Trailers on the River

year, in nest repair, points logically to this end. And, indeed, safe retreats they must be, for it has been found that despite very heavy rains, the interiors of the nests remain quite dry.

Sometimes other vegetation than cactus is utilized by this bird. Cholla is a favorite, but mesquite, catclaw, hackberry and yucca are sometimes used, and rarely, a tree. I once found a nest of this wren at the end of a drooping oak limb in a draw at the foot of the Chisos Mountains in the Big Bend of Texas.

The Cactus Wren seems to have a considerable sense of curiosity (which is by no means an entirely human attribute). Anything unusual or strange in its territory is examined minutely, crawled over, pecked at and scrutinized. Some of its actions may appear to us as ludicrous, but some instinct in the bird's make-up is being responded to.

As befits a desert dweller, it seems almost independent of water. The moisture in the insects and fruits consumed as food is probably largely sufficient for its needs. Its diet is predominantly animal matter, grasshoppers, bugs, scale insects and spiders. Again varying from other members of its family, which are so often thought of as carrying the tail cocked at a jaunty angle, or over the back, it does not so indulge. Aside from this character, it is always recognizable by its large size, spotted appearance and the white bands in the tail which, in flight, is widely extended and therefore easily seen.

And so, if you already know this characteristic desert dweller, you will no doubt welcome any opportunity to renew acquaintance. If you do not, whether resident or visitor, you have much to look forward to in seeing and watching Arizona's State Bird along Arizona's highways.

“YOUNG 'UNS” BY HARRY L. AND RUTH CROCKETT. These young Cactus Wrens are discovering what a wonderful world their home in the desert can be. They are found the year around in the arid cactus country of the Southwest. Insects make up 70 per cent of their food and they are so adaptable to their environment that apparently moisture from their diet takes the place of water.

TRAILERS ON THE RIVER STORY AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY CHARLES G. AND GLADYS T. NIEHUIS

This little saga is about a way of life that's an idyll, and a place where the latchstring is always out, about some people to whom true western hospitality is more than a glib, tourist-catching phrase-it's words like "Hi!," "Step in a while," "Here, let me help you," "Come again." It's real friendliness.

The place is a seventeen-mile stretch of the Colorado River, from Parker Bridge on up to the southern end of Lake Havasu just above Parker Dam. The people are the residents of more than five hundred house trailers.

Just read this list of names of trailer courts picked at random as we drove along the banks of the blue Colorado: Lazy Acres, Pop's Lair, Big Bend Camp, Branson's Big Bass Lodge, Blue Water, Riverview, Echo Lodge, La Mar's Sports-man's Park, Tim Murphy's Camp, Fisherman's Roost, River Lodge, Lake Havasu Trailer Court, Tommy Kinder's Colorado River Fishing Camp.

There you have the place-how about the people and their way of life?

Well, you can just let go and dream of life as you'd like to live it, full of laughter and lazing in the sun. No matter how attractive the picture you conjure up, you can find it come true here among these people. You'll find these people have come from every state in the Union, and among them representatives of most arts, professions and businesses, all bent on one purpose-relaxation and happiness.

The friendliness of these men and women is as natural and as inclusive as the wide, blue sky above the placid river. They'll be "pleased to meet you," as they were us.

Our first day visiting around, we met Bill Taylor, a semi-retired, northwestern lumberman, who is known unofficially as the Mayor of Lake Havasu Trailer Court. He fishes and builds boats-boats of plywood, boats of glass, big boats and little ones-right there at the lake. They are marvelously well made and finished. Bill will talk boats with you as long as you like, working as he talks, and you'll gather, rightly, that here is a man who enjoys life and working with his hands to create beauty and usefulness.

A few trailers down from Bill is genial "Doc" Barnard, retired physician-surgeon, who now, when he signs his In name, always adds his prescription: R: “Don’t let business interfere with the enjoyment of living!” Mrs. Barnard helps Doc to fill his own prescription. She fries to heavenly perfection the many largemouth bass, bluegill and crappie that Doc loves to spend his time catching. Doc says the secret of that perfection is her own special fish-frying batter. Every new day and every new trailer that rolls in is a fresh interest for these people who live over wheels . . .

Take Mr. H. H. Huse, retired candymaker from Atascadero, California. This gentleman, looking exactly like the kindest grandfather you’ve ever seen in your dream of the good life-stout, round-cheeked, jovial, with warm, blue eyes-showed us a gem of a crystal candy egg, hollow on the inside, with a peep-hole in one end. We looked inside and saw a cut-out photo of a lovely little girl, flaxen hair and twinkly eyes, caught with childish laughter on her lips. This was “Skookie,” the daughter of Tommy La Forest, operator of Echo Lodge, where the Huses were staying. As we admired, the real Skookie danced by, as light and brilliant as the ripples on the river. The kindly candymaker hid his finished gift for the little girl under his coat. Easter was still a month away!

This spirit of sharing the “inner sunshine” comes easy to the people living along the sunbathed Colorado River. This is done in so many ways.

That same day, in Tommy Kinder’s trailer camp, Tommy, himself, offered to guide us and to introduce us to “the finest people in the world,” as he calls them-and means it.

First it was Mr. and Mrs. R. A. Johnson, of Dallas, Texas, a retired machine toolmaker, and his wife, Inez. It was easy to see that their great pleasure was in making other people happier, and their method was unusual. The tall Texan has several recording instruments tucked away in his ranch wagon, and on these he transcribes western dance music which is played twice a week for the “get-togethers” at Kinder’s lodge, and up at Parker Dam. This attractive couple is so enthusiastic about their hobby that they belong to eight square dance clubs, and entertain trailerites from the Colorado River up to the Sacramento River in California. They complete the circuit once a year, making friends and giving pleasure with equal ease.

It was while the Texan was readying his equipment for the dance that evening that he played for us a recording of a talking parakeet, also a resident of the trailer park, he said. For thirty minutes the tiny, metallic voice of the bird chortled in the speaker: “Bumpy’s little parakeet . . . Kiss Nancy Lou (smack, smack) . . . Gone fishin’ on the Sacramento River . . . I’m sick, call the doctor, shoot ‘im! shoot ‘im!. .” on and on, phrase after phrase he prattled, rarely repeating himself. It was so unbelievably clear that we were anxious to meet Mrs. Wanda Blum, who had trained the little bird, sure she must be an unusual person.

So Tommy and “Singin’” Johnson led the way down the row of trailers and knocked on the wall as they approached the rolling home of the bird fancier.

In response to their knock, she called pleasantly from inside, “Just a moment, while I put the finish on this angel pie. Sit down.” So, we sat in the patio chairs.

“Oh, boy, what’s the occasion?” demanded Tommy.

“It’s my birthday,” she confessed. Then, to her obvious delight, the two neighbors locked arms, stood in front of her door and sang “Happy Birthday to you . . .” It may have been a little off-key on Tommy's side of the duo, but the heartfelt sincerity permeated that section of the hun-dred-odd-trailer park. Half-a-dozen heads poked out doors, all smiling and some joining in to finish the song.

After that, we listened to the chartreuse parakeet do his stuff. His hour-long line of chatter began with, “Hi, neighbor!” which somehow epitomized the group feeling we had sensed in all the people we had met who had come to enjoy the clear, warm sunshine and the blue waters of the river.

We became so interested in the parakeet that we lost track of our five-year-old, who wandered off among the maze of trailer homes. We began search immediately, thinking of the lure deep water holds for a child. A little later, when our calling and looking were rewarded, and we were back together again, Gladys was still laughing at what a man had said to her as she hustled through the camp with an intense look of anxiety on her face. She said, “He didn't know me, or what I was doing, but he grimmed as I passed, and chided me cheerfully: ‘You don't have to look so mad about it!’” And, of course, he was right. That seems to be the theme among these people, and we never did discover whether trailer life makes people that way, or whether it just attracts people who are already optimistic and openhearted. That was only one of many jewels of philosophy we found among the “rolling stones.” One Jack Osgood has left some of his credos tacked up on the wall in Kinder's store for all to read: “Today is yesterday's tomorrow,” “Watch the man behind the one in front of you” and

"Smile-it won't hurt much." We found the good nature very contagious.

It was at Blue Water that we became acquainted with "Chief" Myers, native Arizonan and retired cowpuncher. His hobby is making tom-toms-Indian drums used in tribal dances and ceremonies. He was just finishing one as we drove up, and he gave it a few resounding thwacks for our edification and to test the resonance of the taut rawhide heads. The booming carried up and down the river bank. In a few minutes several curious people showed up, and one of them remarked, on seeing strangers, "Oh, excuse us, we thought the Chief was calling us together for something."

It seems that the tom-toms are used to herald the arrival of the mail, a big catch of fish, clean laundry, a message for one of the Blue Water trailerites, etc.

As we drove along from one camp to another we wondered if perhaps the best in people was brought out by the very warmth of the sun here, the bright, clean days, the cool shades, the clear, blue water of the river. And we decided that these do help to break down the reserves set up by cities and their tensions, and coax a person out of his selfmade shell. It isn't long after moving into one of this score of trailer courts scattered along the banks of the river, that the most withdrawn person becomes neighborly.We live in a city. We have neighbors, but all of us have fences or hedges, and it takes a major crisis to bring us all together. We are all so busy rushing around that when we get back to our homes, we go in, shut the doors and stay there until we go out to rush around again. We hardly take time to speak to each other, let alone learn to know and be neighborly to each other, in the old-fashioned sense.

Not so with the trailer people. Somehow everyone knows everyone else: where they came from, what their hobbies and interests are, and they are soon helping each other in troubles and problems, as well as sharing fun and laughter. Every trailer colony has its lawyers, doctors, ministers-all kinds of business and professional people, even showmen and entertainers. Everyone seems to be glad to share his skills, too. But, perhaps the most interesting aspect of trailer life along the Colorado is that it brings together many people who would never meet under ordinary circumstances. People who lived neat, humdrum lives in small towns learn to know and enjoy those whose lives read like a book of adventure stories-and vice versa.

Cal Lipes has been a showman all his life. He has played the state and county fairs, rodeos, festivals in all the major cities of this continent and the Orient. You'll find him wintering at Tommy Kinder's Trailer Camp. If you are lucky, and we were, you'll catch him in a yarn-spinning mood some day, and you'll have exciting glimpses of the sequin and sawdust world which he vows is not so glamorous, really. It still holds a fascination for the "rubes" like us, however, for the show goes on.

Cal.

"What kind of shows have you managed?" we asked Cal.

"Name it. I've had it," was his clipped reply. "Snakes, horses, midgets everything.

Jeannie Branson, who with her husband, Johnny, manages Branson's Big Bass Lodge, is a pretty, vivacious Canadian of French and German descent. She had her own wild animal act, and played the Paris Exposition when she was only thirteen, we discovered. She has traveled throughout Europe, and in every country on the North American continent. Johnny was a dirt-track racing champion, with both autos and motorcycles. From there he went up into the thrilling, chilling sport of riding around the vertical walls of a motordrome. He and his shows have played in Australia, the Near East, Europe, South and North America. After this exciting living, both Jeannie and Johnny seem to enjoy running their attractive trailer park on the Arizona side of the Colorado.

"We like people, I guess that's why we like this," Jeannie smiles; her warm, brown eyes prove she really means it. And all the animals and kids in the place know it's true; she usually has one or both in tow.

Up the river, on the placid waters of Lake Havasu behind Parker Dam, the trailerites have an all-'round picturewindow view of the blue lake and purple mountains. George Savard, owner and manager of Havasu Springs Resort, is justly proud of it all. This robust, swashbuckling ex-lumberjack, soldier of fortune and adventurer fought his way from the north woods of Canada, through the jungles of the tropics of Central America, and finally through a series of mountain ridges and across canyons, to a peninsula on Lake Havasu. There he leveled off a mountain and constructed a fine road, to build a lodge, trailer park, motel and boat-landing dock so that more people can enjoy the fine living to be had there. George is a colorful individualist with a built-in love for fishing and kids, and a desire to have the finest resort on the river.

The people who have created the many trailer courts and parks, and the friendlier way of life which prevails from Parker Bridge to Lake Havasu will be continually surprising