“I THINK THAT I SHALL NEVER SEE, A POEM LOVELY AS A TRAILER.”
About ten years ago, Moab continued to redefine itself as an upscale tourist destination, and haven for the more affluent “amenities economy.” A non-profit organization dedicated to providing more energy efficient, low interest loan housing, started the process of removing what it regarded as a public eyesore— Moab’s ubiquitous trailer culture. Whenever a trailer was uprooted from its decades long moorings and hauled to the dump, facebook posts would announce that “another piece of junk” had been removed from the Moab premises and hauled to its final resting place.
The announcements came fairly regularly and without much objection. But one morning, the boasting of a trailer’s demise struck a nerve with one Moab citizen. I wish I could recall her name or the specific text, but it made enough of an impression on me that I can at least paraphrase it.. The woman felt the need to reply. She said, in effect:
‘The ‘piece of junk’ you’re referring to was the home of my grandparents, who came here to make a living during the uranium boom. They bought that trailer as their home. They worked hard to pay it off, and loved their cozy quarters here in Moab. My grandmother planted flowers everywhere, and we planted trees to provide us some shade during the summer. We had a garden. It was HOME and we loved it. Now to see it hauled away like yesterday’s trash is painful to watch. Your piece of junk was my family’s history.’
The woman’s remarks garnered some sympathetic replies, including mine, but critical comments showed up as well. It was all about climate change- some argued for more energy efficient housing. At least the non-profit stopped its self-boasting by announcing the removal of more “junk.” But the removal of trailers and the demise of many trailer parks in Moab has been an ongoing process, supported by local government for years. The new homes being built in Moab are far beyond the reach of most middle class Americans.
I perused the local real estate ads recently, and after talking with a few Moabites who managed to plant roots before housing prices exploded. An interesting phenomenon has occurred. When I checked the listings, starting with the lowest price and up, the only dwelling that was even remotely reasonable was…who would have dreamed it — a surviving trailer in Spanish Valley for $135,000. It was the ONLY listing under $280,000 and that was the going price for a 500 square foot mini-condo, not a single family dwelling.
TRAILER ROOTS IN MOAB
One could make the argument that without the invention and development of the travel trailer, Moab’s Uranium Boom of the 1950s would have been even more chaotic than it was. Until Charlie Steen’s life altering discovery of uranium at Big Indian, 30 miles south of town, Moab was a sleepy little village most noted for its orchards. And it’s a good guess that many of those original settlers were appalled by the mass migration to Moab. Others welcomed the excitement and the prospects of a more vibrant economy. Moab has never been a town to agree on much of anything. The debate still rages.
In any case, would-be miners and prospectors flocked to Southeast Utah, only to find a community that was not in any way prepared to handle the Boom. In a great Zephyr story by Brett Hulen, he recalled his family’s arrival in Moab in 1955:
‘Our prospecting outfit on the way to Moab was a brand new 1955 Dodge C3PW Power Wagon pulling a new 24′ Boles Aero travel trailer. Dad had them mount a water tank on top to increase our water capacity. Behind that is our 1951 Willys CJ3 pulling a military jeep trailer with a 300 gallon water tank. The first night out of California Dad pulled off the highway onto what appeared to be firm sand. He buried the Dodge to the axles in the morning trying to get out. Then hitched the Jeep to the front end and buried that as well. Finally got the Jeep out, disconnected the Boles and buried a “dead man” 12×12 timber in order to get the Power Wagon out. Not sure how he got the trailer back out, must have winched it over to firmer ground and reattached it.‘
The Hulens parked where they could and practically any open space that wasn’t someone else’s property was occupied. I’m sure it was a mess, but the trailer community provided more comfort than a tent would have, they outlasted the Boom and contributed to what some have called “Moab’s Funky Charm.” Or did at least.
Perhaps the largest concentration of trailers in Southeast Utah was the Holiday Haven court on the far west side of town. But there was also the Walnut lane Court. And Apache Court. And Parkside…and so many more. It was an affordable way to live and a lifestyle that many appreciated and enjoyed. If you could pay off a trailer, renting a space was reasonable and the utilities were lower, simply because the living space was smaller.
It’s a valid point that trailers aren’t as energy efficient. But I remember getting into a debate with the late Moab resident Lance Christie. He was praising the government officials in Aspen, Colorado for putting energy limits on the number of BTUs a home could use per thousand square feet. But to me he missed the point; at the same time, none of the officials felt inclined to limit the SIZE of the home. An oil field worker driving a 1973 GMC pickup and living in an 8 x 40 foot trailer with poor insulation and drafty windows was still leaving a smaller “carbon footprint” than the 4000 square foot…or 6000…or 10,000 square foot mansion with the most energy efficient furnace known to man.
GIVING THE TRAILER ‘CACHET:’ ED ABBEY’S ARCHES TRAILER
Personally, I had never given much thought to trailers as a kid. We lived in a modest middle class two bedroom home in a modest middle class community, like so many families growing up in the 50s and 60s. I watched farms and forests disappear in the relative blink of an eye during those times in Kentucky. My beloved wide open spaces were consumed by subdivisions and malls. Now when I try to find my old stomping grounds, it’s unrecognizable. But back to the subject of trailers…
When a friend of my father loaned me his copy of Desert Solitaire, the idea of living in the middle of nowhere, in a little tin trailer. Like some before me and many who came later, I found the site of Ed’s trailer, the moorings for his radio antenna…even the old pipe for his septic tank. He and I once considered the possibility of stealing the old pipe, cutting it into six inch sections, and mounting them on a plaque with the inscription: “Ed Abbey’s Poop Passed Through Here.” For an additional fee, he said he’d sign each plaque personally. We never did get around to that…
It never occurred to me that one day, I’d be living in a trailer at Arches and answering the same question, over and over again. “NO…this was NOT Edward Abbey’s trailer.”
It’s also true that all trailers are not created equal.
It is a fact that like anything in life, quality varies from one “product” to the next. Makes and models of cars. Trucks. Homes. Trailers. You never know for sure what you’re getting for your money.
I loved my first trailer at the Devils Garden. It was tiny but well constructed. It felt solid. The cabinets were made of real wood, not wall board veneer. The bedrooms were small but comfortable. It was tight too. No rodents could find their way into the interior.. And it stood up well in a hard wind. It was my home for six years. Its only disadvantage was its proximity to the campground entrance. Tourists assumed it was an office, or ranger station, not a residence. So they just walked in. Signs didn’t help. I once gave directions to a camper for the Broken Arch trail through my bathroom door as I tried to take care of necessary business.
In 1981, the Park Service hauled my old trailer away and relocated it at the Needles. They came out on the good end of that deal. The idea was mostly to move the residence much farther away and give us some privacy. Instead, at a cost of many thousands of dollars, they brought in the new trailer and moved it an additional eight feet from the road. I was thrilled.
It was extraordinary that the “new” trailer even made the journey intact. It was ready to fall apart when it arrived. DOA. The only advantage to it was that it made me feel so much closer to Nature. Especially the rodents. Mi Casa. Su Casa.
I shared the new trailer with one ranger and a host of other living entities.
The new trailer was a welcome sight for the mice and kangaroo rats and bushy-tailed wood rats that were free to come and go at will. At night I could hear them scurrying about the place, in search of food scraps or, at other times, scrounging building materials for their next nest. They were my little nocturnal pals. Sometimes they liked to scamper over my face at night. This later caused me to develop a case of insomnia from which I have never fully recovered.
The deer mice especially were always ready to take over the trailer if I was gone too long. I recall on several occasions, I’d been away for a couple weeks and when I returned the mice had built a nest in my underwear drawer and were in the process of raising a family, right there in the midst of my jockey shorts. Those mice are the reason, in fact, I gave up tight-fitting underwear. Imagine my surprise one morning when I pulled on a pair of old white briefs in the dim early morning light and felt seven newborn mice wiggling inside. It was almost a religious experience.
And of course, wherever rodents go, they leave their calling cards behind. Over the years the mouse and rat turds accumulated behind the walls. Whenever we bumped into the walls or tried to hang a picture –whenever anyone so much as touched those walls, you could hear the most recent rodent deposits trickle slowly to the floor. It sounded like one of those rain sticks you can buy at the nearest New Age crafts store. So in the brutal heart of a typical canyon country summer, listening to the gentle beat of mouse turds behind our walls was a comfort. On demand, we could conjure up the sensation of a light summer rain. Blessed we were, beyond my ability to describe it.
This was all before the Age of Hantavirus, the deer-mouse carried respiratory disease that is known to be fatal in humans and which has created an irrational fear of our little friends and the turds they produce. Nowadays, the idea of sweeping mouse berries away with a broom is a shocking violation of hantavirus protocol. Health authorities would have a nervous breakdown if they could have seen me pushing a cloud of dusty mouse turds out the door with a push broom. The cloud would grow as I swept from one end of the trailer to the other. My fellow ranger and roommate would come in from a long hike and see the dust devil moving toward him and some blurred human form within it and say, “Stiles? Is that you in there?”
I’d wave cheerily and answer, “Almost done. Stand back. I’m pushing this shit out the door.” My partner would oblige and move to a far corner of the trailer.
“One of these days,” he said later as we shared a cold beer, “we should make the Park Service buy us a vacuum cleaner.”
“Yeah…right,” I chuckled. “Right after we get a big raise and medical benefits.”
Years later, when the hantavirus threat made the Park Service remove and burn the old trailer, they tore off the interior walls and found almost a foot of rodent droppings accumulated at the base of the 2 x 2 studs. And yet I have shown no ill effects from my long stay with the mice and rats. In fact, within our body chemistries, we may contain the very antibodies that hold the key to a hantavirus vaccine. Perhaps I could have even offered an earlier solution to Covid-19. A virus by any other name smells just as bad.
* * * *
There were other forms of wildlife and other advantages to trailer life. A mobile home is built light for ease of movement from one place to another, so its walls aren’t exactly built of adobe. As a result, the sounds of Nature outside often sounded as if they were right next to me. I could hear the young mule deer in the back yard, browsing the new green growth above the septic tank leach field and sometimes young bucks rubbed their antlers against the trailer’s tin walls. I could hear the coyote’s call in the late evening when the moon rose. I could hear the hoot of a Great Horned Owl that lived for years in the dark upper recesses of a sandstone fin near the campground entrance. And on very still nights, I could even hear the lonely wail of a Rio Grande freight train as it roared east or west along the base of the Book Cliffs, thirty miles to the north.
And I could often hear the conversations of the newly arrived campers just up the road from me…
“If you think I’m camping in this pesthole, Walter, you’ve got another thing coming!”
“Well…at least we’re near the Comfort Station, dear.”
“I doubt if I’ll find much ‘comfort’ there. But probably more than I’ll get from you, Walter.”
And then there was the wind. I could really appreciate the power and majesty of the wind at the trailer. A 5 mph breeze sounded like a 50 mph wind. A 50 mph wind sounded like a cyclone. It was during one of these tornado-like episodes that maintenance foreman Dave Baker explained to me why God made old tires. About two dozen of them, scattered at short intervals across the roof, reduced the perceived wind velocity and its effects significantly.
Perhaps the most entertaining aspect of my trailer, both the good one and the bad one, was its alleged connection to Edward Abbey. Almost everyone who came to Arches in those golden days had read or was in the process of reading Desert Solitaire, although I came to question in the years to come, their reading comprehension. How many times, my GOD how many times did I answer a late night knock at the door only to find a fresh-faced kid (like me at the time) clutching a copy of Abbey’s masterpiece? And I’d have to explain once again that, no, this was not Edward Abbey’s trailer. In fact, Ed’s trailer sat abandoned and in an increasing state of decay at the NPS Central Maintenance yard in Moab for years and was finally sold for its axles to Mesa County, Colorado.
As to the fate of my last trailer, the NPS hauled the trailer away completely; it lay abandoned at the Balanced Rock junk yard/gravel pit for a couple of years. Then they dragged it to the old Moab airport in upper Spanish Valley and the Moab Volunteer Fire Department burned it to the ground for practice. Since then, I’ve wondered if the broiled mouse turds might mutate as a smoke-borne version of the hantavirus and spread its deadly disease on masses of people.
FINALLY…THE BEAUTY OF TRAILERS & THE HAPPINESS THEY BRING
Sorry…I tend to wax sentimental in these ‘end times.’ I didn’t mean to detour you to a trip down Memory Lane. I’m here to talk about the necessity of mobile homes and trailers, not mouse turds. Quite a few years ago, as Moab was in the early stages of its transformation, I wrote this about the changing face of Moab and Grand County:
“Some thought needs to be given to the contradictions that we all face as an allegedly enlightened urban population moves into rural parts of the West. The junk controversy in Moab has created some interesting battle lines–many of the newer residents, citizens who openly call themselves environmentalists, have been the ones most vocal about their disdain for an untidy county. While I don’t advocate junk, it is frustrating to see recent arrivals so full of righteous indignation at the so-called mess in their neighbors’ yards. Usually the old car or broken fridge was already there when they bought the adjacent property. I mean, if you didn’t like it, you should have bought a place somewhere else.
“People have a right to live their lives the way they want to.I remember the recent story of the man in Spanish Valley who raised pigs–he’d been raising them for years. He was a pig farmer, dammit, and proud of it. But a subdivision was built nearby, in full view of the pig farm, and once the new residents settled in, they were livid that this pig farm was offending their sensibilities and their noses and made it their Great Crusade to shut it down. Somehow that rankled. The West has always been about space. That includes giving each other some space. How about it?”
A decade or more later, the “pig farmers” and “trailer trash” have clearly lost the battle in Moab.Only those who were already in Moab, and can withstand the dramatic increases in taxes and the cost of living there have been able to stay. But no one can miss the irony that the only affordable housing in Moab is the trailer that so many Moabites have pushed to eliminate.
* * * *
Trailers can be a thing of true beauty. A true objet d‘art. Nowadays, like cars, I can’t tell one trailer brand from another. But there was a time when they offered something more than just functionality and mobility. They could be and were esthetically pleasing to the eye. If you’re reading this, Herb Ringer needs no introduction and if you have read many of the stories I’ve written about him, or at least marveled at his treasury of old Kodachrome slides, you might also recall that he and his parents favored trailers to houses. When Herb brought his folks to Reno, Nevada in the early 1940s, they bought a small trailer and set up housekeeping at the Orchard Lake Trailer Court. Then, in 1954, they bought a classic “Smoker” trailer that was delivered to their lot from the factory in Indiana. It was 42 feet long and such a feat of engineering that the Ringers and their trailer made the local news. That trailer was Herb’s home for the next 44 years. When both his parents died, he moved the trailer to a quiet trailer court off the main drag in Fallon. It was a part of Herb. When doctors finally convinced him to move into a nursing home, he reluctantly agreed. He died three months later.
Finally, when I escaped Moab in the early 2000s and relocated to Monticello, my little cottage was even smaller than my digs on Locust Lane. And even then I had almost twenty years of Zephyr archives with all the trimmings, plus Herb’s collections and Edna’s and all the “stuff” I’ve accumulated over the years. But I got lucky; a buddy of mine in Fruita knew a guy who knew a guy. Soon I was the owner of a vintage 22 foot Avion trailer. Hauling it back to Monticello, with Gene Schafer towing it is a story all by itself. But then so is Gene. (I should repost that story too someday). The Avion served as the headquarters of the Stiles/Zephyr Stuff Collection for over two decades. Never leaked and was “cheerful in all weathers.” When I sold the cottage, the Avion went with it, but the new owners found someone who wanted to renovate the old girl, so I’m hoping it’s in good hands.
Trailers may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but they have served good people and happy families well, all across the country for many decades. It’s been home to folks who wanted to call someplace ‘home,’ but feared they’d never get the chance. On the last day Herb Ringer spent in his Smoker, he just about cried his eyes out. That’s how much a trailer can mean, given the love and care it deserves. Finally he stood up, pulled a screwdriver out of a metal box and said, “Come with me. I want you to have something.”
He took the screwdriver and removed the chrome ”Smoker” trailer logo from the side of it. “Here,” he said. “I want you to have this. This has been my home for all these years. I want you to have a piece of it.” A couple years ago, Tonya and I made a trip to the west coast and we stopped in Fallon along the way. I wasn’t sure if the trailer court itself would still be there, much less Herb’s trailer. But there it was, in precisely the same place it’s been since 1973. And with a new coat of paint. Herb would be pleased. It’s still Home to someone.
In Part 2..a crime just as great. Or greater — letting old historic houses fall apart…or even worse: permitting them to be torn down for another McMansion or Condo development.
Jim Stiles is the founding publisher and editor of The Canyon Country Zephyr. He is still “hopelessly clinging to the past…since 1989.” Stiles can be reached at: cczephyr@gmail.com
TO COMMENT ON THIS STORY PLEASE SCROLL TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS PAGE…AND IF SO INCLINED, LEAVE A COMMENT. I’D LIKE TO HEAR FROM YOU…JS
Signed copies
And I encourage you to “like” & “share” individual posts.
Why they can’t just leave the site alone is beyond me,
but that’s what Facebook likes to do.
ALSO NOTE: I post old photographs and stories from our 25 year old archives every day. Pictures from Herb Ringer, Edna Fridley, Charles Kreischer.. even a few old photos from my Dad. So if you want to stay caught up on our historic photo collections,
be sure to “follow” us on Facebook…Thanks…Jim
https://www.facebook.com/FansoftheCanyonCountryZephyr/
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NOTE: The upcoming summer issue of RANGE includes a tribute to lifelong Moabite Karl Tangren.
More than six years ago, The Zephyr, me & four other individuals were sued for defamation by the former Moab City Manager. Faced with mounting legal bills, my dear friends John and Isabel De Puy donated one of John’s paintings to be auctioned.
ALL the proceeds went to our defense.
Thanks to them, our bills were almost completely covered.
Now I’d like to return the favor. Check out the link below and their online shop… JS
https://www.depuygallery.com/shop.html
And check out this post about Mazza & our friend Ali Sabbah,
and the greatest of culinary honors:
https://www.saltlakemagazine.com/mazza-salt-lake-city/
by Edie Eilender (ZX#64) https://www.canyoncountryzephyr.com/2023/05/28/john-riffee-the-last-lone-ranger-by-edie-eilender-zx64/
by Jim Stiles (ZX#8) https://www.canyoncountryzephyr.com/2022/05/15/60-years-later-still-searching-for-dennise-sullivan-by-jim-stiles-zx8/
Las Vegas also underwent the removal of many old trailer courts and their contents! Many had aged residents to whom a move was excruciating! And friends who had a cabin in Utah noted a bulge above the cook stove. As the bulge enlarged they examined its interior—-exposing a nest of pine cones made larger each Spring as the squirrels continued their “building”! The times they are a’changin’ and not necessarily for the better!
Thanks Donna…your regular comments and observations mean the world to me…Thanks…JIm
Speaking of Fallon NV, trailers can be found alive and well, (or otherwise) in little towns all across Nevada, among other State’s rural settings. It is mostly just the Moabs, Aspens, and the like where snooty gentrification has pushed out the trailers and the pig farmers.
I agree. There are plenty of remote trailer towns. But there IS a tend happening across the West. Moab was once one of those towns in the West with its “funky charm.” The change happens slowly. Then one day you wake up, rub your eyes and say, “where the hell am I?”
I loved the “funky” towns of the west…..sadly they are going the way of the dodo bird. I’m afraid the nice well care for trailer courts are a thing long gone……I left Moab in 76…… don’t want to see what it’s become
I loved the groovy towns of the west…..sadly they are going the way of the dodo bird. I’m afraid the nice well care for trailer courts are a thing long gone……I left Moab in 76…… don’t want to see what it’s become
Well Jim, thanks again for illuminating the tsunami like shifting of the inter-mountain west social/economic demographics. This era’s enclosure of the commons, imposed by the masters of globalized investor capitalism’s insatiable hungry ghost appetite for more! more! more! A metastatic blight that further accelerates the disconnect from the ancient taboos restricting behaviors informed by vice(greed,gluttony,sloth) that if not kept in-check undermine the virtuous behaviors(humility,gratitude,frugality) that preserve and protect our good relations with Mother Earth’s Sacred Interdependent Tapestry. No a la Guerra! Otro Mundo Es Posible!
When my wife and I decided to move to her land on the outskirts of the Hopi village of Songòopavi we bought an 8 by 29 foot Kit Carson travel trailer built in 1950 from a hippie pot grower in the Verde Valley for $500. It still had the original tires and had been sitting in the same place for 45 years and hadn’t been registered since it was new. We were pretty sure it wouldn’t pass inspection for a new registration making it illegal to travel on Arizona roads.
We decided that the only way to move it to the Rez was to move it at night along back roads for 160 miles and hope that under the cover of darkness, no one would notice that the license plate on the trailer was extremely expired.
To make a long story short, we hooked it up behind my half ton Chevy pickup, had my brother follow us to obscure the expired tag and drove all the way to it’s new home on the Rez without problems. Although we did notice the next morning in the daylight that some chunks whatever those old tires were made of were missing.
We lived in that antique trailer for almost five years while we started a business and made enough money to start building a real house. The trailer became our guest house until we passed it along to a new owner on the Rez for $500.
Loved the photo of Herb’s old trailer’s new life!
Great adventure you guys,,,isnt it time you came just east of the 100th parallel?
Good stuff thanks Jim. Of course the new people moving in love a restored Airstream or a Sprinter camper in their driveway. Where will those end up when they aren’t cool anymore?
“I THINK THAT I SHALL NEVER SEE, A POEM LOVELY AS A TRAILER.”
I would have used a colon thus: “I THINK THAT I SHALL NEVER SEE: A POEM LOVELY AS A TRAILER.”
Still, what do I know? I scored a ‘B’ in English Language and I’m English.
Who IS that dishy Ranger at the Devils Garden? He looks like he needs to write something.
Over here, ‘trailers’ are caravans. The word ‘caravan’ is heavily moderated on websites here because of the negative connotations pertaining to gypsies and Irish ‘travellers’ in general who tend to squat on private land, make a huge mess and then move on to repeat the process elsewhere leaving councils, and ultimately the tax payer, to pick up the bill for the clear up.
This is just a small example of how far our society has broken down. Nobody seems to care.
Oh yeah, at this time of year we have trailers/caravans clogging the roads doing 45mph but I can just about live with that knowing these people are law abiding tax payers who just want to get naked in Wales or Cornwall whilst tossing their little sausages under a cloudy sky.
God, this website makes me realise just how angry I am, Jim.
Best wishes 🙂
Bob London…you have become such a regular commenter, maybe you should have your own column, from the other side of the pond….seriously.
email me: cczephyr@gmail.com
ParksideTrailer Court is a vacation court? News to me I am 3rd generation owner. Have kept the court available to locals for 52 years since the purchase of it in 1970 by my grandparents. Then their son my uncle Bill, ran it until he passed in 2012. Although when purchased it was a RV park not what it is today, long term rentals. There are folks renting here since my grandparents in 1970. Sad to see all these trailer parks selling. Hey Jim if you can pass along any pictures of Parkside I would appreciate it.
Loved the story of the mouse turds. Wish I had taken more photos on that first visit to Devils Garden campground in September ’81, might have gotten one of the trailer. Was I the only one who never thought the place would be any different until it was too late?
When I began to read your trailer trash article it kind of rankled me a bit as we were part of that migration. Imagine my surprise when I saw the photos of our old Boles Aero trailer in your article. Thank you Jim! The four of us lived in that trailer for about 7 years or so. When Dad bought the property up behind McDougal’s Phillip 66 bulk plant he built a 10′ x 10′ bunkhouse for my brother and I to sleep in while our home was being built. I guess the fever is catching for as an adult I also bought an old Avion trailer to pull around Alaska and am on my second Airstream now. As I continue to read your stories it has brought a certain realization to me that although I thought I was pretty well versed as a teenager in all aspects of what the Moab area had to offer, I now realize that I didn’t even begin to scratch the surface. Keep writing and I’ll keep reading! I look forward to each and every one of your articles.
You know I’d never write anything to rankle you. I was just trying to draw in the readers who really DO think like that….Thanks for the use of your photos again…they are priceless. If you ever find more, let me know.
Thanks for giving the beer cans their due respect, and for the vintage photos.
The first trailer I lived in at Needles back in ’79 was about the same vintage/model as your first trailer, as was the Info Station/Visitor Center. It was parked up against S… Butte (now Woodenshoe?) with a view of Woodenshoe arch. The door was propped open most of the time during the spring, to let the lizards out. “The Taj Mahal” required little maintenance and suited a couple young blokes more interested in being outside than in. After the Taj was hauled to the bone yard I lived in a newer one called “Needles Hilton.”
College days and oilfield summers were mostly in those ’50s trailers or my dad’s old Airstream, which was handy to drag back and forth between summer jobs and school, no packing needed, just hook up and go.
Yep, I’m afraid little Bluff, Utah is headed the same way. New folks calling for affordable housing yet pointing with upturned noses at the few trailer houses left. We tried to keep Bluff Bluff and not Moab. I remember in a planning and zoning attempt 30 years ago I made a suggestion that every new house should have at least one trailer house built into it.
As a trailer dweller of ten years, I agree!
Thanks Bianca!
My family was living in a rented trailer at the time I was born. It was an 8′ x 40′ or 50′ aluminium trailer on some acreage west of Green River near the present-day Thayn ranch. My parents, myself and my sister and 5 brothers called that little trailer home, and as I recall, no one ever complained. Because there’s not a lot of things (or room) for country kids to do indoors, trailer life forces them outdoors to do chores, explore nature, all things that are healthy for kids of any age. It’s really easy for kids these days to get lost–isolated–inside joyless, artificially-lit modern monster McMansion homes.
We eventually moved from the rented trailer to a nearby farm house with a little more acreage. Last time I drove around the environs of my early childhood in Green River, I spotted a 1950’s era aluminum trailer with faded blue paint parked between two massive cottonwood trees. I suspect it might by my very first home. The chassis–or whatever you call a trailer body–was straight and it was nearly intact. Even after all these years, with a little TLC, that trailer might make a nice home for another up and coming family of 9.
Great story Marjorie…
I appreciated your sweetly sentimental article on trailer life, Stiles. Having owned and lived in several old trailers and motor homes, working in state and National Parks, I too have many fond memories:
The first trailer I lived in while I was working on the Uncompahgre National Forest in 1977. It was a tiny (11-12′ ??) old camper that I shared with another young woman while we were marking a timber sale on the Tabaquache Plateau, up out of Nucla Colorado. We each had our own bunk and it was quite cozy, except for when one of us had to go outside at night to take care of our “business”. We had a two burner stove and a cooler for our food and always ate outside at a picnic table.
I remember meeting you in your trailer at Arches in 1977 (or 1978?) after one of our many rafting trips down Westwater Canyon on the Colorado River. The Devil’s Garden campground had no vacancies, but you kindly assured us that neither you or the other Ranger would be patrolling a certain area of the park that night. So we threw our sleeping bags out in nice, soft sandy area under the stars. Thanks for that!
When I moved to Moab in 1987, I lived in a trailer at Dead Horse Point. This I also shared with a fellow seasonal employee, but it was much larger: two bedrooms and one bathroom, plus a living room and kitchen… I felt like I had hit the big time! One of the not-so-tight aluminum versions, we also lived with many rodents. What an exciting experience to open up the silverware drawer and have a mouse hop out! Only one of many incidents and we had not heard of Hantavirus yet either. That trailer eventually got condemned and like your trailer at Arches, got hauled to some boneyard in Moab. Nonetheless, I have many fond memories of living in that tin can in the Canyon Country of Utah. I subsequently got a permanent position there at Dead Horse Point and spent the next 15 years of my career as a Ranger up on that mesa at 6,000 feet, overlooking the Colorado River 2,000′ below, an experience I will treasure for the rest of my life!
Over my lifetime, I have lived in houses and trailers in Colorado, Utah, Arizona and South Dakota. My husband and I still live in a 5th wheel in the winter time at a ranch in southern New Mexico where our job is to play Western Music. We spend a lot of time on the road, camping in our 6′ cab-over camper with our three cats and a dog, playing our music all over the West. Sometimes it’s nice to check in to our home base in the Black Hills for a little while, but we are always happy to be back in one of our little campers or trailers, heading down the road on another adventure!
Thanks for sharing the memories!
And PS: I must confess it was me who stole that old wooden Tower Arch sign from the trailhead; (we didn’t want other people to know how to get out there). It’s here in South Dakota if you ever want it back…