We were in Georgetown the other day getting a growler from Georgetown Brewery, and we stopped by the vintage trailer park. It was rainy and sludgy, and the streets were at the point where you’re perpetually on the verge of potentially accidentally stepping in a giant pothole full of water or being overrun by a bus puddle ie. dangerous (it was roughly an “orange-risk” for those of you who only speak of threat in airport security color codes.) But we made it to the park and the airstreams were cozy with little space heaters and warmly charming decor.
The shopkeepers who were there, were hanging out at a picnic table between the airstreams. One man was separating and compiling bags of bottle caps. Another leaned down to pet George. Another woman kindly escorted me through her shop. It was a good day. I’m so glad there are people and places like this in the world.
Georgetown is kind of a crazy place because it’s super industrial, with a lot of factories and warehouses and train tracks. From a very high-flying plane, it could be seen as kind of dank, I guess. At the very least, not the ideal place to hang out. But then there is this lustrous, colorful, inner thread of people that are doing these vibrant, unordinary, life-giving things. And it is clear they are doing it for the love of it. I like that this trailer park exists. I like that Georgetown exists.