A spell of mild weather, alternating days of sunshine and rainfall. Tree-tops bare, amber leaves still clinging to lower branches, fluttering in the breeze. Around our woodland home, signs of winter coming. Flocks of yellow-bellied sap suckers, pausing for food on their way south. Masses of invasive asian beetles hatching in the warm sun, creeping into nooks and crannies. Field mice trying to take shelter in the cellar. Overhead, a formation of geese, squawking loudly. A flight of fancy to follow the birds south, small camper in tow. The allure of owning a tiny house on wheels, a room of ones own, a cozy bed at the end of a day of traveling. Thousands of miles of road travels this past summer, a chance to see many campers. Road warriors with stories to tell, some with many miles under their wheels. A few weeks ago, a Tin Can Tourists vintage camper rally in town. An open house, a chance to peek inside. Friendly, experienced and dedicated camper-owners, elated by the romance of camper living, grounded in the realities. Lovingly restored and hand-crafted spaces, some purchased new, others pre-owned or rescued from abandoned fields. A few with former lives as u-haul trailers and ambulances, refurbished. A tribute to good design, every precious inch utilized. A camper of my own, a dream. The reality, preparing for the oncoming northern weather.