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We were camping last weekend in the Boler.

AKA Twinkle Tows:  the vintage travel trailer that I l-o-o-o-ve.Boler and screen house, set up at campsite

It needs a paint job on the outside but we re-did the inside a few years ago.

dinette inside boler, red cushions

Pretty, pretty.

The owner of the mega-apartment-building-sized, it’s got walk-in-closets-kind-of-slide-outs trailer parked next to us last weekend came over for a little chat.   He was all “oh, isn’t that just too cute” and “you don’t see many of these anymore”.
Bench inside boler

In other words, J-E-A-L-OUS.

Even though he has a walk-in closet and on board shower and a/c facilities.

The Boler has that effect on people.

I fall hard for the Boler every time I see it, too.

I love the wind-out windows that you can keep fully open during a hot night’s rain.

Pitter patter, pitter patter.

wind out windows on the Boler

I love the original avocado green stove.

And range hood.

Very vintage, 70s – tra, la, la!

Kitchen with avocado green range hood and sink

Practical Man and my dad made the doors from ash trees on our property.

They added the flowers with a minimal amount of sighing.

Before I go to sleep in the Boler, I like to wiggle my toes while lying on the dinette/bed and stare in wonderment around the little marshmallow-shaped interior.

Y’know, just for maybe an hour or so.

Wiggle, wiggle.  Giggle, giggle.

inside boler at night

Ditto for the mornings.

Wiggle, wiggle.  Giggle, giggle.

Boler curtains with dancing flower in front of them

Practical Man just smiles (and sometimes rolls his eyes the teeniest bit) while I’m doing this.

But, he loves the Boler, too.

twinkle toes pillow

I can tell by the way he doesn’t really complain about the (optimistically-named) “double” bed being slightly squishy even though he has to share it with someone who tends towards active dreaming (about buying more Bolers) and snoring and stealing the covers.

I can tell by the way he keeps a running list of “stuff the Boler needs”.

I can tell by the way he agrees to pay for camping, even though he’s a northern Ontario boy who defines camping as “parking on Crown land because why oh why would you ever pay for camping?”

And then, when I twirl happily to the creek side on our (NOT free) campsite, wearing my snazzy new trailer/Boler pants (check out the ankle ruffles!) that my aunt, Heather-the-Feather, gave me:

pajama pants with vintage trailers on them

Okay, there might be a little more eye rolling but that quickly turns into twinkles.

Twinkles are the universal sign for “I love you, even though you’re fairly kooky”.

Tra-la-la.

Back of the boler, as it's rolling down the road.

Copyright Christine Fader, 2015.  Did you enjoy this post from A Vintage Life?    Share on Facebook       Tweet

 

 

 


In our household, we often joke that we have a role reversal going. Case in point:  I spent one sunny, Saturday afternoon rummaging through a junkyard with my friend, Trevor.

When I returned home, dusty, with a heart and camera full of rusty, tree-entwined vintage vehicles, the glorious smell of baking bread wafted out to greet me…as did my amused husband who had been home slaving over a hot oven all day.   If that doesn’t describe a perfect day, then I don’t know what does.

My husband drew the line at wearing one of my fun, vintage aprons though.

I find them in second-hand stores or at yard sales and often, can’t bear to leave them behind.  They’re usually homemade (and for much tinier waists than I possess) with kitschy vintage touches like rick-rack, scalloped edges and even, smocking.   They evoke a time of beautiful, rounded fridges (not a fingerprinted, stainless steel front in sight), one grainy TV channel and the advent of margarine, pastel-coloured marshmallow “salads” and other foods not found in nature.

apron I’m happy to don one of these sartorial time machines and spend an afternoon baking another vintage-turned-fashionable treat:  cupcakes.  I find them manageable, for one who sometimes needs a life preserver when wading into the stew that is cooking and baking.

I stumble through the measuring and mixing, put up with the plopping into pans and baking parts…all so I can get to the hypnotic peace of using a pastry bag to pipe icing on their little, rounded tops.

It’s like Thai Chi, piping is.   Seriously.  You should try it.

I believe it’s how those women-of-a-certain-era  managed to welcome everyone home in Leave it to Beaver fashion day after day, even when life in bouffants and polyester chafed.

Piping icing:  it’s probably why they didn’t need yoga.

Even though I may look like the picture of vintage domesticity, working in my kitchen, apron apparently tied to the stove, I know the truth:  my modern vintage life is about zen-cupcake-making and a partner who loves bread baking and future junkyards to explore.

Now, if I could just get my hands on one of those great vintage-inspired fridges!