I’m watching the sun slowly come up over the far horizon, way off to the east, the ocean between it and me turning lighter shades of blue as the sky changes from orange to yellow to almost white. There’s that one point in the whole line of horizon where the sun will appear, casting its fierce light to mark the start of another day.
I’m waiting for that moment, when the last of the night disappears and the formality of day begins.
Endings and beginnings, they go together every time. The ending of one thing means something new is beginning. We don’t always like that ending or accept that the new thing has begun, but there’s no denying that change is a constant thing in life. Think of the endings and beginnings as chapters and you can start to tell a story about the sequences, how that one ended and this one began. A life is nothing more than a series of chapters, some pleasant and long, some painful and short. Some have lessons, some don’t. Some you enjoy, some you just get through, grateful when they end and on to the next one. It’s a mixed bag, this thing we call life.
The day I put down the money for my Alto trailer, I officially started this vagabond chapter, unsure how it would go or how long it would last, or how it would end. Now I know the answers to all those questions. It started with naivete and hope, and it went pretty well, overall. By the numbers, this chapter lasted eight and a half years, 3100 days or so, 76,000 miles, 655 campgrounds, two tow vehicles, and one very sturdy and reliable Alto trailer. And the chapter came to a close on November 8th, when I agreed to sell my Alto to a good friend I’ve known since we were both the only new kids in the eighth grade at St. Mary’s School in Fullerton, California.

This Alto chapter was a rocket ride in so many ways, So much to learn in such a short span of time. The first three days I owned my Alto I spent at a KOA in Quebec, figuring out how to hitch and unhitch, turn corners and see behind me with a 17-foot Alto attached to my Subaru Outback. I stowed my meager haul of possessions into the cupboards and bins, getting ready to drive all the way across the continent, back to Seattle, my previous chapter, the one where I moved to the PacNW and worked for an online retailer for four years. The two chapters would overlap for a few months while I got out of an apartment lease and a full-time job I had both loved and hated. Sometimes chapters aren’t as clean as in a book, where one has to end before the next one begins. Life can be messy that way, in a chapters in books cannot.
I wanted to see the country from back roads and small towns, from deserts and mountains and plains. I wanted to to track down old friends, renew our connections, and maybe somewhere along the way find a place where I would settle down for a while. I’ve been to so many places, driven down so many roads, had so many magic moments. That gorgeous, silent sunrise on the Carolina coast, the Pacific sunset on Vancouver Island. Hiking among the hoodoos in Bryce Canyon, ascending across the balds of the Appalachian Trail in Tennessee. Watching hundreds of sandhill cranes descend on a dry lake in eastern Arizona or hearing the haunting cry of a loon across a lake in the Northeast woods as the last light faded from the sky.

I’m not sure if there’s been a through-line in my travels. I’ve darted this way and that, stayed a few weeks, or just overnight, driven 50 miles or 300 miles in a day. I just went where I wanted to go, month by month, year by year. I never planned to move to Florida, for example, but when the idea came up, it made sense for a lot of reasons so I upped sticks from Washington State as a domicile and adopted Florida as home and the South as my base for traveling. And here I am, spending another winter in South Carolina, my fifth time in seven winters. I couldn’t have foreseen that when I was living in Seattle, that’s for sure.
Some truths about full-timing
Being a full-time vagabond is not an easy life in a lot of ways. You’re always thinking where to go next and when, because most campgrounds have a stay limit, often two weeks. Doesn’t matter if it’s boondocking on BLM land or enjoying full hookups at a US Army Corps of Engineers campground, two weeks and you gotta move. If there’s a holiday ahead, you’ve got to make sure you have a spot; Memorial Day, Labor Day, even Father’s Day can mean campgrounds are full up weeks in advance. Living in a trailer also means whenever something breaks or goes wrong, it’s on me to fix it. I’ve learned how to replace a sink trap and faucet, install a propane regulator, and pull out the 12-volt battery. My tool box contains everything from a screwdrivers and vise grips to a long (and heavy) torque wrench, tubes and spray cans of greases, lubricants, and cleaners, zip ties of every conceivable length, and tiny tubes of one-use crazy glue, which are way more useful than you’d think.

Two things in 2020 changed how I felt about full-timing and over the last four years, they both seemed to build up, challenging my resilience and my happiness. The first, chronologically, was the sway accident in west Texas that sent my Subaru sliding sideways as wind gusts swept down from the mountains above me. I was fine physically, the Alto was mostly fine, and the Subaru took the worst of it with the front end busted up. but everything still worked.
From that day on, I’ve been a more nervous driver when towing and wind tends to freak me out if it’s anything over 20 mph, which is when I can start feeling it pushing my rig just a bit. I’ve stayed in a campsite rather than drive in wind where other people are happily hitching up and moving on. I’ve white-knuckled high bridges where I can’t see the wind that may be coming. I got the Subaru fixed up, sold it, and bought a heavier, longer tow vehicle, a Honda Ridgeline. It’s definitely a better tow vehicle but I still get nervous when the wind picks up.
The second big thing was the one everyone in the world faced, the COVID-19 pandemic. Everyone had their lives disrupted and the lucky ones survived. It wasn’t the virus itself that changed things for me, it was the way people reacted, the way it was politicized. Wearing a mask became a political statement and there were times on the road when I didn’t wear a mask into a store or other building because I didn’t want to get into a confrontation about it. Campgrounds became less friendly, people less inclined to wave or chat as I passed by their sites. More MAGA flags, less casual conversations.
Mostly, though I just got tired of the grind. Tired of always being on the move, packing up and then unpacking, driving roads with rude drivers. Tired of things breaking and me having to fix them before I could make dinner or go to sleep. Tired of always thinking weeks or months ahead where to be, what campground to stay at. Tired of dumping my tanks, watching my water usage, worrying about my battery being OK or not. Tired of living in such a small space, tired of my six t-shirts, two pairs of pants, and three pairs of shoes. Tired of all the constraints involved in living in such a small space for eight years.
But more than all that, I missed any semblance of community on a regular basis. I missed calling up a friend for an impromptu lunch date or going to a movie with a group of friends. I started longing for friends I could talk to and we could figure out together how to navigate the oncoming chapters of this thing called life. After half a decade of being mostly on my own when camping, I started picking travel routes that would bring me into contact with friends and spending time with them when I was nearby. I stayed in guest bedrooms, where I could just walk down the hall for a hot shower and I could wash my clothes without searching Google Maps for a laundromat that didn’t suck.
Trial runs
Last winter, I got out of the Alto for four months, holed up in a beachfront condo, enjoying the luxury of spreading out and not having to pack things up every 4-5 days, not to mention endlessly flowing hot water, a big fridge and freezer, and an actual couch where I could sit and read for hours. I set up my shiny new little Singer sewing machine in a corner of the living room and made quilts all winter, learning by my mistakes and improving with each thing I made. I fell in love with it, from picking the fabrics and design to the precision required in cutting and sewing, and then seeing the finished product, made by my own hands.

I got back in the trailer in March for two months, knowing then that I was approaching the end of the “vagabond in a tiny trailer” chapter, but I was still unclear on what the next chapter might be. Six weeks traveling in Europe in May and June gave me the time and distance to see other options, different paths. While it would be a big disruption, I knew I needed to make changes. I hadn’t been feeling the joy of the full-timing life for a while, but I hadn’t figured out what else to do. And to be honest, I’d been “that vagabond in an Alto” for so long that I didn’t really know what else I wanted to be. I just knew something had to give.

As I went through summer and fall, the idea of stopping took hold and I debated when and how and where. I think what sealed the deal was that two and half weeks in Gainesville, staying in the guest bedroom at my friends’ house. It was, I thought to myself a lot, like being normal again after so long in the wilderness. I made breakfast, threw balls to Rory the Dog in the backyard, walked around the neighborhood, and hung out. And I was happy doing that. I didn’t need the big scenery, the grand tour, to be happy. Just hanging out, sewing stuff, reading books, and watching silly TV shows was enough. I was supposed to have been camping but Hurricane Milton washed out the campgrounds, so there I was in a house. And I liked it. I wasn’t chafing to go somewhere new. I was ready, finally, to stop moving and settle down a bit.
Making the call
A week later, I was driving north to this year’s winter condo and two thoughts popped into my head in quick succession. (I always do my best thinking when I’m driving back roads with little traffic.) I was ready to sell my trailer and I knew who would want it (and she did, as it turned out). And just like that, I could see this chapter end.
I’ve always made big leaps in life. Moving to Manhattan from Silicon Valley when I was 25, jumping up to Boston on a whim and then staying 12 years because I liked it so much. Relocating to Seattle because the job offer was too good to resist. And buying a trailer because it sounded like a fun idea at the time. I don’t usually overthink these leaps, but this time I did want to give it a bit of thought so when I got to Myrtle Beach, I took a long walk by the water.
I asked myself if I was sure I wanted to sell my trailer. Would I regret it in a few years, rediscover a hankering to get out there and boondock in New Mexico or explore New Brunswick? Maybe. At the price of a new Alto, I know I can’t afford one if I changed my mind in a year or two. I’ll still travel, but in cars or trains or planes, in hotels or houses. I can always rent a van if I feel the urge to camp out for a while, although, honestly, I think I’ve had enough camping to last me a very long time. Been there, definitely done that.
By the time I’d walked two miles up and back on the hard-packed sand, I was at peace with my decision to sell my little Alto. I don’t know where I’ll be next year or in two or five or ten years. I just know I won’t be in an Alto, and that’s okay. Actually, it’s more than okay. It’s great. I’m ready for something new, something completely different than being a vagabond in a tiny trailer. This has been a great chapter, an amazing adventure, and now is the right time to close it out and begin again.
Maybe someday I’ll have enough distance and perspective to write a book about my vagabond life. Maybe not.
What’s Next?
As with most of life’s chapters, I didn’t realize I’d started this new chapter back in 2020. When I needed something to do while locked down in Gainesville, my friend Peg started me on a “quilt as you go” hexagon quilt. I made a lap quilt, a bed quilt, and then another bed quilt before I decided to try a traditional quilt. Peg made up a pattern based on some quilts I’d liked and then I bought fabric and started laying it out and cutting my design. Over weeks of travel, I sewed little squares of fabric into bigger squares, all by hand. I spent a day at Huntington Beach State Park laying out the squares into rows and columns, until I had a design that pleased me.

After I’d assembled it into an actual quilt top, I sent it off to someone to combine it with batting and backing to make it into a finished quilt. I didn’t see the finished product until that fall when I showed up at Peg’s house in Lancaster, PA. I couldn’t stop smiling, I was so proud of my little quilt. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all mine. I didn’t realize it then, but I was hooked. I had found a new passion.
The thing is, quilting in a tiny trailer isn’t all that practical. It’s mostly hand-sewing because setting up the sewing machine and then putting it away every few days gets old fast. At some point, the desire to quilt started to outweigh the desire to be a vagabond. Not sure when exactly that tipping point was, but by this summer, I was buying fabric like a hoarder, dreaming of all the quilts I could make this winter. Then, in July, I found a used book in Peterborough, New Hampshire, where one of my favorite fabric designers (Kaffe Fassett, if you must know) had reimagined old quilts from the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. Fassett + the V&A, one of my favorite museums in the world, it was a sign. I bought the book and it became my talisman for the new chapter I could feel taking shape.
Over the rest of the summer and fall, more pieces started falling into place. I’d make some of those quilts, learning new skills and honing my sense of patterns and design. Maybe I’d even design my own quilt at some point.
Right now, I’m in the winter condo, with a better sewing machine and at least two quilts under construction at any time. I don’t know where I’ll be come Spring, but I have ideas. I’m not worried. It will all work out somehow. I’ll be fine without that little Alto, I know that now. Breeze, maybe with a new name, will have new adventures. Me, I’m happy in my new chapter, one full of creativity and a bit of mystery (where to next April?). Anything can happen. And it probably will. I’m ready for it.
Leave your stepping stones behind
There’s something that calls for you…
Yeah, go start new, go start new
‘Cause it’s all over now, baby blue
Bob Dylan
Annie,
The end of an era, and we have enjoyed following you so much and learning from you as you have traveled the country with your Alto.. We feel so lucky to have met you a few times and we wish you the very best in your future plans, no matter what they turn out to be.
We hope that you keep Blogging as we want to keep up with you and what’s going on in your life.
Perhaps we will meet again, but in the meantime, our very best thoughts and wishes to you
John and Joni
Bittersweet, these changeovers. As they should be. Congrats on this new chapter, and on embracing new chapters and a spirit of adventure. They are best gifts of life.
New adventures to come, no doubt!
Congratulations on making such a big decision and continuing to follow your heart! We’ll be in Gainesville for two months this winter (January and February). If you happen to be there, I’d love to hang out and swap stories of the traveling life and beyond…
Annie, I have enjoyed reading your excellent prose as you chronicled your brave adventures. Glad you recognized when it was time to start a new chapter. Many of us don’t. Best wishes for continued enjoyment of quilting and all the best older that awaits you.
Beautifully written, Annie. Thanks for sharing, as always. I don’t want to FT for eight years, but I’d love to try at least a month, see what I can see, come home, rinse, repeat. Three years to go until retirement, so thanks for helping plant a chapter seed
It’s hard to know what to say. It’s been an honor to travel the country with you and see places I’ve never seen before. To see the museums, parks and cities I’d only heard of. Thanks for sharing all this with us less adventurous folks. I believe you will make any change you desire with grace. I’m reading a book about a surfer with the same kind of bravery you have in life : “Barbarian Days”. He takes us on his past adventures in a way I know you could if you decide to write that book…
What a wonderful chapter you’ve written! And you have graciously paid it forward to so many Alto owners with all the helpful tips and advice you have provided over the years. I hope you’ll continue writing your blog and sharing your beautiful photography with us. I wish you all the best, always!
Annie, I have so enjoyed your blog – learning about places, challenges, vagabonding, and YOU.
Now I’m confident that you will be happy with your new choices.
There are trade-off. For me, marriage and having kids instead of fast-track years in academia. But, with compromise, I’ve had both. And adventures also – Kenya Peace Corps, Beirut English teaching, etc.
I’m a single woman in my forties. I began following you because I’ve had this nagging dream for quite some time of RVing around the country. I was living vicariously through your blog posts and your stunning photos. I even sent you a card last winter and you were nice enough to write back. Thank you for including something in your post about the increase in MAGA signs and the shift you have felt in the campgrounds. As a Black woman, I wonder about these things. Until the country recovers from its rage addiction that is sweeping far and wide, I won’t be RVing anytime soon. I wish you all the best in this next chapter of your life and look forward to any updates you choose to share. If you don’t feel like sharing any, that’s fine too. I remain, your biggest fan…
You did something most people can only dream of, and took us along for the ride—thank you so much.
Very glad that you found yourself again in a new way. How joyful!! <3
So happy for you, always.
(p.s. Like the second surname on the white quilting book.)
Oh, Annie, a beautiful, reflective post on a vagabond life well lived. I have felt that this moment was coming, as you started wintering in one place and then traveling abroad. I look forward to hearing your new plan as I am working on my own. Perhaps I can come visit you for a long beach walk and we can toss ideas back and forth.
Sherry, I would love that.
Oh Annie, I think you know I can relate in many ways. That was why I relocated to my little house in North Carolina 3 years ago. I wish you nothing but the best, and I am thrilled that you are now a quilter as I am too! Too bad we don’t mesh in the horse thing too! Lol. There is an incredible quilting store an hour from.m me called Pineapple Quilts formerly known as Keepsake Quilting from up in the Northeast. The history of the place and the changed confuse me, but it’s all good. Enjoy, and if you want to come visit you can go through my stash and maybe take home some good stuff with my best wishes. Happy Thanksgiving
Somehow after reading your last post, I was wondering if you were going to call it quits. It’s been interesting reading your posts, and I hope I’ve learned some things. Will you continue to post on this blog, or leave it up for a while? I need to go through the posts about traveling to Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, which we hope to do in 2026 to celebrate our 40th anniversary. We had wanted to honeymoon in Nova Scotia, but alas, paying for our wedding ourselves meant not going there.
Dear Annie! You are one of our best Alto experiences: so full of advice and the voice of wisdom, calm and respect (even when we “stole” your parking spot at Kalaloch!). Now you are teaching us when to let go, and that you can move on. We will surely miss your Alto life, and know you will find so much more! The very best to you. Please let us know if you ever need an Alto fix, so we can invite you to a gathering or to our home in the Pacific NW.
I’ll miss your stories of life on the road. Traveling is fun until it isn’t fun anymore. Staying home and quilting sounds like a good new direction!
As soon as I read that subject line, I began to cry. I knew what was coming, what you’d decided and done. Congratulations and WHAAAAA! I’m so happy to have followed your journey and to feel I know you through these posts. I hope your quilting brings you to Ohio some time or I will come find you. You’re such a force. Can’t wait to see what’s next.
I’m going to miss your blog posts. As a non-traveler myself, I have lived vicariously through you. Thanks for taking all the knocks of constant moving so wimps like me could enjoy the ride-along. I always imagined if you did ever throw in the proverbial vagabond towel, you would ideally settle in:
– California, which still has the best sunsets
– The desert southwest because you really seem to love it there
– South Carolina because it was where you were willing to pull over for months at a time
Please keep us posted on your next chapter. As a writer, I know the chapters toward the end of the book are the reason you wrote the whole book in the first place. They tend to write themselves while the author is just along for the ride. At least us pantsers find it that way. If you’re a plotter, your mileage may vary—although I believe we are forced to be pantsers at some point.
I recently realized I left corporate America to sleep in and stay up late. These were the same goals I had when I was 7. We may change, but only to get back to who we really are. Take care and happy transition!!!
Hi Annie, All good things do come to an end eventually, and then you move on to something else! You have had a great run at being on the move, living in a tiny space, meeting so many people and seeing so much of the states and some of Canada, so I can fully understand your decision to sell the dear Alto. Happy adventures for your next chapter!
There’s a Kacey Musgraves song that popped into my head while reading your post. Happy and Sad…
“Is there a word for the way that I’m feeling tonight?
Happy and sad at the same time
You got me smiling with tears in my eyes”
I’m happy you are happy with your new journey. I’m a bit sad because I loved reading about all your travels. It was so lovely to see places through your words and your camera lens. Guess it’s time I got out and did a bit of that myself! 🙂
Laura
Hi Annie,
Thanks for sharing about your decision to be more planted and I loved seeing your quilt! What an amazing story and so many beautiful photos too! It was such a pleasure to see you last summer – I recently came across pix of our evening together at the vineyard in West Park. Please be sure to make plans to visit the Hudson Valley some more! Happy Thanksgiving and love,
Cara
Annie, thank you for all your lovely photos and “life on the road” stories and camping wisdom. Cheers to you and your next chapter
Life is full of curves, roadblocks and full steam ahead. It also affords us risks, both great and small. You invited me (us) to experience your life on the road adventures. I experienced the song of a lone bird along a trail, kayaking along the shore of a cold-water lake, head down against a beach wind or laughing to the antics of family and friends. You, Annie Wynn and Baby Blue, have crossed the great divide to experience a life that few would dare or just dreamed about. I am happy to know you’re not leaving, just opening another door.
“Sing the song that only you can sing, write the book that only you can write, build the product that only you can build…live the life that only you can live.” – Naval Ravikant,American entrepreneur
Annie! We haven’t seen you in a few years, but think of you often and very fondly! Randy and I wish you all the best in your next endeavor. If ever in the Tucson area please reach out! Hugs!! Keith and Randy
Wishing you much happiness and loads of fabric!
Hope you settle back in the northwest and we can get book club revitalized.
You have been such a strong and helpful presence in the Alto community. Thank you.
Happy trails to you, dear Annie, whatever you do and wherever you decide to go–or stay! Every time we’ve met up with you, it has been delightful. All best from Karen & Tom Knox
Annie, I love to read your blog posts, and this one is bittersweet. It was fun to see you those few times on the road, and we hope to see you again, one day in New Mexico. Good luck with your new life chapter! Marcy and Steve, Santa Fe
Thanks, Marcy, for the kind words. I hope to see New Mexico again, it’s one of my favorite western places (which feel so far from the South when driving!). Take care, keep posting those adventures so I follow them vicariously.
Annie, “He not busy being born is busy dying”. Keep borning, I guess :-). I hope you keep up the posts, we all want to see the next chapter.
Congratulations on the new direction! I have really enjoyed your tales of the trail and knowing you, THAT is not going to end. I will not be surprised to see you still going places and doing interesting things. It will be like riding a bike. Now you have quilting to add to that story. Looking forward to seeing how that next chapter unfolds:)
This is a hard post for me to read. I can understand you wanting and needing to move on from full timing, especially since I would never have been able to do what you have done for 8+ years. But still, this is the only Annie I’ve known. I met you when you’d had your alto for one day. Saw you again in stone mountain. Spent time with you on my solo trip to quebec for the grand rassemblement. I’ve read every installment in your blog. You are part of my alto life.
But I understand. I hope you find the right place to settle and find community. And if you ever feel the need to use an alto for a while, there is one in my driveway for 6 months of the year! I’d for sure trust you with it!
So happy for you and the peace you’ve found in your decision to move on from being a vagabond. So thrilled you took us all with you on that phase of your life and so grateful for your friendship. Wishing you all the best, dear friend.
This is bittersweet for me to read. You and your Alto made quite the team. I can’t wait to see what’s next for you, I know it will be great.
I will miss your occasional visits Anne. Life is about change – no matter one’s age and I have wondered how long you could continue moving from one place to another. I am about to pass a milestone here in NH at the OFH – 5 years on Dec 3rd since I moved out of my 8 room, 3 bath, 2 car garage and 2 acres of land home. Jon owns it and rents it out but I will never move back there and he and his family will not move there either. They are settled in CA – kids in good schools, new friends, occasional trips to Tahoe for skiing, trips to visit the East Coast, to Europe and to South America. They love their California life. I am not moving there – I will spend my remaining years here in NH no matter how many more years that may be. At times I think back to all the places I have visited. since I started traveling after graduating from college – more than 60 years ago. It is pretty amazing given that I did not travel outside of New England before that. I think that a gift Mak and I gave to our children was the gift of adventure – of travel -of wanting to experience. new things outside the small town where they lived.
Made me think of this quote from an old movie, “Things Change”.
I will miss your Alto travel tales and helpful wisdom invested in the community. You are an inspiration.
Ann Rigsby.
I am so touched reading this text about your chapter ending and new beginnings. Wishing you much more of this clear mind and true happiness for your next chapter, meine liebe Annie!! And how inspirational for everyone out there thinking life is over with 60 and no changes are possible 😉 Love from Germany xx
Ah, meine liebe Sina, thank you! You have shown me how changes can make for more happiness, too, with your yoga business and attention to family. Change is always possible, yes? Love you so much!