She was a thing of beauty.

White and gleaming. Ready for adventure, wherever four wheels and our minds could wander. She would ferry us safely across waters and roads and state lines. Cocoon us as we slept within, fitful and with happy dreams, if interrupted on occasion by moonlight visits from stealthy field mice.

We named her Camper, our 1991 VW Westfalia Vanagon. Imaginative? Hardly, but apropos. For more than 20 years, she – and Camper was surely a motherly spirit – doubled as our “glamper” and my daily driver. Shuttling children to school, to the grocery store, to rowing and soccer and drama practice. I was living more #VanWife than #VanLife; it suited me fine. Living in a van is not all it’s cracked up to be.