When Trends Move On (But You Can Finally Hop on Board)

Ten years ago everyone was flipping vintage campers.

Pinterest was buried in them. Every blog had a tutorial. Joanna Gaines hadn’t even gotten to them yet — that’s how early we are talking. People were ripping out paneling, painting everything white, sewing little curtains, and getting their families on the road.

David and I were renting. We had no driveway, no shed, no extra money, and no business adding a project camper to our lives. So I just watched everyone else do it and dreamed about a someday version of ourselves who might get to do this.

Well — someday is now. And the trend has officially moved on. Vintage camper restorations are no longer the It Project. Everyone’s into Sprinter vans and Airstreams and Tiny Black Cabins With Cathedral Windows.

I do not care.

Meet June Bug.

We bought her off Facebook Marketplace from a couple named Erica and Tyler, who turned out to be the kind of people you keep in touch with after the sale because you actually like them. (Hi, friends.) She’s got a curved aluminum nose, riveted trim, and the squat, slightly absurd silhouette of a creature that absolutely should not be able to fly — which is, of course, why I named her June Bug.

If you didn’t grow up in the South, here’s what you need to know about June Bugs: they’re loud, they’re huge, they get stuck in your hair, and if one collides with your face at full speed it hurts. They’re nobody’s favorite. They are also, somehow, beloved. They’re part of Southern summer lore — the soundtrack of a porch in July. They’re not very bright. If a June Bug lands on its back, it can’t flip itself over without help. I have always had an inexplicable fondness for them. They’re short and squatty and built wrong and full of personality. Just like this camper. I picture her buzzing all over the country until it’s time for her to retire.

Demo day

I tore out the paneling. The cabinets. The bad insulation. A sink that nobody asked for. The shelves. The mesh window screens. The whole dinette. I did almost all of it myself — except for the parts that were too heavy and required a husband.

What I found inside, in no particular order:

- Two bird corpses. At least it was birds and not rats.

- Mold in the roof from a leak I’ll have to repair before we go any further.

- A surprising number of staples that someone in 1972 just kept driving into the wall over and over for what I can only assume were emotional reasons.

It took me one day. The floor still has to come out, but that’s a future-Kayla problem.

The dream

When she’s done, June Bug is going to be our family camping rig — a place to sleep when we take Savannah on trips. We won’t keep the kitchen because we like cooking outside. So she’ll be more “rolling bedroom” than “tiny home on wheels.” A soft place to land at the end of a day full of creek wading and dirt roads.

I’m decorating with Savannah in mind. There will be touches that are for her. There will be a tiny shelf of children’s camping gear. There will be a little pillow with a bunny on it, probably. (I’m a writer with a children’s book on the way, what did you expect.)

I’m ten years late to the trend. I don’t care. June Bug is mine, and she’s getting her wings.