Snowbirding

If ever in my younger life anyone had told me I would become a snowbird after retirement, I would not have believed them for a minute.  Firstly, I wouldn’t have known what a snowbird was.  I remember an aunt and uncle that travelled to Mexico every winter and my uncle taught English as a second language on the beach. They lived in an RV and loved the life.  My Mom and Dad travelled south with them one winter while I was in the middle of babies and teaching and I remember how much they enjoyed it, but I never heard of the term snowbird until near my retirement from teaching.

My brother and his wife, were RV’ers and after some years of touring, they settled in an RV resort named SunVista in Yuma, AZ. One year, near the end of our career, they invited us down for a visit during our February break from school.  We flew down to Las Vegas, rented a car and drove the five hours down to the small city of Yuma, close to the Mexican border. The next morning, we ventured down the road to SunVista.   When we drove up to the gates of this walled resort, an older man asked us who we were and why we were there.  We explained that we were visiting my brother and having a tour of the area.  We both smiled (and maybe snickered) when he said, “Watch out, once you taste this life you will be back”.   

What lay ahead of us inside those walls was a playground for seniors.  A large beautiful, pristine indoor swimming pool and a large beautiful pristine outdoor pool.  Beside the pool was a little ice cream shack selling sundaes and banana splits to groups of laughing, visiting people, who looked just like us.  When we toured the resort tour we found; bocce courts, pickle ball courts, mini-golf courses, and remote vehicle race tracks.  In the centre of this park was a big complex with a beautiful auditorium, a restaurant, a well-equipped billiards room with multiple tables, and many smaller rooms equipped with card tables or craft tables.  There was a ceramic area with a kiln, a woodwork shop with every tool available and a lapidary area with rock cutters and polishers.

There was a state-of-the-art gymnasium with equipment that would match any fitness centre. Upstairs was a large beautifully sunlit room outfitted for yoga or tai chi.  I could go on and on.   The amenities were endless.

The residents of the resort lived in RV’s , or park models- 399 square feet tiny homes that have every convenience of a larger home but with one bedroom, one bath and everything scaled down.
It was, in fact, like summer camp for old people. You woke up in the morning, had a cup of coffee in the sunshine on your deck and talked about how you were going to recreate today. Unlike summer camp there was no pressure to do anything. You could stay on your deck all day or venture out of the park to the city to do whatever you chose. All of the park amenities were free and there for the picking.

We decided to give it a try and the next year travelled down and rented a unit for 2 months. Jim joined a ball team and played ball twice a week. He golfed three times a week and we swam and laid in the sun most days. I went to an acquasize class every morning, learned to play mahjong and took painting lessons hoping their was an artist inside somewhere (I soon learned there wasn’t, but found many other things I loved to do). We bought bikes, which became our in-park mode of transportation. We started meeting people “just like us”; people that had worked for thirty years and were now ready for some relax and some “me” time. This was not a park for the rich and famous. You couldn’t buy land, and park models were reasonable investments. You paid an annual lease fee for the right to park your unit in the resort and use the amenities.

As we met people and built community, the park became even more important. Daily happy hours, dances and ‘going out to dinner and a show’ became part of our weekly routines. We went out to the desert and had campfires. These outings reminded me of the bush parties of our youth. In fact the whole experience was like a replay of teenagedom, in our 60’s. We howled and danced at the full moon and we enjoyed deck crawls. We celebrated every possible event from Hallowe’en to Mardi Gras. We have made great friends; partially because we were all a long way from home and missing our own kids, partially because we actually have time to invest in friendship and we are old enough to know how valuable good friends are.

Some say to us, “How could you go? Don’t you miss your family? Don’t you miss your community?”    Of course, we miss our family and our community, but we have to remind ourselves that our families now have their families and they are doing exactly what they should be doing and what we did for many years.  They are working and coaching and driving to hockey rinks and gyms and making suppers and helping with homework and living and loving life.   Our communities are there for them and the same jobs that we held as hockey coaches, and ball coaches and School of Dance presidents, and fundraisers are being done by the next generation that have children in all those venues.

We could never go for long because we still need and want to be an important part of our children’s lives and we still love the community we were a part of for so many years.  

But for a few months every winter, it is nice to escape and become Snowbirds and ‘play’ with friends. I’ve heard it said that Snowbirding is a very selfish way of life, and I guess I kind of agree, but at 67 for a little while each year, maybe we will choose a little selfishness.