Camp Refuge - 1. Greg

Gregory Hanson pulled into the overgrown driveway in his new pick-up, towing a refurbished 1975 Airstream Argosy travel trailer behind him. Greg's hazel eyes watched its silvery shell through the rear-view mirror carefully as he gently motored forward into the campground.

He was now at his destination, a tiny map-dot called Hiouchi, California. He had already flown out a month ago to lay eyes on the campground. It met with his approval on two counts: it was within his price range, and its run-down condition was one he could remedy with his various skill-sets.

Greg had recently retired from the police department in Huntsville. He took the twenty-year option on his retirement even though it meant a hit on his income. He needed the early out because he was done with that particular game. Though the retirement pay was less, he was one of the few guys who could say he was retired at forty-two-years-old.

As he came to a gentle stop, he smiled. He had made the drive from Huntsville, Alabama, his Airstream in tow, with no incidents. He definitely counted that as a "win".

He opened the door and got out. It was early May and it had only begun to warm a little. Rains were still frequent for this time of year, but today there were clear skies and sunshine. His eyes scanned over the central part of the grounds.

This campground was split into two clusters of four small cabins, for a total of eight dwellings. Then an area that was ostensibly for tent camping was beyond those. Though right now all of the tent camping sites were utterly overgrown with briars, blackberry vines, and weeds. The cabins were no better. They needed a lot of work to make serviceable. The same held true for power, water, and trash. Everything required work and time to fix up - which was why the old, derelict campground was within his price range.

Greg would need to cut down fifteen years of overgrowth and do a lot of repairs on all of the cabins, but the very first thing he needed to do was to get the power and water running. The grounds were close enough to infrastructure to be hooked up to it. However, it wasn't as simple as flipping a switch or turning a spigot.

Despite all the effort needed to resolve the various issues with the place, Greg looked forward to the work. He'd always been a handy guy. After all of the stress of working for the Huntsville PD, he relished the thought of a lower-key life.

He inhaled. There was clean air, the sounds of insects and birds, and the warm sun on his skin. He stood and reveled in it. His eyes closed and he let a smile bloom on his face.

'This is it. This is why I'm here,' Greg thought. He grinned and opened his eyes.

"Okay. Time to get to work."

Greg spent the next couple of hours preparing his own living accommodations. He pulled the Airstream into position to the left side of the main road into the grounds. He envisioned that this would be on the way out of the campground once he got the entire road cleared, and back into good shape.

He'd always been a dreamer. For years he dreamed of love and making a life with someone. Yet, he was forty-two-years-old and perpetually single. Early into his career at the Police Department, he had to let that fantasy go. His life in Alabama simply wouldn't allow for that sort of connection in his life. Now that he was there in California, and away from the expectations and prejudice of the south and his job, things could be different.

A personal connection with someone might now be feasible, but that was no longer his priority. He had decided years ago that being single was acceptable and even desired. He rarely connected with anyone in a meaningful way. By far, his most profound emotional connection was to Clay, his old partner in the Huntsville PD. Even then there were things Greg never shared with him. It just wasn't something a man talked about.

Greg was nearly celibate, though it wasn't for lack of willing partners, even in Alabama. He didn't understand why, but something about the thought of a man in a police uniform really got gay men going. It also helped that he kept himself in excellent condition. Once a guy heard he was a cop, he could almost guarantee a romp in the sack if he wanted it. But he rarely put himself in situations where it could happen. Maybe a couple of times a year when he traveled out of town, he would go home with a guy. He'd get that particular itch scratched, then he'd be good to take care of himself solo for a few months. That was how he had lived for the past twenty years.

Now his dreams centered around destressing and living simply. Being closeted as a police officer in Alabama carried with it a level of anxiety which was not for the faint of heart. One wrong word, one slightly too-long glance in the locker room, and he would have been ruined. He became an expert at playing the game. He cultivated a quiet, reserved persona, and became known as dependable and competent but somewhat anti-social to the rest of the guys. Well, to all of them except Clay.

He stepped back to look at the work he had done so far. The Airstream was now unhooked from his truck, and he had it leveled next to a pre-existing concrete pad near the entrance of the campground. His door opened over the pad and the attached awning could be pulled out to shade the space when the sun got to be too much. A patio set made it onto his mental list for his next trip into town.

He smiled at his progress. He had 300W of power in the form of two solar cells mounted on top of his new home. And that would be plenty for his few power needs inside the Airstream. His water tank was full and his sewage was empty. It was a great way to start out until he could get the infrastructure for the camp repaired.

He wiped a hand through his short, sweaty, brown hair. It was longer than he was used to, as he had stopped buzzing it off a few weeks back. It was cooler in northern California so he'd let it grow a bit, but it was still a novelty to him.

As he examined his work, a green truck turned into the camp driveway from the highway. He watched as the vehicle drove up his road and came to a stop alongside his own big Dodge pick-up. Greg wiped his hands on his pants and stepped over as the man got out of the truck.

"Well, hello there." The shorter man smiled at him. He had salt and pepper hair and looked to be in his mid-fifties. He stuck out a hand and Greg reached to shake it. "I'm Harry Greene, and I'm the ranger responsible for the state-run campgrounds on the 199 here."

"Nice to meet ya, Harry." Greg's drawl was thick, even though he was working at toning it down. "I'm just getting settled in." He frowned a little. "Though, this will be a private campground once I get everything cleaned up and running."

Harry nodded. "Yep, I know. But I like to introduce myself to the neighbors." He motioned to the south. "The Smith River is just over there, past the treeline, and that's something my office is empowered to preserve. So I make it a point to say hello to anybody on the water."

Greg could appreciate that. "Good policy." He nodded at Harry. "Well, if I can do anything for you, let me know."

Harry smiled and nodded. "Will do." He narrowed his eyes a little in thought. "Where are you from? Somewhere south, that's for sure."

"Ah, Alabama." Greg shrugged. "Definitely qualifies as 'south'."

"Wow. I'd say." Harry nodded then climbed back up into his truck. "Well, welcome to California. And best of luck with your new campground." He looked through his windshield at the briars and brambles that lay thick over the place - even up over the roofs of the barely-visible cabins. He glanced back at Greg. "You may need it before you're through!"

Greg only smiled, the expression patient and cordial, and watched as the green Forest Service truck turned around and pulled back onto the highway.

Once Harry was gone, Greg immediately went right back to his efforts.

For many, the idea of running a campground as a way to decompress might hold little appeal, but to Greg, it worked in that capacity, and for several other purposes. Ultimately, he wanted to continue to serve, but he needed to do so in a different way.

He saw so many people in Alabama who were in a situation which could have been his own. Young men, boys really, who were gay and discarded by their own families. They were thrown out of their homes with nothing and nowhere to go. More rarely he saw girls and women in the same situations. So the dream began as a kernel of an idea. Over the years, he refined it until he hit upon the recipe that both appealed to him and was one that seemed viable.

He would buy a campground and advertise it as a "gay-friendly" destination. He thought about doing this in Alabama but rejected it almost immediately. It'd be a place that would attract nothing but trouble. But in California, it could work on multiple counts. Welcoming diversity could be a selling point, and it could turn that little stretch of Northern California into a mini-destination.

If the worst happened and nobody was interested, he would have an empty campground all to himself. He paid the cost of the campground, the Airstream, and his big Dodge truck entirely off with his savings and the sale of his family home in Alabama, so there were no recurring payments he needed to make. His needs were simple, so his retirement would provide enough money for him to get by. And if there were no expense from tenants, then he wouldn't need the funds from reservations.

However, he needed to get the electrical and water up and running to the grounds themselves. Also, he was now generating waste, which would require the trash service to be reinstated. That'd be an easy fix. He picked up his cell. He had reception there since the campground was close enough to Hiouchi's cell tower.

After a few minutes on the phone, he had trash service scheduled. After he hung up, he walked around the grounds and checked the old upright, bear-proof green boxes for both trash and recycling. Luckily, they were right next to the asphalt and he could reach all of them as he walked around the loop. Most were serviceable. Though he'd need to repaint them, as they were rusting a bit in places. Oil for hinges and paint on the outside would set them all to rights.

The list was long and getting longer all the time. That was before Greg even thought about the cabins. He knew he could get the tent sites ready a lot faster than the cabins, so he wanted to focus first on infrastructure, the restroom and shower building, the new outdoor kitchen he wanted to build, and then the tent sites. As he made the loop he counted out the probable areas for tent sites.

"Fourteen." He nodded to himself as he finished the loop and drew even with his Airstream. "I'll need to clear fourteen sites."

He stopped and frowned just as he got to the door of his truck. He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone. He looked at the name on display. "Huh." He answered and held the phone to his ear.

"Hey Clay." He smiled and put his hand on the warm hood of the Dodge. "How's Alabama?"

"Hey, Greg." His ex-partner's voice was a lot more welcome to his ears than Greg anticipated it would be. "Alabama is the same as you left it. Though it's a little crankier since there's a veteran in the Huntsville PD who is getting paired up with a rookie after his partner left him."

They both chuckled.

"So, what's the occasion for the call? You miss my sexy voice?" Greg said, and laughed.

He could hear Clay grin over the receiver. "I actually wanted to check in on ya. When you told me about the campground idea, I thought you may have gone off the rails, but the more I think about it, the better it sounds."

While he was still in Alabama and as his retirement date approached, Greg told Clay about his idea - all except for the gay-friendly part. Nobody knew he was gay, not even Clay. Greg got close to telling him a few times, but he never actually said the words. There was just too much to lose, and he couldn't take the risk.

"Well, I'm out here now." Greg looked out over the campground. "And I've already started on getting it squared away."

"Yeah? How's that going?"

Greg nodded. "It's good. Gonna be a LOT of work though." Greg went through his laundry list of steps he had planned to take before he would ever open the place for campers.

Clay whistled. "Wow. Well, sounds like you need some help."

Greg sighed. "Probably. But I can't afford that."

"Well, what if you could get some free labor, in exchange for room and board? I know a teenager who needs to get out of Alabama for the summer. And he loves camping."

Greg frowned. "Mason? Really?"

"Yep." There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. "I never brought it up but Mason isn't doing so great here right now, and I'd really appreciate if he could spend the summer there. You'd be doing me a huge favor."

Greg only thought for a moment. "Yeah, he can come out here. Both of you can if you want. No problem." Greg's frown deepened. "What's going on?"

There was hesitation over the phone. "Well, he's getting the shit kicked out of him on the regular. It's because he's gay, and he doesn't care who knows it."

Greg grimaced. It was somewhat common knowledge that Mason was gay, though nobody in the department really talked about it. Though the number of times Clay got called to scenes of a fight between his son and other boys made it hard to ignore. "Man, that sucks, Clay. I'm sorry to hear he has had it rough."

"Thanks. Yeah, the kids at school, they give him royal hell, and I'm worried about him. Even when school lets out, I don't think it'll get any better. He refuses to lie about it, even when it might be dangerous for him." Clay paused, then continued, his tone cautious. "I just figured, ah, he'd be safe there with you. And that you'd understand. You know. The whole gay thing."

Greg put his hand on his forehead. "How … I don't…"

"Greg. Man." Clay's voice was patient and understanding. "We've been partners for so long. I've known for years now."

Greg closed his eyes and rubbed his face. "I was so careful about it." He almost whispered.

"I know, I'm sorry I never asked you. I figured you'd tell me when you were ready. And don't worry. The other guys never really knew. Boggs and Russell suspected, but none of them knew for sure."

Greg took a deep breath. "Okay. Well, I'm sorry I didn't say something."

"Don't be. Life's too short for regret," Clay said easily. "So, you really okay with Mason staying for the summer? If you are, I'll bring him out to you. Maybe I'd stay a week to help out too."

Greg nodded even though Clay couldn't see him. "Yeah, you both should come out. For sure. And he can stay for the summer. It'd be good for him." Greg laughed. "Though I'd work him hard!"

"I'd expect nothing else. Some hard work would be good for him."

The two men planned for Clay and Mason to come out to the campground the following week, after Mason was out of school. Clay seemed confident he could take the time off, as he was one of the most senior officers in the Huntsville PD.

They finished their conversation and Greg hung up, a thoughtful look on his face. He was going to have company. That was a rare thing. Even more unusual, it would be company that he enjoyed. He looked down the overgrown asphalt drive that led deeper into his campground, and could see the edge of the first cabin. It was surrounded by weeds, blackberries, and ivy, but if he worked hard, he could probably get it ready by the time they arrived. Clay planned on tent camping during his week in California, but it'd be nice if he had a cabin to sleep in.

He narrowed his eyes and a determined expression settled on his face. "Let's get this done." Greg got into his truck, his list of tools and supplies he needed folded into the pocket of his denim shirt. As he drove to Crescent City, he felt a strange weight lift off his back.

'Clay knows. He's known for a long time. And it's okay.' He let his mind mull it over. His only real friend knew that he was gay and it wasn't a disaster. He wasn't rejected. He didn't lose his friend. In fact, Clay trusted Greg with his son, Mason. Greg could think of no greater measure of confidence a man could have in another.

'You've gotta do right by Mason and Clay.' Greg nodded to himself as he turned into the Home Depot parking lot in town.

Greg and Clay had been through a lot. Greg knew Mason. He and Clay had been partners on the force for nearly Greg's entire twenty-year span in the department. He celebrated with Clay when Mason was born. Greg mourned with him when five years ago, cancer took Kathy, Clay's wife and Mason's mom. And now, he was being asked to help what amounted to his best friend's son.

He would step up to the challenge. He entered the store and pulled the list out of his pocket. "Okay," he looked down at the items, "let's start with paint." With a slight, unconscious smile he began gathering his supplies - purpose firmly in mind.

The next few days were filled with steady progress. Greg managed to get power and water restored to the grounds. The fellow from PG&E - Pacific Gas and Electric - responsible for new services had come out yesterday to look at the work Greg did. The 30-something fellow had been excited. "Oh man, you're getting this place fit for camping again?" The man, whose name was Brian, looked around, a grin plastered on his face. "You do good work! I'll probably be by later this summer, once you've got it going. Maybe spend a few weekends."

Greg had gone for a walk around the place with Brian, and suddenly he felt pressure and stress he didn't expect. "Well, it's a private campground. All are welcome, so long as they don't have a problem with folks who are … who are gay."

Brian looked at him, the surprise evident on his face. "You're making a gay-friendly campground?" Before Greg could answer, Brian grinned. "My niece is gay! Oh man, this is gonna be awesome! I could bring her here with her girlfriend!"

After a quick but expert inspection of Greg's work, the excited PG&E planner was back in his vehicle. He promised to return with his niece in tow once the place was up and running.

The following day Greg began work on Cabin One. He cleared all the vegetation away and did a quick cleaning of the inside. He hauled out a pile of detritus, leaves, old wasp nests, and wood from old furniture that had fallen apart. He had to replace a window that was boarded up, build a small desk, replace some shingles on the roof, and get a new twin bed mattress. He managed to salvage the frame of the bed, for which he was thankful.

He worked fast. All of the chores required for the cabin were nearly complete at the end of his self-imposed twelve-hour workday. He only had the roof, the mattress to purchase, and some flashing to install for the window left to go. He wasn't even going to think about painting it - not yet. That'd have to wait. He didn't believe Clay would mind the fact that the cabin still needed paint.

Greg straightened from cutting shingles and cracked his back with an audible sound and a relieved grunt. He had his exercises left to do, and it was going on six p.m., though the sun was still up thanks to the lengthening days.

He put away his tools and supplies and locked everything. He took a hard cider and a towel, then he followed a narrow trail down to the river from the southern tip of his campground. The path stopped at a relatively wide beach of sand and round stones. The Smith River flowed beyond that in front of him. It was one of the cleanest rivers in the state, and it was beautiful. This tiny piece of land belonged to him as well, and he was thankful that his purchase included it.

He stood and smiled at the river. The sound as it flowed, the reflection of the sun on the water, and the fresh, earthy smell of the wet sand did something to his soul. It made him happy in a way nothing else could.

Greg took one more cleansing breath, then he found a quiet spot in the water. He put his cider in to keep it chilled and spread his towel on the sand.

Then he began his workout. He brutalized himself with various push-ups, sit-ups, planks, and then pull-ups on a bar he had installed for the purpose near the water's edge. He would go for a run tomorrow, but today was all about the body-weight exercises.

After about forty-five minutes he finished, sweaty, hot, and pleasantly exhausted. He peeled off his t-shirt, socks, and shorts. He thought about going totally nude, but he left his trunks on, just in case someone floated down the river.

Greg's physical condition was a product of his efforts. He was thankful for both his fondness for physical activity and for his well-working body. At forty-two he had never had a severe medical issue, and he knew it was primarily due to his near-religious adherence to a routine that he could do anywhere. It also meant he was trim, strong, and what most considered to be attractive.

He hissed as he entered the water. It was cold! The Smith River was primarily melt-water from snow-covered mountains, and it was nowhere near comfortable swimming temperature and it wouldn't be for another month.

It'd do for a dip. Greg quickly got himself wet and rinsed away most of the dirt, sweat, and grime. He slung his head as he rose from the river, and shook water into the air from the movement.

His quick rinse complete, he shivered and padded to the shore. Luckily the sun was still warm, and it felt wonderful on his bare skin. He bent to retrieve his cider from the water. Greg sighed with contentment and he cracked the drink. The cider was his reward for a long day of work, and for his workout. He looked over the river in nothing but his wet, black trunks. His cider was in hand and he brought it up to his lips. He took a nice, long drink, then lowered the bottle.

He looked out over the water. He had a beautiful place to live, he had his health, and soon he would have a fulfilling business to run. As a bonus, he would get a visit from his best friend and his son in a couple of days.

'This is my life.' He drained the rest of his cider. Then he turned, gathered his towel, and strolled slowly back along the path. As he rounded the bend on his paved loop, his Airstream came into view.

The silver shell reflected the setting sun like a mirror. He grinned. 'I don't need anything else.'