New Home is the eighteenth installment of Finding My Way Home. To view the previous installment, click here. If you wish to start from the beginning, click here. This is the ongoing story of the six years I spent as a vagabond photographer.

As it turns out, splitting the travel from Bakersfield into two days was a good choice. I arrive in Fortuna fresh and rested and able to move some things from my old home to my new home. Now we can have dinner and sleep in our new home. I have made arrangements with the RV park to pay for two extra nights at the nightly rate, and transfer my monthly rental agreement to the new rig. That gives me two days to move my stuff and arrange for pickup of the old RV.

Moving day turns out to be much longer than expected. First, I have a lot of stuff to move. You would be amazed at how much a motor home can hold. Second, we are making trips back and forth, moving things from the old home to the new home, when everything comes to a halt. The new home is locked and the keys are inside.

How did this happen!? The only thing I can figure is Luna either pawed the door or whacked it with her menacing tail and knocked the lock lever. This is a complication. After a period of panic and trying to open doors and windows, I calm down and call a locksmith. They can come, but it will be about four hours. I explain my dog is locked in, but that is is best they can do.

At least I have my cell phone with me. With no moving happening, I start searching online for possible solutions. In my trip down the rabbit hole, I discover that many RV manufacturers us the same locks on most of their RV’s. If I can find someone with a Winnebago motor home, I can ask to try their key in my lock.

I walk through the RV park. There are no Winnebago motor homes besides mine. In fact, the only thing I see that is Winnebago brand is a small travel trailer. Doubtful that a small trailer would have the same locks as a class A motor home, I decide to ask anyway. But, no one is home at the trailer.

I call the locksmith back and ask for an ETA. They inform me that they are running behind and may not be able to make it before dark. I’m starting to panic now. I can’t move in, AND my dog is trapped inside. Then, I see a pickup truck pull up to the Winnebago travel trailer. I approach the nice young couple and explain my predicament. They are as doubtful as I am that their key will work, but they agree to let me try.

It works! Relieved but shocked, now I’m wondering if anyone who owns a Winnebago can just unlock mine. But, there is no time for ruminating. I’ve wasted half a day and still have a lot of stuff to move. And Luna desperately needs a walk.

When I was shopping for the new home, I came across an advertisement for a charity working to help the homeless in Humboldt County. I called to ask if a functioning motor home is a donation they would be interested in. They were thrilled and told me they would likely arrange and pay for a site and use it to temporarily house a homeless family while searching for permanent housing. It’s a win-win situation. I don’t have to deal with advertising and selling it, and a homeless family gets a roof over their head.

It’s already February and my lease here is coming to an end. There have been no sightings of the great gray owl for a couple of weeks, so I decide to go looking for wildlife nearby. The south spit of Humboldt Bay is usually a good place to see birds.

Driving along, I see ten or twelve parked cars along the road and people gathered on top of a dune, all looking north. I stop and walk over to the group, asking one of them what’s going on. He points to a dune about a hundred yards away and whispers “snowy owl.” What? Another owl I’ve never seen before out of it’s normal range in Humboldt County? How lucky am I to get another rare (for me) owl sighting with only one day left in my stay? It’s been quite the stay here.

Brimming with newfound optimism and confidence because of my solid, comfortable new home, I set off up the coast. My nephew is graduating high school in Portland, Oregon in May. My plan is to explore the Oregon coast at a leisurely pace for three months and attend the graduation. I’ve already made a reservation at a place on Sauvie Island, which I am unfamiliar with, but my sister assures me it’s a great location close to Portland.

Chris has gone back home after being away for two months and I am once again on my own. I’ve found a place to stay for the month of February, but because some of the reviews I saw online were negative, I’m having a little anxiety. When I pull in to Salmon Harbor RV Park in Smith River, California, I’m awestruck by the location and the view. The park itself seems a bit run down, so I register for two nights and mention to the person in the office that I would like to stay for a month, but want to stay a couple nights and check it out before committing. She is quite nice about it and says if I decide to stay, she will put the two nights fees toward the monthly rent. Her kindness and understanding makes an impression on me.

After two nights, I understand where the negative reviews came from. The RV park is adjacent to/part of a permanent trailer park with the requisite “trailer park politics.” I have experienced this before and know that disgruntled tenants sometimes write negative reviews online to get even with management for whatever dispute they have had. While the park is not what you would consider a premium resort, the location is to die for, and the price is right. I decide to stay for a month.

The place is located at the mouth of the Smith River, where it empties into the Pacific Ocean. This means I can walk on the beach, which is actually the beach of the river, and see the ocean from my new home. I can also walk up the estuary and enjoy all the scenery and wildlife the location has to offer. I’m positively giddy to discover river otters live here. There are also seals and sea lions, in addition to all the birds who make this bountiful location their home.

Being only twenty minutes from the Jedediah Smith Redwoods is a huge bonus. Because I am a tree hugger, I go there many times during the month. One day, upon returning from a visit to the big trees, I hear that orcas were spotted just beyond the mouth of the river. Dang! I had to pick the one day killer whales decide to visit to be elsewhere!

As I’m walking along the river that evening, I see a vehicle drive up with signage on the door indicating it’s from the Northcoast Marine Mammal Center in Crescent City. I watch as they take a pet crate from the vehicle, along with some bedsheets and pieces of board and go over to the rocky, steep river bank. Two of them go down to the water, and two more remain at the top of the bank. Slowly, they converge on something and gather it into the crate. I can’t tell exactly what the animal is, but I can see that it’s smaller than Luna, so I immediately assume it’s a river otter.

After they load the crate safely in the back, I walk over to the vehicle. Then I ask if the otter they rescued is going to be okay. They tell me it is not an otter but a baby seal. They don’t know the extent of it’s injuries, so do not know the likelihood of survival. I tell them about orcas being spotted nearby earlier in the day. They surmise the little seal might have been attacked and managed to escape by climbing up the river bank.

Witnessing a successful rescue by dedicated and caring animal lovers has almost assuaged my disappointment at having missed the orcas. Watching them work to get that baby seal into their car and on its way to help has warmed my heart.

Before I know it, the month is over. Although I would like to stay longer, I have planned out my calendar and must move on. I want to have the time to spend a month in my favorite (so far) RV park in Waldport before moving up the coast toward Portland. I have decided, though, that I will return to this unique and special place, for so many reasons, but river otters would be reason enough.