scallops Provençale.

Microwave technology was more ambitious and hopeful then. Or maybe not. The directions on zapping a pie shell (um … excuse me?) said to “Microwave at Power Level 10 for 10 to 12 minutes, or until pastry is dry and opaque.”

Mmmm. Who doesn’t love a dry and opaque pie crust?

My mom had outfitted the miniature kitchen with extra dishes and utensils from our house. There were four blue-rimmed plates that had belonged to my grandparents, and two olive-green coffee mugs I’d not seen in decades.

We grew up with two sizes of drinking glasses — “jelly glasses” that were repurposed after we finished off jars of red plum jam, and “juice glasses” that came packed with thin slices of dried beef.

Although these were surprisingly durable, over time ours had all been broken. It was like encountering old friends to open a cabinet over the tiny sink and discover three mint condition jelly glasses and a pair of juice glasses tucked in the back.

In the drawers below, the utensils were a reminder of how sturdy kitchen equipment once was made. You could shred a two-by-four with the heavy-duty cheese grater I found. Those eggbeaters? They were serious business.

The best treasures have been cleaned and squeezed back into my kitchen. I have several boxes destined for Goodwill and a microwave cookbook that is up for grabs.

The afghan has been washed and dried and placed on the back of my favorite napping sofa that almost matches it.

I’ll likely never be a camper, but I might dream about it … under a soft blue and pink afghan made by my mother’s hands.

Betty Williamson will savor all 248 pages of that old Reader’s Digest. Reach her at:

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