All along northern highways of BC, one finds abandoned RV parks, gas stations, service centres and the like. They are sometimes gutted or falling apart or grim and dank and a bit creepy and occasionally inhabited still, but most often they are now glorified houses for birds, at least in summer. For some reason I find this both ironic and weirdly appropriate, as nothing says freedom like a bird. Tearing through the halls of these moribund way stations, choosing from among the rafters, decrying the intrusions of us hinterland explorers. Ours!