As Christmas draws near, I find myself getting nostalgic—and that always gets me thinking. Now, trust me, when I start thinking, it can be a scary thing. But this time, my thoughts drifted back to something simple: the RV I owned in 1997. It was an old 1987 Coachmen Leprechaun, and at the time it felt like the gateway to a whole new kind of freedom.
Long before that, though, the spark for RVing came from my very first camping trip with my children. I was a single father, and I wanted to create some memories with them—real camping memories. My daughter, Jessica, was about eleven, and my son, Jeffrey, was around eight. So I decided to take them to 
Big Meadows Campground in Shenandoah National Park.
We rented a big, old cabin-style tent from a local outfitter—the kind that supposedly sleeps eight but really requires eight people just to figure out the poles. 
Now, one would think Jessica and Jeff could help. Well… they tried. We spread out a pile of tubes with absolutely no markings, and I handed out pieces like we were assembling something from NASA. Jessica held one of the frame poles while I attempted, repeatedly, to hang the tent on it. Jeff wanted to be part of the action, too, so picture the three of us turning that tent into modern art before it finally resembled an actual shelter.
After what felt like an age, we got the tent up, unpacked the car, and started a fire. I honestly don’t remember what we ate, but I’d put money on hamburgers or hot dogs. We roasted marshmallows, and I’m sure s’mores were involved. It was one of those perfect, simple nights—full of bonding, laughter, and that feeling that camping is always a good idea.
Then we went to bed… and the rain came.
And came.
And kept coming.
The tent was older—which is a polite way of saying it leaked like a sieve. The sleeping bags got soaked. Luckily, Big Meadows had washers and dryers, so we hustled over there before the entire campground had the same idea. We dried everything out, the rain stopped, and back to the campsite we went. We set the tent back up, feeling victorious.
And then the skies opened again.
This time it was a full downpour. The tent started leaking all over again—and this was before cellphones, radar apps, and hourly forecasts. I stood there watching the rain and didn’t need technology to tell me it wasn’t stopping anytime soon. We couldn’t spend another night in soaked sleeping bags. As much as we’d enjoyed our adventure the night before, round two wasn’t going to be magical.
So we packed everything up and headed home.
That trip—messy, wet, chaotic, and unforgettable—was the moment I realized we needed some kind of RV in our lives. And a few years later, that old Leprechaun motorhome made its way into my driveway.
As Christmas approaches and I look back on that soggy, unforgettable night at Big Meadows, I can’t help but smile. Those challenges, those laughs, and even those leaking tent seams helped shape the kind of traveler—and father—I wanted to be. And in a funny way, that stormy weekend set the foundation for the RV adventures Mrs. Weeble and I are planning today. Every journey has an origin story, and ours began with wet sleeping bags, two enthusiastic kids, and a very stubborn tent.
Before we wrap up this week’s story, I’d love to hear from you. Have you ever had a camping trip go sideways thanks to rain, leaky tents, or enthusiastic kids doing their best to “help”? Feel free to share your own memories or thoughts in the comments below — I always enjoy reading them and hearing about your adventures, too.
…to be continued.