Gone Camping Part 2: Finding Faith and God’s Provision in Women’s Solo Camping

From Service Park, Faith and I headed two-hundred miles north to Dewayne-Hayes Campground (another Corps of Engineers park) outside Columbus Mississippi, and joined in a meetup of a Sisters-on-the Fly group of women campers for three days of chatting and laughing and site-seeing.

The route north took me along a two-lane state highway for nearly a hundred miles. It was a road that went up and down hills through sparsely populated and beautiful farm and lumber land. I would so love to have photos of what I see when I’m rolling along the road, but I’m busy driving. Perhaps I’ll look into getting one of those dash-cams.

This month marks the 8th year since I embarked upon what back in 2017 seemed my very illogical and foolish idea to attempt camping adventures on my own. (You can read about the beginning of my RVing adventures, The Widows Travel Trailer Desire, here.)

I had done very little camping in my life, and never with a camper. I knew nothing. I remember almost quitting after a year because of the hard learning curve and constant exhaustion of where I was in my life. Certainly I was sure I would give it up after three, maybe five years because of advancing age. But here I am, still doing it.

Very often when I’m preparing for a trip, I moan to myself: “Why am I doing this? What if — name the tragedy — happens?” As I drove along that lonely hilly road in northwest Alabama, I wondered what I would do if I had tire or engine trouble. There was little along that road, and few other vehicles, too.

I make a point to pull off and stretch my legs and walk Faith about every two hours. Trying to locate a good place to do that on a two-lane highway at the same time I’m carefully watching the road is difficult. I fly on past possible stopping points before I realize.

I began to pray to be directed to a good, safe place. A place with shade, plenty of room for the camper, and easy on-and-off the highway. I then got specific and asked for an old church yard and cemetery, which I judged would have all that I required.

Just as I was getting really tired, there appeared a rural truck stop, with an enormous gravel parking lot. I guided the truck and camper into the lot and stopped. Right there in front of me was an expanse of green field. It was a freshly-mowed field.

I got Faith out of the backseat and let her run into the open space, heading after her across the closely clipped grass in my flip-flops. There before us were picnic tables sitting in the deep shade of great cedar trees, all of it neat and clean. As if prepared just for us. There was even a pleasant breeze.

There have been many such happenings on my camping travels, my needs met in the smoothest of fashion. I have come to believe that no matter how alone I seem, and feel, I am not. God is there, already providing for every need. This does not mean everything will be easy, or that my faith is not tried. But I have begun to rely on the unseen helping hand.

On my return home trip, I again stopped at the same truck stop for a brief picnic (and again forgot to take a photo.) I also stopped again at Service Park, where I met another solo camper woman. She explained that she came camping alone, “because none of my friends want to camp.” I told her it was the same with me.

We shared our camping history and favorite Alabama campgrounds, and then I confessed, “But I’m beginning to wonder if I might stop soon. I’m seventy-three this year.”

She looked at me, and said, “Really? I’m seventy-six, and I keep thinking the same thing.”

“And here we are,” we said, laughing.

If you are a woman who wants to camp, give it a try. If there’s anything you want to do, step out and try it. You never know how far you can go. Especially on the most rewarding journey within yourself.

Blessings,

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