Benson, Arizona is the twenty-seventh 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.

Although it’s only a two-hour drive from Rusty’s RV Ranch to Benson, Arizona, we stop at a rest area twenty minutes from our destination. I’ve learned that Luna is much calmer during check-in and parking if she’s had a little pit stop prior to arrival. By now, I’m familiar with “designated pet areas” at roadside rest stops. We dutifully head for the space where dogs are allowed to relieve themselves. Two steps into the pet area, Luna halts abruptly, looking up at me as if to ask why I’m punishing her. I look down to discover we are walking into a patch of goat-heads that covers the entire pet area. I end up pulling about eight of the nasty thorns from her paws. Needless to say, she does her business outside the designated pet area.

Now that I’ve arrived in Benson, checked in and set up, I want to put up a hummingbird feeder. Since I’m going to be here for a month, I’m excited to see what kind of birds are here. One of the perks of being a snowbird is having hummingbirds in December! They’re snowbirds, too! I make some sugar water and take a walk around the RV park while I wait for it to cool. There are some trails in the open space behind the park that are perfect for dog-walking. This is nice to know since dogs aren’t allowed on the trails around the duck ponds in the center of the park.

After a pleasant little walk in the desert, we come back and fill the hummingbird feeder. I hang it in the only tree in my space and wait for the hummingbirds to find it. About an hour later, I look out the door and discover the ants have found it. They are covering the entire feeder. I have a bag of diatomaceous earth in one of the storage compartments for situations like this. You sprinkle it across their path and they can’t cross it. It comes in handy for keeping pesky ants out of the RV, too.

After spending some time searching around the base of the tree to find where the ants are coming from, I realize they are coming from the tree itself. So much for hanging a hummingbird feeder. My next-door neighbor has been watching my struggles and comes out for a visit. Fortunately, he has a hummingbird feeder on a pole, along with several seed feeders, also suspended on poles. I ask if I can admire and photograph his birds instead of attracting my own. He graciously agrees and we have a nice conversation about the birds he’s been seeing. I share with him this is my first winter being a snowbird and I learn he is from Ohio. He spends winters in Arizona to escape the cold.

One day, shortly after arriving here, I get a call from my son inquiring about my location. He’s volunteering to help with disaster recovery after some major flooding near New Orleans and is trying to figure out if he can visit me on the way. He makes plans to fly into Tuscon and catch the Amtrak to Louisiana after staying with me for a few days.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I learn that the open area behind me belongs to the RV park and they plan to expand into it someday. To that end, they have done some clearing and created a huge brush pile. The pile attracts a treasure trove of birds, including Gambel’s Quail, roadrunners, various species of sparrows and finches, and the sharp-shinned and Cooper’s Hawks that prey on them.

My annual National Park Pass comes in handy since Saguaro National Park is nearby. There are two sections to the park, with one section on this side of Tuscon, and the other just south of the city. I’m thinking this will be a nice excursion for us when my son is visiting, so of course, I make a couple of trips there to scout it out. Unfortunately, his schedule means he will not be here for Christmas, but I will be happy to ring in the New Year with him.

By now, I’m used to not having a family Christmas celebration. Attending the pot-luck social hosted by the RV park is a fine way to spend the day. I’m surprised to learn that the park is owned by a couple from Canada and nearly all the guests of the park are Canadian. It seems that besides me and my neighbor from Ohio, there are very few Americans here. I guess this explains why everyone is so friendly and almost never brings up politics!

Whether it’s because of the holiday, or just fatigue from traveling, I’ve been feeling a bit blue. I keep going over the past in my head. Things like how my ex-husband frivolously spent so much money, setting us back years financially. And how Wall Street drove the housing market off a cliff, costing me all the equity in my home. Also, how my ex-boss screwed me over in contract negotiations. And then twisted it around to make me look like the bad guy in the eyes of my colleagues. I’ve even entertained some revenge fantasies over that one.

But for now, I have bright spirits because I’m spending some time with my son. We make a visit to Saguaro National Park and spend the whole afternoon, staying to behold the beautiful desert sunset. On the way back, we discuss how to spend New Year’s Eve.

He wants to go to Tombstone, thinking that a tourist town might have some fun options for the night. And I agree about that. But the thought of driving thirty miles and back on a night when all the drunk drivers will be out on the roads doesn’t appeal to me.

I’ve been noticing the posters around the RV park advertising their New Year’s Eve costume party. Touting a medieval theme, the posters state “costumes are optional, but clothing is required,” which sounds to me like the hosts have a great sense of humor. Not surprisingly, a twenty-something young man is not thrilled with the idea of spending New Year’s Eve with a bunch of fifty-and-over retired snowbirds in an RV park. We make a compromise to check out the local party, and if it’s boring, we’ll go to Tombstone.

Well, boring it is not! First of all, we are the only two in attendance who aren’t in costume. And let me just say, some of the costumes are pretty elaborate—right down to the weapons. Next, we see someone wheeling in a cart full of literally GALLONS of Fireball whiskey. They tell us it is for toasting the new year. Even though there are fifty or sixty people at this party, that seems like a lot of whiskey for toasting the new year. Soon, we find out why.

Every time a province in Canada reaches midnight, they toast the new year. After toasting with everyone for three eastern provinces, I realize I’m going to throw up before midnight Arizona time unless I forgo the ritual. It’s astonishing to us how much whiskey these “old folks” can knock back and still remain upright. All night, my son is snap-chatting with his friends in various places around the country. He tells me this party is more fun than any of those.

Everyone is drunk and having fun, but unlike some heavily liquored parties I’ve been to, nobody is angry, aggressive, fighting, or even speaking harshly. Just laughing, dancing and being silly. All of a sudden it occurs to me…if I hadn’t gotten divorced…if I hadn’t lost the house…if my boss hadn’t screwed me over. If all those “bad” things had never happened, I might not have left my comfort zone nearly three years ago to set off on this epic travel adventure. And I wouldn’t be in Benson, Arizona right now, drinking shots of Fireball with a bunch of raucous Canadians, dancing with my son and having the time of my life. Happy New Year!