The other morning, I was sitting with a cup of coffee, working on another article titled “What’s Your Hurry? The Best RV Plans Aren’t Always on the Calendar.“ Somewhere between the second sip and staring out the window, my thoughts wandered—as they often do.
I started thinking about all the campers we’ve met over the years.
Some pull into the very same campground every spring. By Friday evening the neighbors are waving before the truck is even in park. Kids who met around the campground playground years ago are now bringing children of their own. The fishing spots are familiar. The campfire ring hasn’t changed. Neither has the laughter.
Then there are folks like us.
One month we’re watching the sunrise over Lake Huron. A few weeks later we’re winding through the Smoky Mountains. Before long we’re parked somewhere we’ve never been before, wondering what waits around the next bend in the road.
Somewhere between those two thoughts I realized something.
There really seem to be two kinds of campers.
Or maybe three.
Or four.
Well…that’s why my name is Bob. I can spell it frontwards or backwards and still get it right. Maybe Mama knew I’d take the scenic route getting to a conclusion.
I took another sip of coffee.
Then I started wondering if the RV industry had a name for people who happily return to the same campground year after year.
The Search for a Name
Curiosity has gotten me into trouble before.
So naturally, I asked Google.
An RV owner who returns to the same campground every season is commonly called a seasonal camper or an annual camper. If the RV stays there most of the year, it’s often sitting on a seasonal site. Sometimes it’s a park model. Sometimes it’s a destination trailer.
That led me down another rabbit trail.
“What exactly is a destination trailer?”
The answer actually made sense.
A destination trailer is designed less for crossing the country and more for becoming a comfortable home away from home. They’re larger than many travel trailers, often stretching forty feet or more. Tall ceilings, residential furniture, full-size appliances, large windows, even washer and dryer hookups on some models make them feel remarkably home-like.
Unlike a park model, they still have their hitch, wheels, and holding tanks. They can travel.
They simply aren’t built to travel every weekend.
As I finished reading, I leaned back in my chair.
“Self…”
“…where exactly are you going with all this?”
Maybe We’ve Been Asking the Wrong Question
For years the RV world has divided itself into classes.
Class A.
Class B.
Class C.
Travel trailers.
Fifth wheels.
Truck campers.
Those categories tell us what we’re driving or towing.
They don’t tell us why we camp.
That’s the interesting part.
Some people buy an RV because they love discovering new places.
Others buy one because they finally found their place.
Somewhere along the way, we started comparing rigs, mileage, destinations, and travel styles. We debate whether it’s better to stay close to home or cross the country. We admire the biggest campers or dream about the smallest ones that can slip into almost any campsite.
But I wonder if we’ve forgotten why most of us bought an RV in the first place.
It wasn’t to win some unwritten camping contest.
It was to spend more time with the people we love, see places that make us smile, and slow life down enough to enjoy it.
Once I reached that thought, the rest of the article suddenly made perfect sense.
Neither camper is doing it wrong.
They’re simply chasing the same dream in different ways.
We Somehow Became Both
If you’ve followed our journey very long, you already know Vicky and I don’t fit neatly into either category.
We love camping close to home.
Michigan is filled with campgrounds where family gathers, grandchildren laugh until after dark, and someone always has an extra hot dog if another camper wanders over.
Those weekends don’t require elaborate plans. We know the roads. We know the campground store. Sometimes we even know the folks parked three sites away.
There’s comfort in that familiarity.
Yet we also love pointing our truck toward someplace we’ve never seen.
Sometimes that road leads us to the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Sometimes it leads us to South Dakota.
Sometimes it simply leads us toward one of our children or grandchildren, scattered across this country, where an RV becomes more than transportation.
It becomes our guest room.
One trip reconnects us with places.
The other reconnects us with people.
Neither one feels more important than the other.
Maybe Home Isn’t a Place
One of the things I’ve learned after more than fifty years of camping is that home has very little to do with an address.
I’ve watched seasonal campers decorate their sites until they felt like small neighborhoods.
Flower beds.
Porch lights.
Golf carts with names.
Neighbors who know birthdays, anniversaries, and exactly how everyone takes their morning coffee.
I’ve also met travelers who couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow looked like.
Neither group envied the other.
They simply enjoyed camping differently.
Maybe that’s something the rest of life could learn.
Not everyone is supposed to walk the same path.
Around the Campfire
One evening, after supper had been cleared away and someone was carefully turning marshmallows over glowing coals, the conversation drifted toward a question we’ve heard more than once.
“Is it better to stay at one campground every year or keep exploring?”
Grandma Cooper would probably smile before answering.
“Which one helps you spend more time with the people you love?”
If returning to the same campground means grandchildren ride their bicycles together every summer, that’s time well spent.
If traveling across the country lets you visit children, explore national parks, or finally see places you’ve only read about, that’s time well spent too.
From a practical standpoint, each style has its advantages. Seasonal campers often become part of a campground community and enjoy the convenience of leaving much of their setup in place. Travelers experience changing scenery, different campgrounds, and the excitement of discovering somewhere new.
The beautiful part is that owning an RV means you don’t have to choose forever.
Some seasons of life call us close to home.
Other seasons invite us farther down the road.
Your RV is flexible enough to do both.
Final Thoughts
After all that coffee and all those internet searches, I finally arrived where I probably should have started.
It really doesn’t matter whether your camper travels five hundred miles or five miles.
It doesn’t matter whether your campsite changes every weekend or stays the same for ten years.
The memories don’t know the difference.
What matters is slowing down long enough to notice them.
I can almost hear Grandma Cooper now.
“Slow down…now stop.”
Then she’d wait just a moment before speaking again.
“Take a deep breath.”
“Listen.”
The breeze moving through the trees.
Children laughing somewhere across the campground.
The gentle crackle of a campfire settling into glowing coals.
“If you hadn’t slowed down,” she’d say with a smile, “you would have missed all of that.”
Maybe that’s the real destination.
Maybe that’s why we bought an RV in the first place.
Not to see who could travel the farthest.
Not to own the biggest rig.
Not to check the most places off a map.
But to build memories with the people God has placed in our lives.
Grandma Cooper would simply smile.
“Slow down… now stop.”
“Take a deep breath.”
“Listen.”
If you do, you’ll discover the very best part of camping was never the campground at all.
It was always the people sitting around your campfire.
Happy travels,
The Cooper Shortcut Camping Journey Trio 😊 PlusOne!
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