Trailer on the hilltop

 When I was ten years old, my dad bought eleven acres of untouched land in the hills of upstate New York. He referred to it as a family place, a weekend retreat where we could escape the hustle and bustle of everyday life. He purchased a small travel trailer, which was quite a challenge to pull up the steep hill to a resting spot at the very top. To get it up there, he hired the farmer who lived a couple of miles away with a tractor to do the heavy lifting, likely giving him a generous tip, as Dad had a knack for making deals.

The view from the top was breathtaking, with miles of ancient trees, valleys, and even a pond we used for swimming in the summer and for ice skating in the winter. The trailer had everything we needed, but when the whole family was inside, we were rubbing elbows, to say the least. It had a stove and a tiny bathroom for number one, but for number two, we'd venture into the woods. Mom was so worried about bears that I think she held it in until we got back home.

We usually arrived on Friday afternoons, giving us time to settle in before darkness fell and everything turned pitch black. The only light we had was from the fire and a couple of lanterns we used to navigate our way around the trailer. Mom would prepare meals with what little we had, often grilling Dad's favorite steaks over an open fire. Looking back, I don’t think he considered the possibility of a black bear being attracted by the smell of his cooking. After all, he was a war veteran and believed he could face any challenge that came his way.

We visited our little slice of heaven during all seasons. Summer brought fun at the pond and explorations in the woods, where we sometimes spotted animals that darted away to safety. Summer nights were magical, illuminated by thousands of fireflies dancing in the valley while my sisters and I tried to catch them in mason jars to show our parents. I remember it being quite hot inside the trailer, where a small fan circulated the warm air. But we got through it, knowing autumn was just around the corner.

Fall arrived right on cue, as thousands of trees exploded with colors that were difficult to describe. We would don our jackets and take walks, each turn revealing another dazzling display of nature's artistry. There was something special about autumn, perhaps the vibrant colors, but also a crispness in the air that seemed to cleanse your lungs with every breath. Still, no bears had appeared.

Winter presented challenges when it came to driving Dad's truck up the hill, as it didn’t have four-wheel drive. Whenever we spun out, Mom would worry about going off the road and into the valley. She’d get out and supervise while we kids pushed and pushed until we finally made it to the top.

We always brought our sleds and ice skates to enjoy our very own winter wonderland. The previous year, we had gotten a snowmobile that we eventually got running, leading to some real excitement. Dad would take us on rides through the woods to a clearing next to the pond. He'd first check the ice thickness, and if he declared it safe, he'd take a running start and race across the pond, much to Mom's dismay. However, my favorite thing to do was tie a rope from the ski to the circular sled— a metal sphere you sat in with your legs tucked beneath you while holding on for dear life. The ski would pick up speed quickly, and during one exhilarating turn, the rope snapped. My sister, who was screaming at the top of her lungs, fell hard enough that the sled crashed into the ice and disappeared beneath the surface. Thankfully, the pond was shallow, and when I saw her head pop up, I raced to pull her out of the freezing water. By the time we got back to the trailer, she was frozen solid, and Mom had to cut off her wet clothes and get her next to the blazing fire to warm her up. Still, no bears had shown up.

Winter also meant venturing into the woods to cut a Christmas tree. We would spend as much time as needed to find the perfect one. The trailer was too small for a tree, so we kept it outside, stringing lights brought from home, our handmade ornaments—like pine cones—and several tins of Jiffy Pop popcorn that we hung on the tree. We’d drink hot chocolate, make s'mores, and roast hot dogs over an open flame. I figured the bears must be hibernating.

Springtime brought melting snow, but the roads became too dangerous to drive, so the trailer sat empty until late spring allowed safe passage up the hill. It was muddy everywhere, and to be honest, not much fun. I do remember one day in April when the rain began to fall. Dad looked at Mom, who was already packing up everything we had just brought. We literally slid down the hill as Dad's knuckles turned white, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, fear etched on his face. One wrong turn could mean a one-way trip down into the valley. I thought, “The bears are awake.”

That was Mom's last trip up the hill, and she vowed never to go back. So for the next few trips, it was without her, and we all felt the loss of her presence. They eventually decided to sell the land and throw in the trailer that a guy from out of state purchased for three times what dad paid a few years ago. I told you he was quite the salesman. With the money, he bought a boat that sat in the driveway for a couple of years as he restored it to its original state. No bears unless they can swim!

Mike 2025                                           

PS

We did have a visit one spring night from a black bear searching for food. He rocked the trailer from side to side like a kid shaking cereal out of the box. Dad shot off a warning shot from a gun nobody knew he had, and the bear ran off into the woods. The rest is history.