By MT Cozzola

The connections at Shawnee Lake County Campground are oddly placed, so we had to nose in for electric and still couldn’t reach the water. Because of this, our front door faced another front door, which is strange when you’re RVing. Most front doors are on the passenger side, which gives everyone a little more privacy.

Our neighbor looked like a homesteader, one of a handful I’ve seen who seem to live permanently at a campsite. He had a large trailer with an awning, but under it were solid wooden dining chairs instead of lawn furniture. No truck was attached to the trailer, but soon after we arrived, a Mercury pulled up. “What the heck?” I said, staring out our front door. “No way that thing towed the trailer.”

Dave came over to watch. A guy got out and softly wisp-wisped as he approached his door. “What is he doing?” I breathed.

“None of our business,” said Dave. And we left to have dinner with Dave’s cousin Phyllis, who made us amazing pizza.

Newbie tip: Bake the crust, sauce, and other ingredients first, then add the cheese halfway through.

When we got back , Homesteader guy was leaving his trailer with a huge dog straining at its leash. I watched over my shoulder as the two of them entered a nearby mens’ room. “That’s just weird,” I whispered.

Dave shrugged. “Not like anyone else is in there.”

Later, around 2 a.m., Homesteader guy was out again, whisper-shouting outside our window, “Nina… Nina!” Silence. “Nina… Nina! Nina!” Was Nina the dog? A cat he’d been calling to earlier? “Nina… Nina!” Should I wake up Dave? Finally Nina either came back or the guy gave up.

The next morning we walked in the opposite direction of the homestead, in case Nina was still out and about. Shawnee Lake County Campground is full of pretty trails and an 18-hole frisbee golf course, so eventually we came across a different person to fixate on. “What is that guy’s deal?” asked Dave.

“Who?”

Dave pointed to someone getting into a car. “He was going into the fieldhouse bathroom when I was coming out.”

“I didn’t notice,” I said. Dave grimaced in slight disbelief, but I’d been overwhelmed by eight preschoolers and a teacher streaming out of the women’s room at the time. “What about him?”

“He just keeps hanging around.”

“Huh.” We kept walking, then Dave muttered, “Look!” The guy’s car slowed down as another car neared from the opposite direction. The two cars paused, and then caravanned off in another direction. “Hookup,” Dave surmised.

“Or drug deal,” I said.

Back at the rig, the homestead was quiet. We packed up and headed toward the exit, but stopped at another site so Dave could fill the freshwater tank. I waited in a field with Nola and met a retired drugs dog trainer throwing a ball for a retired drugs dog. “You’ve trained yours right,” he said when Nola stopped chasing his dog’s ball and came when I called her.

I declined to mention the treat nestled in my hand. At Shawnee Lake County Campground, we all have a right to our secrets.