February 15, 2022 – Homosassas, FL – Pedaled north to Homosassas and while looking for a place for the evening set out to find 7 Sisters Campground.
In my mind, it sounded charming. Seven sisters working together to start a campground on property that had been in their family for generations. Grassy lots, a boutique coffee shop, warm fires at night and the camaraderie of the sisters and all the stories they could tell.
Weaving down a back country road I followed the signs and pulled into not what I had imagined at all.
A sign that read “office” hung on the side of a rustic trailer. It had a wooden porch next to open water that looked rather murky… and that’s being kind.
I had my mind made up already but a voice from inside bellowed “hello” and I went in to, at the very least, get the lowdown on how the 7 Sisters must have escaped.
The trailer was mostly barren, except for a beer sign, a big desk, and a large man with deep black eyeliner sitting behind a computer screen.
“Seven sisters?,” I asked quizzically. The man nodded.
“Where are they?”
”It’s just me and Roy,” said the young man. I will call him Kevin because he said his name and I, obviously disenchanted, wasn’t listening.
Kevin reminded me of Adam Lambert; season 8 of American Idol. He was charming enough, friendly and, aside from the computer and the desk he was sucking on a vape pipe. He would take a drag during our conversation and then place it, not on his expansive wooden desk nor in his shirt pocket, but his legs were crossed and he rested the pipe in the crotch atop his blue jeans.
It was odd but real, and now I can’t unsee it.
“I read that you had cabins,” I said. “How much?”
”Well,” said Kevin, dancing the mouse around the desk and trying to place the cursor in the grid on his screen, “Let me see if we have any left.”
Camping on a random Wednesday in February is apparently a hot market in the tourist metropolis of Homosassas.
“We might have one… if the girl can turn it over,” he said.
“How much,” I asked.
“It’s $100 for the night.” Said Kevin. “With a $100 cleaning fee.”
”So $200 for the night,” I confirmed.
”Nope,” said Kevin taking a hit off his vape pen and returning it gently to its holder, “It’s $100… and then $100 for the cleaning fee.”
Silent pause… as I let it sink in.
“I know it SOUNDS like $200,” said Kevin. “But someone’s gotta pay the cleaning lady.”
I started to wonder if Kevin was talking about himself in the third person and that HE was really the cleaning lady.
I kicked around and toed my foot at a mark on the floor. “You’re right… it sure DOES sound like $200,” I said.
Figuring I didn’t go to school in Florida and I never took campsite math I told Kevin that it was a little steep for me and I’d push along and explore my options.
He was pretty unphased and went back to looking at his computer screen and noshing on his vape pen.
And the dreamy Seven Sister Campground would live on only in Wisconsin biker lore and my crushed imagination.
“Have I not commanded you? … Be strong and courageous. … Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9
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