Campground

Closing Chapters

This was posted to Wits End on Delphi in September 2000

Twenty years ago, mom and pop bought their place down the shore. It was not on the island, however, it was in a nice campground on route 9 outside of Sea Isle City.

It was a fine one and a half bedroom trailer in the woods. Cable TV, central air, phone, and large Florida room, it was their summer home away from home. My father particularly liked the fact that it was a gated community, so none of my mothers goofy friends or family relatives could pop in on them.

The campground was more than a campground. It was a city in the woods. And like a city, it had its neighborhoods. There were the tenters, the RVs, the log cabins, trailers, pop-ups, buses, Air Streams, all pretty much delegated to their specific little conclaves.

There was a tramcar dressed up as a train that would do the rounds every evening, picking up grandmoms and grandkids and folks just looking for something to do. It stopped at the main center, the activity center, the movie house, the miniature golf course, a general store, restaurant, game room, pool, and three lakes. My son loved the train, and every night, he and grandmom would take a couple of rides on it. Come to think of it, I loved that train too. It gave me many hours of peace.

My father picked up a part time job in the campground as a security type guard. He wore a uniform, and worked the guard booth or the game room a couple of nights a week, and enjoyed the authority of being able to tell people where to go.

Pop died four years ago, 4 months after the birth of the royal offspring. Mom kept the place at the campground. In the last three years, some of her neighbors died or moved, and this year, mom decided it was time to sell.

Today mom and I made the last trip to the campground to sign over the title, and clean out the trailer. The campground is closed now, and what was a thriving city last month was but a haunting ghost town. Not a person in the entire place, no RVs, tents, campfires, or traffic. All that was left were the memories of summers gone by.

As I passed through the guardhouse for the final time, I looked in the rear view mirror to see the gate come down behind me, ending one of the finest chapters in the wonderful book of my life. As I pulled onto Route 9, I wondered what the next chapter would be. And ultimately, how many were left.

The floats and bands will change, but the parade of time marches on. Nothing we can do about that. I just wish the parade would slow down. Just a little.

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