When I Became a Townie I Was Targeted By Kids
From caravan to solid walls, a tipi was what saved me
I had an escape plan.
I ran it through my head so often it was written on my very bones.
Lying in bed, I would marvel at my elastic, glass windows dancing with the walls in the wind. But I also didn’t trust they wouldn’t implode or that the roof wouldn’t get peeled off like the lid of a sardine tin. If that should happen, I was honed to react.
It was second nature to me, to keep a flashlight, a cat carrier, and an emergency-stay bag handy at all times.
I had cause to practice the mild version of the escape plan often enough. I’d call a taxi, gather the cats, and decamp to a friend’s house till the storm was over.
Over the years, I learned to fine-tune it, and after that one hurricane when I couldn’t force the door of my caravan open against the wind, I cut a hatch out to the back ditch at the back of my cupboard.
Even if I wasn’t escaping a hurricane, the cats appreciated that back hatch and used it all the time to come and go. I called the cupboard Narnia.
I loved my caravan on the Atlantic. It had a round window in its door, and being right on the cliff, you felt like you were on a ship, looking out…
