After stalking a junkyard in the middle of nowhere, on a dead end road (dead end from the mudslide in the Coulee Region last fall), for an entire fall and winter, we finally talked the owner of a 1963 28’ Ambassador down to a price we could muster (we actually thought it was a 1969-70 Airstream). With sweaty palms and our hearts beating out of our chests, we went on a family adventure to Ray-Mart, the junkyard, to get our dream out of a mess that has no fitting description. My husband, firmly holds to the belief that it is not a junkyard, but he does not have another explanation for what has occurred in one of our coulees at Ray-Mart.
When we arrived, I was absolutely positive that Ray had purposely piled even more junk around our baby and to add to my disappointment, the nettles were shoulder height. After two and a half hours of digging junk in the hot sun, an hour of which 79-year-old Ray drove a bobcat insanely inches away from the Airstream to push around the junk in his yard, Ray yelled to my husband to stick a ball and the money for our dream in his bucket. Unceremoniously, he towed that gem right out of the yard and onto the road, where my husband played MacGyver to get it out of there before Ray changed his mind!
Pulling into the driveway at home, we had two kids yelling to hurry and open the house to go to the bathroom. My husband started to move around vehicles to figure out where to put our new addition to our fleet, while I rushed out pictures to friends and family who we couldn’t wait to share it with. Suddenly, our bliss was interrupted by our 3-year-old, who needed to use the toilet, and to our surprise, he used the “new” biffy. My husband figured he might as well see if the toilet flushes and, Voila! the poop went out the shoot right into the street! Our first discovery of what I am sure will be many challenges in the 1963, was made by a 3-year-old – we have no black water tank (or so we think!)