To All the Trailers I've Loved Before

I don’t remember feeling embarrassed about living in a trailer. When I was growing up it wasn’t really looked down upon in my hometown--as far as I know anyway. Trailers weren’t forced into trailer parks on the outskirts of town. They were all over, and still are, sometimes sharing land with houses. And some of the trailers seemed fancier than a lot of the houses. Like a doublewide with a dishwasher and skylights or a brand-new singlewide with a garden tub. It was more when you got outside of our town that you would hear things that made you realize some people looked down on mobile homes--and kind of the whole town in general.

I’m not exactly sure when the modern prefab house movement really took off. I started becoming more aware of it in the mid 2000s when rectangular residences, shipping container homes, and tiny houses were all over the covers of interior design magazines and blogs. And I don’t have a thing against them. I mean who doesn’t like tons of natural light and a well thought out floor plan? I’ve stayed in some for vacation rentals and had a fine time, but still, something about it always bugged me. Why are they considered desirable dwellings, but so many people think trailers are trashy? Maybe it’s because trailers aren’t as sleek on the outside and inside. Modern prefab homes usually have a less is more vibe, which I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen in a classic mobile home. Trailers also tend to have lower ceilings and smaller windows, while a lot of the newer prefab homes have windows taller than you. Which can be nice for sure, but when I see a wall of windows I always hear my mom and grandma when we’d drive past a big fancy house: ‘That’s a pretty house, but I’d sure hate to clean all those windows.’  Maybe the white walled newness of modern homes makes it easier to project what you want onto it. While trailers come with a whole lot of history and baggage.

When we were in high school, my brother and I moved into a trailer with our older sister and cousin. (The reasons for that are a much longer story.) The trailer had belonged to my great grandma Flossie Church. She lived in it on a plot of land by the Elk River in the next town over. Grandma passed away when I was ten and the trailer sat empty for a few years before my Pawpaw Bill had it moved for us to a trailer park in our town. We never referred to it as anyone in particular’s home. It was always just “The Trailer”. We still refer to it that way. “Do you remember that time at The Trailer...”

Flossie Church on her porch.

It was a 1960s model, with olive green carpet and wood paneled walls. The kitchen opened into the living room--maybe trailers were open floor plan pioneers! There was a narrow hallway off the living room that led to two tiny bedrooms (big enough for a twin bed and not much more), the bathroom, and a bigger bedroom that I shared with my sister. If her boyfriend stayed over I slept on the couch, which was left over from Grandma Church and was the same green as the carpet. The windows were the crank out aluminum frame kind that sometimes took some coaxing to open. One of our favorite features was the built in intercom system that didn’t always work, but when it did, it was good times.

Me + my cat Phlegm. Probably watching a recording of Conan or something, 1995.

There were lots of good times at the trailer, along with some not so good times. Living without parental guidance as a teenager meant that I could have Little Debbie cakes for dinner, stay up as late as I wanted, and skip school pretty easily. My brother and I could drink if we wanted or get high with my sister’s friends, which seemed cool at first, but after a while it wasn’t. But, the real best perk of no parental guidance was that I could join Columbia House and BMG music clubs multiple times, using whatever fake name I came up with. I’d get 10 CDs for free, never follow through with the buying 6 more or whatever it was, and later in the year do it all over again. If they called to collect I’d tell them I was only fifteen and they would drop it. I don’t condone this sneaky behavior and wouldn’t do that now, but I did discover a lot of music that way, in a time and place it wasn’t easy to come by. Being able to stay up late on a school also night meant we could watch 120 minutes, or if we were too tired we’d set the VCR to record it. Well, if my sister’s boyfriend hadn’t pawned it that week. Lucky for us, he’d always go buy it back when he got some more money.

Blues Traveler was not one of my selections.

For some reason, during this time I liked to buy old disco records at thrift stores. I’d get them for like ten cents and had a little collection going and figured I needed a disco ball to go with it. I talked about wanting one for months and my grandparents, being the best like they were, got me one for my birthday. When we were feeling bored and antsy, my brother and I would set the disco ball up in the living room, turn out all the lights, and dance like total nuts to my disco records until we were tuckered out. I wonder if anyone from the trailer park ever walked by and wondered what the hell was going on in there.

A typical scene at The Trailer.

That trailer was the setting for so many moments and memories, and not just for me. Not too long ago my Mawmaw (the youngest daughter of Grandma Church) told me that when Grandma got really sick, shortly before she died, she went to pick her up to take her to the hospital. She said right before Grandma walked out the door, she stopped and took a minute to look around The Trailer, taking it all in, like she knew it was the last time she’d see her home. Those metal boxes contain multitudes. A lot of the time, from one generation to the next. They’re no different from any other home in that way.

Flossie in her kitchen, 1982.

After I moved to Louisville when I was nineteen, I found myself going on random drives to small towns outside the city and photographing trailers. Looking back on it now, I must’ve been a little homesick. Some of the homes were occupied, many were empty and lonely. One snowy day I came across an entire abandoned trailer park. I wasn’t totally sure why I was photographing them, but that’s how I feel about most things I take pictures of, I’m just drawn to it and don’t always work out the reasons til later. A lot of the photos I shot then are on 4x5 film, which you sadly can’t get anymore. (If anyone has a big stash of it they want to donate, holler at me!)

Since moving back to West Virginia, I’ve found myself photographing trailers again, more and more. And now that I’m doing this here Substack, I’ve been thinking about turning it into a larger project. Maybe writing about more of the trailers I’ve spent time in, looking in to the history of mobile homes, trailer parks, favorite trailer décor, and of course, all the trailer photos. Why the hell not.

Random trailers I photographed.