. . . and More Campgrounds
Fortunately, I was able to gain the weight back and in October I headed south again with a new tent and tarps. This time I traveled with a full-length mirror, which I dragged out of my car daily to check my entire body for ticks.
Even though I had bad memories ofBrickhouse Campground due to my experience being so ill there, it didn’t stop me from camping there again over the years in the spring and fall. The negative was the cleaning smells coming from the venting chimneys from the two bathrooms. But there were a lot of campers that brought their horses, which I loved to see, to camp there overnight. The hiking trails were spectacular, hilly instead of flat like in Florida. Another negative was no hosts and generally there were only men camping there. And often there were drinking hunters, sometimes appearing to bring their kills back to the campground.
After a couple weeks I headed to Hopkins Prairie which unfortunately had lots of seed ticks at certain times of year. They were the size of a needle point. Because I liked it there so much, I laid out a huge tarp which I parked my car on. I called it my magic blanket. Also, I laid tarps under my tents, and would hop from tarp to tarp. I’d put light-weight plastic bags over my socks, hold them up with elastic bands, and wear my sneakers over them as I walked around the campground and hiked the trails. I no longer walked into or showered deep in the woods.
After spending most of the year constantly trying to contact the social security office to get my stimulus money which had gotten lost, I finally received the checks in the fall. I tried more diligently in Florida to find a permanent free-standing home to live in. I ended up finding a little cottage with minimal EMFs, and there was a horse on the property that I could give carrots to every day. I paid out-of-pocket for first and last months’ rent, and security deposit. After moving in I learned that the housing authority wouldn’t contribute to the rent payments because I had taken ten months instead of five to find the right place for me.
I figured I would get a part-time job, but I was once again ill from another tick-borne illness called Babesiosis which had to be treated with an antibiotic. I ended up living in the cottage only two months. During that time, I had to deal with eighteen feral cats, pooping all over my patio, the walkway, and howling constantly. Sadly, my landlady, who I considered a friend, suffered from dementia and had six dogs she needed help with, including my assistance getting one large crippled dog to the vet to be put down. It was weeks of my calling animal control to have them set traps for the cats, kittens being born, then my forgetful landlady putting food outside again which attracted more cats. Then sick sniffling cats, and bloody faced cats. Then my landlady’s pot-smoking son moved onto the property. The toilet and septic system in the cottage didn’t work properly, and the water coming from the taps smelled like ammonia. I did my best but couldn’t deal with so many problems and moved out the beginning of January. I figured why pay $750 a month and not be able to shower or flush a toilet. I might as well go back to camping, which was much less expensive.
Back to Hopkins Prairie and some of the places I had camped the previous year, including a new campground at Lake Dorr, which was much closer to stores for supplies. It was a very nice campground where one evening I witnessed three black bears playing. The negative was that you could hear the loud sound of cars driving over rumble strips on the nearby paved road.
At Hopkins Prairie my starter gave out during a very cold three-day spell. I had to unload everything out of my car onto my site, extremely unusual as I always stored everything in my car including my cooler. When my car was at the mechanic’s I was told there were also transmission issues and received a quote of $2500 to repair. I opted to just have the fluid replaced. Thereafter I had a few years of anxiety whenever the dashboard light came when driving in the mountains.
While I always did short hikes daily, due to my diabetes and fear of possibly passing out especially in hot weather, I didn’t go for hours-long hikes alone. My friend John and I one time hiked the Yearling Trail, named after one of my favorite writers, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings. Cross Creek is a great book about nature, mentioning magnolia trees a lot. This trail had an old cemetery, a cistern, a concrete dip in the ground where cows had been treated with chemicals for ticks. It had different kinds of foliage along the way, almost seeming like totally different forests.
I had the opportunity to try out a new campground near St. Augustine with my friend Dave. We shared a site at Matanzas State Forest, very pretty with distant views of the Atlantic Ocean. Every day he drove to soak up the sun at nearby beaches, while I explored the surrounding area including downtown St. Augustine.
When it became too hot in central Florida I camped in the panhandle at Hickory Landing, a primitive campground that was over an hour away from Walmart let alone a healthier supermarket. One night another camper serenaded me with his acoustic guitar, as he walked around the circular campground. It sounded so good I thought it was an amazing recording and sound system until I saw him stroll around the corner. I found out he used to back up the band Creedence, Clearwater, Revival. Then I met his friend who used to make trikes at Harley Davidson.
I camped at nearbyCash Creek Campground, in Tate’s Hell Forest where, at that time, there were only three sites and no host. It was a landing to launch kayaks, so during the day there were people all around. At night it was pitch dark and pretty scary. I’d set up my tent but sleep in my car. I felt safe enough with the family nearby in the RV. They kept to themselves, going off biking most every day. I’d hike the trail along the river named after a female naturalist. Every night two separate vehicles came in late to the third site, had their rendezvous, and left before I was up.
One Saturday I spent the day talking off and on with a grandfather parked in the day use lot. His grandson was delayed returning from the river on a small motorboat. The sheriff came by in the afternoon. I asked him if the campground was safe enough for me as a woman alone. He said no. First of all, my tent was too close to the scrubby brush and a bear could pop out at me. Also, he said that lots of felons got out of jail and had no place to go so they would stay at campgrounds. Often when he got noise complaints, and showed up asking for IDs, he would find out that some people were felons.
The grandson did finally show back up, explaining that there had been engine trouble on the little boat. That night a high school party took place on the third site. The family in the RV had moved on. I had everything packed up and was sleeping in my car. After midnight I awoke because of the total silence. All the party cars had left and I was totally alone in pitch black on the campground. Too eerie, so I drove forty minutes to a Walmart parking lot, which, who knows, maybe wasn’t any safer.
Heading further north to North Carolina, I stayed at King’s Mountain State Park, which I did not care for. Even though it had the historical part to hike and explore, and a camp store, it was expensive, not private enough, and cold and rainy when I was there.
I drove several hours to Brickhouse Campground in South Carolina, where there were previously only male campers and no camp host. I prayed “please let there be at least one other woman there”. Miracle of miracles, when I arrived there were only women camping there. No men this time. Single women and female couples. I was grateful and made friends easily. I would often run into Linsey over the years. And I remained in contact with nomadic friend Fran, who eventually got into senior housing near her grandchildren in another state.
My friend Ben took my advice and came to camp at Brickhouse. We met Janet and her adorable fluffy dog, that sadly passed away the next year. Janet and I kept in touch with each other, and we later camped together in New Hampshire. Ben and I also tried out another campground in the Frances Marion Forest called Woods Ferry Campground. Even though it was a pretty place Ben’s site was flooded after a rain storm, there were too many loud generators, and it was too far from supplies.
Unfortunately, the cash system at Brickhouse morphed over time to one half the sites being reservation only through recreation.gov, and eventually all sites became reservation only, which made it difficult to drive in and stay for just one or two nights, as there were reservation fees tacked onto camping fees. I also camped at Sedalia Campground around Easter time, near a wonderful plantation with a great gift shop and hiking trails. I never slept in my tent at Sedalia as it was mostly hunters and there was no host.
I spent almost every day at the Whitmire Library, researching publishers and mailing out my memoir manuscript and guinea pig children’s book manuscripts. (Two London publishers had wanted to publish them pre-pandemic but I didn’t have the few thousand dollars to lay out up front.) I also wrote letters to the Housing and Urban Development offices in Boston, and D.C.
I loved the little city of Newberry, SC with all the amazing architecture of historical brick structures and the brick roadway downtown. Each time I drove the half hour on sparsely trafficked back roads to Walmart I’d explore the exquisite downtown area. Also, nearby Laurens had a Walmart and I’d love to see all the historical wood homes with grand porches and round rooms, sea captain’s homes similar to those in Newburyport, Massachusetts. I probably did too much driving on back roads where there was no cell service, which could be anxiety provoking. I would have to make sure to memorize the route to a GPS destination so that in case of no cell service I could find my way back to campground.
A couple of women at Brickhouse told me about some other good campgrounds and I tried out Carolina Hemlock in NC, where a lot of women camped as well. The sites were fantastic. High up over the bubbling small river, roped off flat sites, making me feel like I was on the deck of a ship. However, it was too cold for me at such high elevation, with the sun rising so late and setting so early due to being closely surrounded by mountains.
Those same two women also told me about Hurricane Campground in Virginia where you had to drive twenty miles back down the mountain to get cell service. The camp host had a satellite phone for emergencies. My site was right next to the beautiful bubbling brook with its soothing sounds.
From an elderly male camper at Brickhouse, I had heard good things about North Creek Campground in Virginia along Route 81. With my transmission light on, I drove through an evening lightning storm five miles off the highway and pulled into a site, laid out my tarp to set up my tent, but ended up sleeping in my car due to the storm and there not being a camp host. That was one of the scariest nights of my life, with flood warning signs, up a high mountain, with the lightning so close and not knowing who was around me.
However, that campground became one of my favorites, and the next times I camped at North Creek there were camp hosts. But one time I went for a hike on the trail in the spring and ended up getting lost due to the trail markers having been lost or turned around during the winter weather. I had absolutely no cell service to call for help. I was worried about dehydration and I didn’t have much water. I was worried about low blood sugar and I wasn’t sure if I had enough sugar products with me, but kept eating what treats I had in my purse. During those long hours I don’t think I’ve ever prayed harder for help finding my way back to the campground. I had only planned on a twenty-minute hike and usually I walk ten minutes in and turn around and ten minutes out, unless I’m with someone else when I might do a full two-or-three-mile loop. I certainly learned my lesson not to take risks alone in the future.
Then back to Massachusetts for five months, where I once again spent the time cleaning and decorating my friend’s house, cooking, shopping, and helping take care of his dog. Instead of staying in Patrick’s house I spent a lot of time fixing up the upstairs of his garage to live in. Even though it didn’t have running water and I had to climb a ladder to reach the loft, it was beautiful with its rustic appearance and skylights. I was half-camping.
I found out I had SIBO in my gut probably from all the antibiotics I’d taken, and spent the summer and quite a lot of money on supplements and getting help from a functional doctor to heal myself naturally. I tried the keto diet once again trying to improve l my diabetic control.