One man's trailer trash is another man's treasure.

Things aren’t always what they seem, are they?

This morning, when Kelley left early for work, I turned on the fairy string lights draped over the window in my bedroom. I tiptoed to the kitchen, poured a splash of nondairy creamer in my coffee, climbed back up in bed, and reached for my Bible and journal.

After an hour of quiet time, the kids woke up. Liam took the dog out and fed him, while Eva and Riley poured themselves bowls of Cheerios. I slid into some workout clothes, chopped onions and garlic, and mixed them with avocados and fresh squeezed limes for guacamole.  I sliced bell peppers and put them in a container in the fridge for lunch. I steamed a pot of rice in the Instant Pot, and then I cleared out the pot and seared pork loin to slow-cook, marinated in chipotle seasoning, all day. By mid-morning, lunch and dinner were prepped. Next on the list: laundry and a workout.

It was probably a typical morning for a lot of households. Except that we did all of this on wheels.

We’re back at it, living in the RV, in a campground outside of Washington, D.C. My kids have met some very sweet homeschool kids and have been re-enacting their version of the American Revolution on the treehouse-themed playground every day since we moved here a week ago, as typical homeschool kids do. We lounged at the pool on Kelley’s last day of sabbatical before returning to work. We’ve gone for leisurely walks as a family after dinner, played board games around our dining table, kicked a soccer ball with Ranger at the dog park, and almost entirely blown through the stack of library books we picked up this past weekend at the local library.

We also enjoyed treats from a gluten-free bakery in D.C. that we discovered after spending hours in the National Museum of American History a couple of weekends ago, learning about farming and industry. Last weekend we explored Annapolis, with its sailboats and bay breeze.

There is still such a trailer trash stigma about RV life. There are those even in my own extended family who picture us caked in dirt living in a van down by the river. And I get it. I really do. But there’s something about proximity that gives perspective. The people we’ve met here are mostly kind, humble, hardworking, friendly folk who have just decided that they’d rather live simply with financial surplus than be house-poor in our current economic climate, where the interest rates are more than double what they were 10 years ago and down payments are more than a yearly salary and mortgages are thousands of dollars a month. Or those in the military or medical field who travel full-time for work. You might find that one single mom who chain-smokes and yells expletives at her kids, or the retired veteran who’s a little rough around the edges and mostly keeps to himself and his maltipoo, but they just provide extra entertainment and talking points for the rest of us.

While I was walking Ranger a few days ago, I met a lady who was working remotely on her deck (that she and her husband built under shade trees on their campsite), and we chatted as our dogs frolicked together. She and her husband are both in the U.S. Coast Guard and are stationed in this area for three years, so living the RV life made sense for them. Plus, they scored the best site in the campground. I was admiring her beautiful outdoor space, with potted flowers and tall trees that had Edison lights laced through them above her patio umbrella and a wooden-plank walkway stretching from the deck to her parking space. They’ve made it a home, and there’s nothing trashy about it. (Kelley and I now have a standing invitation to hang out with them on their porch any evening we want, and we absolutely plan to take them up on the offer.)

I also made a new friend (the mom of the other homeschooled kids) last week and chatted for an hour while our kids examined baby squirrels and an injured rat snake that her neighbor, who works with animals, is caring for. He’s a wildlife expert and gave them a free science lesson. That afternoon, I baked cookies for the “neighborhood kids” and listened to Eva read a story from her book of fairy tales. The kids are enjoying riding their bikes around the campground, something they couldn’t do while we lived in an apartment last year. We are soaking up the last few days of summer vacation before diving back into school.

Our lives are very similar to what they were in our brick-and-mortar home in Portland, except that we now have a pool, a playground, a recreation center, and walking trails in our backyard. And we pay about a third of what we’d shell out for a modest apartment in the D.C. area. (Plus, we don’t have to buy any furniture, since we sold all of ours when we left the PNW.) I’d rather keep my extra rent and utilities in my bank account, thank you very much.

Today, as we wait for our laundry to finish its wash cycle, Riley is practicing playing pool and Eva and Liam are competing in a game of darts while I work on our budget and make a grocery list. (I guess this is another Musings from a Campground Laundry Room post. It’s where I do my deepest thinking.) I had a nice conversation earlier with a gentleman who is here on vacation while his daughter attends hockey camp. He recently moved to Delaware from the Bay Area in California. That’s another thing about full-time RV life—you meet people from all over the country and all walks of life. Another former Californian, Marcia, whom we met Sunday in the dog park with her Chihuahua, Baby, took a cross-country road trip until her truck broke down in Maryland…and she decided to stay and start a new life here. It was a happy little accident; she brings that California sunshine every time I run into her.

Kelley texted me on his first day of work at his new position: Just casually eating my lunch inside the Australian Embassy, no biggie. I giggled—they’d never know he actually lives in an RV.

But then again, things aren’t always what they seem.