In 1986, my husband, Tom, and I bought our first home together in Burnsville, MN, a suburb of Minneapolis. We became the third owners of a house, which had been built in 1973. While we enjoyed raising our children and living a fairly conventional life, we often talked about "someday let’s get a travel trailer or motor home and really take the time to see the beauty of this country." Lots of people have that conversation at some point, but for most, this dream only exits in the land of "Someday Isle (I’ll)"—at least until retirement. Well, life gave us a couple of wake up calls (as life often does) through a couple of close encounters with death, and so in 1989, Tom and I decided to take this life dream and begin to make it a reality long before retirement age. In our hearts we felt called to this journey. Based on our younger son’s college graduation, we targeted January 1998 as the launch date for our new adventure.
As our launch date came closer, we began to do intensive research on the "full-timing" lifestyle and what kind of a rig we wanted to buy. After careful consideration of many factors, we decided we wanted a 31-foot fifth wheel trailer pulled by a 1-ton Dodge pickup. Then we began to search for the "perfect unit." We read books, went to dealerships, looked at hundreds of rigs from the low-end to the top-of-the-line. We joined the RV Consumer Group to get their Rating Book, which lists thousands of units with ratings on safety, durability and value as well as category/usage type (i.e., weekend, vacation, snowbirding and full-timing). We tried to see all of the top rated full-timing units, but still hadn’t found just the right rig.
One day I called the RV Consumer Group hotline and talked to J.D. Gallant—one of the "gurus" of the RV industry. I asked him specific questions about some of the manufacturers whose units we were considering. In the course of the conversation, I mentioned that we hadn’t been able to find a dealer for one of the highly rated units, called New Horizons. J.D. told me that was because they have no dealers—they only sell factory direct, thereby keeping down the costs. He also said it was a small manufacturing operation producing high quality, custom built units which was run by a man, named Harold Johnson, and his three sons. Their plant was located about 140 miles west of Kansas City. When I got off the phone with J.D., I called Horizons, Inc., and asked for their information packet.
After looking over the information they sent, we called them with several questions and asked for their video. Harold Johnson had made the video with his own camcorder, and the pride in his plant, the workmanship and their products showed. There was no glitz, hype or fancy production involved with producing this video—this was real people kind of stuff—and we liked what we saw. Next thing we knew, we were making arrangements to visit the plant in Junction City, Kansas. As we prepared for the trip, I sent up a little prayer. "God, please let us know if this is the right company to buy our fifth wheel from—afterall, they have only been in business a few years, and they’re a small company. And you know, God, this is a big investment—and it will be our next home. So please send us a sign. And let Tom and I agree on this. Amen."
We flew into Kansas City on December 3, 1996, rented a car and drove to Junction City. We arrived at the Horizons, Inc., plant just after lunch. Harold Johnson greeted us. (His photo is to the left.) As we prepared to have our personal tour, Harold asked, "Now where did you folks come in from? Is it Minnesota?"
"Yes, from the Twin Cities."
"My wife is from the Twin Cities, and we used to live there," Harold said.
"Oh, really? Where?"
"Well, I lived in Bloomington, Richfield, and in the end, Burnsville," Harold replied.
"Burnsville? That’s where we live! Where in Burnsville?" we asked.
"We lived on Walnut Drive."
By this point our mouths were hanging open. "Walnut Drive? We live on Walnut Drive! Where on Walnut?"
"Hmmm." Harold paused for a moment. "Off 113th Street, I think. We built a house in 1973 and lived there until we moved to Kansas in 1976."
"Wow! We live off 134th Street. Isn’t that something? Just a couple of miles apart. Small world, isn’t it?" We all marveled at the coincidence.
Harold took us on the grand tour of the plant and introduced us to two of his sons. It turns out that his son, Bruce, married a woman from the area where Tom had grown up, and Tom had worked with her father at the taconite mines. In addition, her aunt and uncle had a canoe outfitting business in the same town where Tom’s folks had owned and run a resort. Tom even knew the aunt and uncle slightly.
Again, we thought, "What a small world!" We felt a real connection growing. We liked everything we saw in the plant and the high quality finished units that we inspected. When I asked Harold about his warranty, he replied, "We have a two year written warranty. But, if anything went wrong after that due to materials or workmanship, I feel we would have a moral warranty to make it right." We sure liked that answer! It was another indication of the type of man Harold Johnson was. By the end of the afternoon, Tom and I agreed that this was the company we would buy our next "home" from. Our homework assignment was to sketch out our customer floor plan, custom cabinets, etc., and bring the rough plans back to Harold in the morning.
On the way back to our hotel we chatted about everything we had seen and liked during the day. Then the conversation turned to the "coincidence" of both living on Walnut Drive.
"You know, one thing I can’t quite figure out is where 113th Street would be. It seems like that would be in the Minnesota River," I commented.
Tom replied, "Ya, I can’t picture where Walnut Drive would be up in that area. I don’t think there is one." Tom paused and then added one more piece to the puzzle that made us wonder even more. "I didn’t realize until today that Harold’s last name was Johnson. Did you know that the man who built our house was named…Harold Johnson?"
Chills ran down my spine, and I’m sure my jaw must have hit the floor. Once Tom said it, I did remember from our house papers that it had been built in 1973 by a man named Harold Johnson, and that it had been sold in 1976 to the family we later bought it from. "No. It couldn’t be! Could it? You know he didn’t seem too sure of the part about being off 113th Street. But, no, it couldn’t be the same Harold Johnson." My mind raced. Was it possible? Could this be the sign I had prayed for?
All evening, as we worked on floor plans, cabinet layouts, etc., we would look up at each other and say, "It couldn’t be, could it? No, that would be too unbelievable," and we’d shake our heads in wonder and amazement. I told Tom that I couldn’t help it, but the first thing out of my mouth when we saw Harold the next morning was going to be about the possibility it was the same house.
Meanwhile, Harold had gone home and said to his wife, Muriel, "Muriel, you should meet this nice young couple from Minnesota that are down here. They live in Burnsville, on Walnut Drive. But they live off 134th Street. Isn’t it a small world?"
"Harold," Muriel replied, "WE used to live off 134th Street, not 113th." Then Muriel went and found the 1976 Burnsville phonebook, which she had saved, looked up the house number, and proceeded to drill Harold, so he wouldn’t forget. They were now thinking that maybe we lived on the same block. Just before leaving the next morning, Muriel quizzed Harold to make sure he remembered the address.
The next morning we pulled into the Horizons lot at the same moment Harold did, and we parked our vehicles side-by-side. As the three of us walked into the office, Tom looked over at me and smiled. He knew I was bursting with curiosity. I couldn’t wait any longer. "Harold," I blurted out, "did you, by any chance, possibly live off 134th Street in Burnsville? Because the man who built our house was named Harold Johnson."
His eyes grew to the size of fried eggs. He was almost breathless when he responded, "Was the number 13412?"
"Yes, That’s OUR house!" I exclaimed.
"That was OUR house!" Harold excitedly confirmed.
I tell you, chills went up and down our spines. We just looked at each other with wonder and amazement. It was too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence. I looked upward and silently said, "OK, God. I got it. Thanks for the sign. I sure couldn’t miss this one!"
In a few moments Harold was on the phone, calling Muriel. "Muriel, you’ve got to come over to the plant and meet these folks. They live in our house. Yes, OUR house!"
Now, Muriel hadn’t put a photo in an album since 1976, but she managed to find that last album and rushed over to the plant to show us pictures of our house when it was built. Sure enough, the house looked basically the same—not even the color had changed. The yard, on the other hand, looked very different with 20 years worth of trees growing and changing.
Soon the conference room was filled with Mom and Pop Johnson, their three sons, and Tom and I talking about how the house and neighborhood had changed. It felt like old home week. We felt like we were dealing with family, not strangers.
As the day progressed, everything fell into place. The extensive list of special features we wanted in order to accommodate our two businesses, hobbies, and personal preferences proved to be no problem. Tom and I agreed easily on the carpet, linoleum, wallpaper and fabric choices. (Some would call that a minor miracle in itself!)
About an hour before we had to leave to catch our flight, we had pretty much finalized the list of our special requirements and had agreed on our preliminary floorplan. At that point, we realized we hadn’t even gotten a tentative price for our new home. Somehow we knew that wouldn’t be a problem, and indeed, when Harold gave us a preliminary quote, it was very reasonable. He said he’d given us the "Minnesota discount," and I kiddingly reminded him to include the "people-who-live-in-your-old-house discount," too.
Four months later, we picked up our new home. We had no doubt it would be a quality built unit, and we were not disappointed. We named our rig "The A.P.P.L.E." which stands for the Adventurous People’s Portable Living Environment. We’re looking forward to taking our new home down the road to wherever the spirit may lead us.
Some of you may still consider this to be a story about an interesting coincidence, and I hope you’ve enjoyed the telling of it just the same. And maybe some of you now understand why we consider this event a sign from God.