These photos were taken one year and one day apart.
August 30, 2025 and August 31, 2026.
I don’t think I realized how much had changed until the before photo popped up in my memory wall.
A year ago, Buttervale was maintained.
The grass was cut, the bushes were trimmed, the pool was clean. It was a perfectly nice backyard.
Until, we started doing something different.
We started cultivating.
That strip of grass along the fence became an orchard. Apples, peaches, plums and nectarines went in. Then blueberries, blackberries, pineapple guava, cherry trees, artichokes, asparagus, gooseberries, strawberries, figs, citrus trees and bananas found homes around the property.
We added a few raised beds and started growing more of our own food. Potatoes went into bags. Herbs and flowers went into cinderblock holes. Fall vegetables went into the ground and became a Thanksgiving Garden.
We have added native plants and more places for birds, bees, butterflies and hummingbirds.
We started composting more of what we used to throw away.
And, somehow, I became a worm rancher.
There have been plenty of failures mixed in. Plants have died. Things got planted in the wrong place and moved. Rabbits ate things. Bugs ate things. I probably bought too many plants.
But looking at these pictures, I don’t really see the individual projects.
I see a yard beginning to pull its own weight. It’s not just sucking down water and fertilizer to support a monoculture lawn designed to resemble a manicured fairway.
It is alive and thriving.
And we’re nowhere close to finished. There are more trees to train, more beds to plant, a greenhouse to put back together and my little taste of New Hampshire is just beginning to take shape.
That’s probably the biggest change in the past year.
We’re no longer just taking care of what was already here.
Since this began with a puff of smoke and a slow roll to the side of a Texas highway in the middle of June, we have been waiting to see our RV sitting back in the driveway and fully functional again.
It has been an expensive, lesson-filled, at times frustrating journey, but here we are, at last.
Our Orion is home.
And after the last few months, those are particularly sweet words to type.
What was supposed to be part of another summer adventure took an unexpected turn when the Orion developed serious engine trouble and eventually ended up at Beach Ford down for the count.
There aren’t many things quite as sad as watching your RV disappear into a service lot, especially when you know the problem isn’t going to be solved quickly or inexpensively.
By the numbers: What started as an $18,000 repair quotation in Texas, swelled to a $20,000 estimate at Beach Ford. In the end, and mostly due to the dogged determination and hard work of my favorite Service Adviser, Catie with a “C”, we’ll end up at about $13,000 all in. A painful check to write, but it could have been worse and Catie worked really hard to help us. Her empathy and concern were evident from our very first meeting with her and she kept chipping away at it for us. I hope Beach Ford keeps her well compensated and providing good customer service for years to come. They have won me over as a customer. They have become the shop of record for our RV. Thank you Catie and Beach Ford for getting us back whole. Hopefully, the next time I see you, is just for an oil change.
So, this morning I headed over to Beach Ford. Tucked among the commercial trucks and other RVs, looking remarkably innocent for something that has caused this much drama and expense lately was our Orion.
Today was pickup day.
Before leaving, I did what every slightly obsessive RV owner should do after major engine work:
I opened the hood and stared at everything.
I tilted my head and squinted.
I squeezed some hoses and tapped a few things. Important things.
Does it look right?
Is anything leaking?
Is anything loose?
Do I actually know what half of these hoses do?
Yes, no, apparently no, and absolutely not.
Close enough.
I checked the oil.
Oil so clean I had to tilt the dipstick into the sun to see there was any there at all.
I kicked the tires.
Then came the moment that really mattered.
Turn the key.
Engine starts on the first bump and idles almost silently.
The Air Conditioning works.
Put it in gear.
And drive.
There is something wonderfully exciting about an RV moving under its own power again when, not very long ago, you weren’t entirely sure when that was going to happen ever.
I only had a few miles to get back home. Not a long road test, but it seemed to go very well. No check engine lights. No smoke. No rattles that weren’t from the kitchen. I didn’t try any jack rabbit starts or push it very hard, but everything seemed as it should be.
Most importantly, our “Slow Down and Smile” face is still riding on the back.
That seems particularly appropriate right now. We definitely slowed down and hopefully we have smiled through most of it.
Eventually you fix what needs fixing, turn the key again and see where the road goes next.
And that’s where we are.
Next comes the small repair I need to make. I think I mentioned breaking the low-hanging sewer drainpipes while putting her on the trailer. That should be cheap and easy and will be an upgrade as the gate valves need replacing anyway. She needs a little cleaning, a little organizing and we’ll officially be on the road again.
I’ll be watching fluids, kicking tires, checking underneath, squinting at important things, listening for strange noises and generally behaving like someone who has recently been given his RV back after major surgery.
And barring any surprises, she won’t be sitting here for long.
There are places to go.
For a little while, Orion’s story was about getting home.
Now we get to start talking about where she’s taking us next.
I hung out our first hummingbird feeder three days ago, hanging it from a shepherd’s hook pole near the sunflowers, between the birdbath and the existing feeding station. I mixed up some simple nectar, filled it, hung it up and figured we’d see what happened.
Apparently, word travels fast in the hummingbird community.
It wasn’t long. In less then an hour, I looked out and saw one actually drinking from it.
I think I actually may have sqealed a little when I saw it.
Then it came back.
Or maybe that was another one?
Then there were more.
Before long, I had three hummingbirds flitting around at the same time, chasing each other, darting through the yard and generally looking like tiny fighter jets dogfighting in the yard. I’ll have to look it up. Has there ever been a plane named after a Hummingbird. We have Falcons and Eagles and Hornet…I don’t recall a Hummingbird.
So much for wondering whether they would find it.
I bought a two pack of feeders and now feeder number two is up, as well, and it has already had its first visitors.
It went in out of sight of the other feeder on one of the trellis poles on Blackberry Row. It’s well positioned to be seen out our kitchen window.
I’ve also moved one of the bird cameras to get a better view of the action, but can already see it won’t be enough to get the shots I want. The cool “beauty” shots you see online. Super slow-mo, frame by frame fun.
Because obviously the logical response to attracting hummingbirds is more cameras, right? You can save this post for the eventual Intervention.
The Buttervale Bird Sanctuary Keeps Growing
The hummingbirds are only the latest residents in what has slowly, and somewhat accidentally, become the Buttervale Bird Sanctuary.
We’ve got feeders.
We’ve got birdbaths.
We’ve got flowers and berries.
We’ve got cameras.
We’ve got native plants going in around the property.
We’ve got plans to add some nesting boxes.
Becaues increasingly, I’m trying to make Buttervale not just a place where we see birds, but a place where we can actually pay attention to who is visiting, when they’re here and what they’re doing.
Which brings me to the newest gadget at Buttervale.
The BirdWeather PUC or Portable Universe Codec.
Yes, I bought another piece of bird technology.
Nobody should be surprised by this anymore. Add this to the list for my Intervention.
Big Brother is Listening
The PUC is basically a little outdoor listening station for the yard.
In the first 24 hours it was working, it detected almost 1600 birds of 27 different species.
Instead of waiting for me to hear a bird, grab my phone, open the Merlin App and hope the bird sings again, the PUC will sit outside listening throughout the day and identify birds by their songs and calls.
That changes things.
There are undoubtedly birds moving through Buttervale that I never see.
But they make noise.
And now Buttervale is listening. Always listening. (Insert manaical laughter here.)
Even better, You can listen along and see what the PUC is hearing and identifying on the Buttervale BirdWeather station page:
One warning, though: don’t trust the temperature reading just yet.
The PUC is currently sitting where it gets too much direct sun.
I’m still figuring out the best permanent location.
Today’s experiment involves a tree strap and one of the palm trees right in the heart of what has become Bird Country. That should give the PUC some shade while putting its microphone right in the middle of the action.
We’ll see how it does.
It is also a ton of fun to pull up the BirdWeather Map and listen to stations all over.
What Are We Missing?
This is the part I’m really excited about.
Over time, the PUC should start building a much better picture of the bird population around Buttervale. Not just the obvious cardinals, blue jays and mourning doves, but the quieter visitors and seasonal travelers that we might otherwise completely miss.
I have already started researching how I can attract some of the birds we now hear and know are nearby to drop in for a meal or a bath or a roost.
How can we better meet their needs?
It’s one thing to walk outside and say, “There are a lot of birds around here.”
It’s another thing entirely to start building a record of which birds are actually here.
What time do they show up?
Which species are seasonal?
Who passes through during migration?
Who is singing at 4:42 in the morning while I’m still quite happily asleep?
And who has been hanging around Buttervale all along without us ever noticing?
Now we have another way to find out.
From Backyard to Nature Station
I’m starting to realize that there’s a bigger project developing here.
We already have cameras watching the feeders.
We’ve started experimenting with live streaming.
The gardens are increasingly being planted with birds, hummingbirds, pollinators and other wildlife in mind.
The hummingbird feeders have opened up an entirely new little highway through the yard.
And now the PUC gives Buttervale a set of ears outside.
Eventually I’d love to tie more of this together, the cameras, live solar productiuon data, bird identifications, weather conditions and maybe even a live 24/7 Buttervale stream where anyone can drop in from anywhere and see or hear what’s happening in the yard.
Not because Buttervale is some great wilderness.
It’s just a little ol’ suburban backyard in Virginia Beach.
I think maybe that’s the coolest part.
Nature doesn’t require a National Park.
Sometimes you just have to give nature a little food, a little water, a few flowers and a place to land.
The Thanksgiving Garden is officially in full swing. This weekend, butter and romaine lettuce, rainbow carrots, bush beans, broccoli, butternut squash and spaghetti squash all got planted. Some of it should absolutely make it to the Thanksgiving table. Some of it may become an educational experience for me and a buffet for the rabbits. Gardening always keeps you humble and thankful.
The citrus trees got some attention, too. Though, that wasn’t exactly on the agenda. While checking on the citrus Friday morning, I discovered some of the leaves on the Key Lime bush had a black dusty powder all over them.
It was a little concerning for what is an otherwise thriving little bush. It has been crushing it all Summer.
So, I took a few photos and appealed to Master Gardener Google.
A few more photos later and a few questions answered and it turns out the little tree has a pretty good scale infestation.
What is scale?
Great question.
Scale (noun): A sap-sucking insect pest that attaches to plant stems and leaves, often appearing as small brown or tan bumps. Scale can weaken plants and produce sticky honeydew that encourages black sooty mold.
It’s that last bit, the “black sooty mold” I was seeing and the dead giveaway for the problem.
I will say, it was much less stressful to deal with a tree issue that wasn’t my fault, and deal with it I did.
The tree is scrubbed and trimmed and all the other citrus inspected. Tomorrow will arrive some organic horticulture oil which will treat anything I didn’t get brushed away and rinsed off.
Getting Ready for a Larger Pot.
Not a death sentence and glad it seemed to be caught pretty early.
I planted some wild flowers for Fall. I also gave all the bird feeders a serious deep cleaning and judging by the traffic at the Buttervale Bird Buffet, the customers have apparently decided the establishment may remain open. Even as I type this I am watching them come and go.
The blackberries continue getting trained onto their new trellis little by little. I should say, it is tough to play favorites, but Blackberry Row is in the running. I have done something right there in way of location or fertilizer or maybe I just got lucky, but I can see years of blackberries to come and nice addition of privacy since they are right next to the neighbor’s pool. It thrills me to look at them every morning.
And because gardening wasn’t enough, the Winni Experience rocking chair restoration moved forward with a major glue-up. The worst of the damaged joints is now back together, clamped tight and curing. There is something very satisfying about taking an old piece of furniture that has clearly lived a life and figuring out how to give it a little more. This is way out of my comfort zone. I have never been that “wood worker” guy, but I feel like I am on a path to owning a router and a table saw and eventually 9 fingers. Glue and clamps and a few dowels for now.
Then there are the worms.
Yep. I’m a worm rancher now. But you knew that already.
The new vermicomposting farm is up and running, stocked with red wigglers who have been given the important Buttervale task of turning kitchen scraps and shredded cardboard into some of the best stuff you can possibly add to a garden. If all goes according to plan, yesterday’s coffee grounds eventually become tomorrow’s tomatoes. That’s a pretty good system.
Worm poop. What’s not to like?
By late afternoon Sunday, I finally decided I’d done enough.
I climbed into the pool, put on my floaty belt and did absolutely nothing for a while. Just floated quietly, avoided the pool cleaning robots and watched the birds zip back and forth overhead on their way to the freshly cleaned feeders. Wrote a chunk of this blog post in my head as I tried to get some Sunlight on my belly. Susan remarked, that based on my tan I really am a farmer now. She’s not wrong.
Here in Virginia Beach, today is the last day of summer vacation for the public-school kids. Tomorrow it’s back to alarm clocks, backpacks, buses, homework and the grind.
I hope their summer was everything they wanted it to be.
Although I’m pretty sure most of the kids (and quite a few Teachers) are thinking the same thing tonight:
It went by way too fast.
Tomorrow, my dear first grandbaby starts Kindergarten. She has been doing pre-school classes for a couple of years, but this is the Big League. Full day Kindergarten in a room with 26 other kids. Yikes. I can’t type it without tearing up. Where does the time go? So quickly we watch helplessly as they take another huge step on their own.
My prayers are for her and for everyone starting a new adventure tomorrow.
She Gets an “A” in Plant Watering
Around Buttervale, though, for the retired among us, the seasons just sort of roll into one another. Summer tomatoes give way to Thanksgiving broccoli. Flowers change. Birds come and go. Leaves will start falling. The worms keep pooping.
And tomorrow morning, we start counting down again.
The first residents of the Buttervale Worm Ranch arrived today , about a half-pound of red wigglers, and they are officially moved into their new VermiHut.
For those unfamiliar with it, vermicomposting is basically composting with a workforce. Instead of waiting for a traditional compost pile to break down, red wiggler worms and the microorganisms living with them process kitchen scraps, cardboard and other organic material and turn it into incredibly rich worm castings.
Worm poop.
We’re harvesting worm poop.
And I’m surprisingly excited about it.
Move-In Day
Instead of sending all of that material out with the trash to the landfill, we’re going to try closing the loop a little bit:
The new VermiHut has several stacking trays. I’ve loaded the lower trays with damp shredded cardboard to start breaking down and becoming biologically active, while our first half-pound of red wigglers gets established in the working tray at the top.
Eventually, as one tray fills with castings, we’ll start feeding in the next one and let the worms migrate through the system.
At least that’s the theory. I saw it on YouTube so it has to work, right?
For now my primary responsibility as a newly minted worm rancher appears to be keeping 500-ish worms comfortable and resisting the urge to feed them everything in the compost bin.
Their first meal, an apple core, some cucumber ends, coffee grounds and crushed egg shells.
Like most ranching, it takes care and patience.
If this works the way I hope, we’ll reduce some household waste, create a steady supply of excellent soil amendment for the gardens, and learn another little piece of building a more productive and sustainable Buttervale.
Worst case?
I now own several hundred worms. If they don’t pull their weight, I can always take them fishing.
Buttervale has reached the point this Summer where a lot of the things we planted earlier in the year have stopped looking like little plants politely waiting for permission to grow. What were once bare-root sticks, are alive and thriving. (With one notable exception, but more on that later.)
Tress are growing.
Quickly.
Apparently that means it is time for the infrastructure to catch up.
When we planted the little fruit trees along the fence, a serious trellis system is definitely something we would need eventually.
“Eventually” apparently means now.
I never imagined these trees would shoot to the heights they have hit this year. Many are up to 7 or 8 feet tall and several have put on enough growth that temporary stakes and trellising will not cut it.
This week included picking up a substantial pile of rough-cut, true-sized lumber. Wood that will become the permanent orchard trellis.
I drove to Elizabeth City, NC to pick it up and spent about a third of what Lowe’s would have charged me for my efforts.
I got to experience sunset in the lumber yard. Priceless.
The plan is for tall posts with six runs of spanning wires going up to 9 feet, giving us something sturdy enough to start training the trees properly instead of just watching them flap in the wind.
Looking at that stack of timbers sitting beside the house, I find myself wondering how gardening became construction. Both things I am learning on the fly.
I learned an immense amount with the blackberry trellis, though, and I am looking forward to upsizing and making the Fence orchard better, stronger, taller.
Buttervale also went rock shopping. Sort of.
The store was someone’s yard, the rocks were free, and the shopping involved considerable sweating, swearing and ibuprofen.
A guy on Craigslist had a large pile of old stone that needed to disappear. Having several places around Buttervale where stone would be useful, this seemed like an excellent arrangement.
It was.
It was also considerably heavier than the phrase “let’s go pick up some rocks” makes it sound.
Jumped in the Home Depot flatbed, grabbed shovels, gloves and buckets, and started moving stone.
And moving stone.
And moving more stone.
There were big rough pieces, flatter slabs, rounded stones and several buckets of smaller river rock. Some of it took two people to wrestle onto the truck. By the time we finished unloading at Buttervale, we had accumulated what now looks like our own small quarry.
But wait, there’s more. We only could put about half the pile on the truck so more lifting rocks in my future. I mentioned it on Facebook, but if anyone has a teen they are trying to convince to go to college, send with me for the day. They can see what a long shift of lifting rocks for a few dollars feels like.
I have plans for much of it. Some will end up in garden beds. Some will be used around water and drainage projects. Some of the larger stones are just too interesting not to find a home somewhere in the landscape.
Foreshadowing
At least a few of them are destined for projects I am not quite ready to talk about yet.
Meanwhile, something else followed me home
A birch tree.
Because obviously what Buttervale needed in the middle of August was another tree.
This one arrived looking understandably unhappy about the trip. A couple of small branches were damaged, the leaves were drooping, and it was roughly 1047 degrees outside. Not ideal birch weather.
So instead of immediately planting it, I’ve been letting it recover in its nursery pot, keeping the root ball watered and cool while moving it around to consider exactly where its permanent home should be.
Birches have a completely different feel from most of the trees already at Buttervale, lighter, softer and a little wild looking. If all goes according to plan, this one should eventually become a pretty dramatic addition to the yard.
For now, its only job is to survive August.
My job to stop moving it around long enough for it to end up in the soil so it has a chance to thrive.
Speaking of trees not thriving…
An update on the Elberta
The little Elberta peach tree continues to hang on. A little. Kinda. But maybe not really?
Sad Tree
You may recall, this is the tree that snapped a couple weeks ago after the nursery tag had constricted the trunk and created a severe narrowing. When the wind caught it, the trunk broke badly enough that I wasn’t sure we had any chance of saving it.
I trimmed the damage, carefully pulled the trunk back together, wrapped it and built a small orthopedic support device around the tree.
It has not been pretty. Everyday she looks worse.
A lot of the leaves have now dried up and died, and if you judged the tree only from across the yard you would probably pronounce it finished.
I’m not quite ready to do that.
I’m stubborn.
There is still green wood, and there are still signs that the tree hasn’t completely given up. So the brace stays. The watering continues. And the little peach gets every opportunity to decide whether it wants to make a comeback.
A replacement can be ordered later if necessary.
I have looked and they are surprisingly affordable even for a size or two up from what I originally planted, so I can basically “buy” the year I have lost. Its replacement wouldn’t ship until it is dormant in December, so there is plenty of time to be stubborn and see if this is The Little Elberta That Could. I think it can.
So, for now, it gets to fight.
And the actual food garden keeps fighting too
While we were hauling several thousand pounds of future projects around town, the garden continued doing its thing.
The figs are finally looking vigorous after their slow start this year. The sweet potatoes are producing new slips. And the seed potatoes we ordered for the Thanksgiving garden are now chitting inside the house, with little purple and green shoots beginning to appear.
I am most proud of the blackberry hedge that is starting to establish itself and will feed us for years to come. We have watermelons and pumpkins. Carrots and Romaine lettuce are in the ground. Swiss Chard and Kale freshly planted.
Faith is becoming sight.
Oh, and four rocking chairs showed up
Because, Winni vibes.
Four old wooden rocking chairs also joined the collection this week.
They are weathered, mismatched and badly in need of cleaning, scraping, new screws, glue and paint.
In other words, ideal.
I know exactly what I want to do with them. Hopefully Susan will get started on them soon.
But that is another story.
For now there are timbers stacked beside the house, a small mountain of boulders waiting for assignments, potatoes sprouting indoors, a peach tree refusing to officially die, a birch tree waiting for its permanent home, and four rocking chairs waiting for a new lease on life.
Does it get any better than this?
And I’m pretty sure we’re going to need the truck again.
Tragedy in the Orchard – It sounds like an Agatha Christie novel.
There are moments in gardening that feel like victories.
And there are moments that just plain hurt.
Today HURT!
This morning I walked out to check on the Buttervale Fence Orchard, coffee in hand, as is my morning ritual and something was off.
I almost didn’t see it.
My Elberta peach tree was bent over. Like all the way over, on the ground. I first went to blame the critters, but this was the biggest tree in the line and there is nothing in our yard that could topple a tree. Bunnies, squirrels, crows? Nope.
Maybe wind had simply knocked it sideways.
Then I saw the awful truth and knew exactly who was to blame.
The nursery tag I had decided not to remove had slowly tightened around the trunk as the tree grew.
Planting day it seemed like a plan.
All those dormant, leafless sticks looked the same. It would be handy, so I thought, to leave the label on them.
SPOILER ALERT: I’d advise against it.
It had quietly girdled the tree until the trunk became its weakest point. When a stiff breeze came through, the tree didn’t just bend…
…it broke.
The hardest part is that this wasn’t just another tree.
It was my favorite. Seriously, I mean it this time. It really was my favoirte.
From the day it broke dormancy, this Elberta peach seemed determined to prove something. While the other fruit trees settled in and popped out a leaf or two, this one exploded with growth.
Every day it seemed taller, stronger, and fuller than the last. I found myself checking on it first every time I walked the fence line Lingering just a little longer.
It looked unstoppable.
That’s the irony that stings the most.
The very thing I admired about it, was the thing that sealed its fate.
A slower-growing tree would have taken months before the tag became a problem. My Elberta grew so quickly that it tightened the plastic against its own trunk until the tree nearly strangled itself, little by little, without anyone noticing.
Success became the enemy.
As gardeners, we tend to think the big dangers are storms, insects, drought, disease, or hungry rabbits.
Sometimes the greatest danger is something as small as an ignored piece of plastic. It really did seem like a good idea at the time.
I spent a chunk of today collecting supplies for what amounted to emergency tree surgery.
First, we carefully reduced the canopy. Every branch removed meant less weight pulling on the shattered trunk and less “sail” in the air. It felt almost cruel pruning back the very growth I’d been celebrating just days before but it had to be done.
Then came the delicate part.
The broken trunk was gently lifted back into alignment until the cambium layers lined up as closely as possible.
The silicone tape was stretched tight and wrapped around the wound, creating a waterproof splint that would hold everything together.
Then we drove some five foot stakes into the ground and built a support system around the tree itself.
Instead of just tying directly to the damaged trunk, padded lines were attached higher in the canopy and anchored to four stakes surrounding the tree. Every connection was cushioned with sections of hose so nothing could rub against the bark.
When we stepped back, our Elberta looked less like a fruit tree and more like a patient in the ICU.
And somehow…
That felt hopeful.
Will it survive?
I honestly don’t know. It will or it won’t so that is 50/50.
I hope it does.
Because I’d love to watch that tree make peaches for my grandchildren someday. Except the boy grandchild who inexplicably seems to hate all FRUIT. Go figure. Maybe it’s just a phase.
If it is the little tree that could and makes it to adulthood, that scar will stay with it forever.
I’m okay with that.
That scar remind me that orchards get stronger from the battle.
Trees that fight the wind have deeper roots.
Today’s lesson, check every single fruit tree in the orchard and remove every nursery tag and never plant a tree again with the tag in place. Got it.
One painful lesson may have just saved the rest of the orchard.
So here’s my advice to anyone planting young trees this season.
Every single day….”Hey, what’s up with your camper, have you heard anything from Ford yet?”
Unfortunately, the answer is still NO.
After opening a case with Ford Motor Company and working through the normal customer service channels, their Social Media Team also reached out on Facebook and X. They indicated they would be looking into it. I appreciated that contact and hoped it meant we were making progress.
Since then… nothing.
No updates. No follow-up. No decision.
I’m still trying to be patient, and I’m still holding out hope that someone inside Ford will decide this situation deserves another look. However, we’re reaching the point where waiting any longer starts making less sense.
This week I’m going to begin organizing an alternate repair plan in earnest so we can finally get Buttervale back on the road. My hope is that there will be real progress over the next several days, one way or another. I have been advised that at least one vendor could make the repairs in about two weeks. It would be sweet to get back on the road before the end of Summer.
I have to admit that this whole experience has been incredibly disappointing.
For most of my life I’ve been a Ford supporter. During my years with the rescue squad, I defended Ford ambulances as other nearby Squads bought Dodge and Chevy. I’ve always been a Ford motorsports fan as far back as Davey Allison in the Havoline 28 Ford Thunderbird. Our family has owned Ford vehicles over the years, and I’ve generally believed they are an honest, American company who built products they stood behind.
Maybe I’m being naïve in thinking anyone at Ford would care. This certainly isn’t my first encounter with Corporate America.
Still, it genuinely makes me sad that this appears to be where we are.
We’re talking about an engine that catastrophically failed at just 48,000 miles. I understand warranties have limits, and I understand companies can’t repair every vehicle always and forever. Still, aren’t there situations where doing the right thing matters just as much as following the policy?
Making this right would be a rounding error for a company the size of Ford Motor Company.
Instead, it has become a story.
Honestly, I thought Ford would do better. I really did.
What disappoints me the most is that this could have been a completely different story. I could have been writing about a company that looked at an unusual situation and decided to help one retired couple trying to live out their dreams on a fixed income. I could have been praising Ford to thousands of people, telling the story of how they stood behind one of their products even after the warranty clock had run out. I would have been a Ford Man for life.
That kind of goodwill is difficult to buy.
Instead, we’re still waiting.
I also want to make something clear: my disappointment remains primarily directed at Ford Motor Company, not the people at Beach Ford. Throughout this process they’ve been professional, courteous, and extremely helpful. They diagnosed the problem, communicated honestly, and have treated me with respect every step of the way.
I’m grateful for that.
Unfortunately, it looks like our paths may be parting soon as I move toward repair solution. That decision isn’t about Beach Ford. It’s simply about getting Buttervale back on the road as quickly and reasonably as possible.
I’ll continue to share every step of the process, whether Ford eventually responds or not.
Hopefully the next update will include some real forward progress.
I want to provide a quick update on the RV engine situation and ask the Internet for some advice from those of you who may have been down this, or a similar road before. Consider this my Phone a Friend.
Our 2018 Coachmen Orion, built on a Ford Transit 350HD chassis, suffered what appears to be a catastrophic engine failure while we were traveling across country this summer. The engine has only about 48,000 miles on it, has been fully maintained and not modified or abused in any way, but because the vehicle is 8 years old, it is outside the time portion of Ford’s 60-month/60,000-mile powertrain warranty.
The RV has now been thoroughly inspected by Beach Ford here in Virginia Beach. I want to publicly thank them for the way they’ve handled this. Beach Ford and especially my service advisor Catie, have been professional, communicative, and have even found several thousand dollars in discounts to help reduce the repair cost. Unfortunately, while very much appreciated, those savings only make a small dent in what remains a very significant repair bill.
I’ve also opened a case with Ford Customer Care and am waiting for their decision on whether they are willing to offer any goodwill assistance and participate financially in the repair. I absolutely appreciate Beach Ford making a huge effort, but shouldn’t Ford Motor Company be stepping up here?
I’ve reached out to a well-respected,trusted, independent, and certified repair shop for a third opinion and have their quotation. It is still significant money, but more managelable.
Still, before making a financial decision of this size, I want to gather as much information as possible.
What would you do?
How Outraged should I be for an engine to die at 48,000 miles?
Should I just suck it up as the cost of having fancy toys and be grateful?
I know it doesn’t work this way in real life, but shouldn’t Ford be embarrassed to have a commerical engine that they put in ambulances and police cars blow up at 48,000 miles? Or does this happen all the time?
If you’ve experienced a catastrophic engine failure outside of warranty, but at relatively low mileage, I’d love to hear your story.
Did the manufacturer offer any goodwill assistance?
Did you simply wait for a decision, or did you keep pushing?
Did you decide it was time to involve an attorney or a consumer advocate? At what point?
Did you repair it, replace the engine, or move on from the vehicle altogether?
Looking back, is there anything you wish you had done differently?
I’m not looking to start a pile-on against Ford, I legitimately love this truck. I’m not interested in speculation or rumors. If Ford steps up and helps, I’ll be the first to say so. If they don’t, I’ll share that honestly as well.
For now, I’m simply trying to make the best decision I can with the information I have.
If you’ve been through something similar, we’d truly appreciate your advice. Sometimes the most valuable thing the internet can offer isn’t outrage…it’s experience.
I’ll continue to share updates as this story unfolds. Hopefully, the next one brings a little more clarity.
We left our campground this morning, headed toward Palo Duro Canyon. Fully recharged. Spirits were great. The RV was running. The miles were rolling by. We stopped and filled up for under $3 per gallon. High fiving over “cheap” Texas gas. We were already thinking about today’s views, the next campground, the next story. Life was good.
Then the engine lost power.
Again.
We remained optimistic enough to believe we might just lose a few hours.
Instead, we lost the trip.
We lost our RV.
The verdict was brutal.
New engine required.
Seventeen thousand dollars.
Seven to ten days before they could get the replacement engine in stock.
Five days of labor to swap it out once they had the engine.
Just like that, months of planning collided head-on with a hot block of metal buried under the hood.
There is a special kind of disappointment that comes when an adventure doesn’t end. It simply stops.
No grand finale.
No final campsite.
No victory lap down our street, where whoever is driving stops the car a hundred yards from home and claims to be too tired to finish the drive, begging for someone to take over. (It gets funnier every time, you’ll have to trust me on this.)
I won’t lie. It IS a gut punch.
The money is the money. Do I have a loose seventeen grand stuffed in a sock somewhere? No. It hurts.
But surprisingly, that’s not the source of disappointment.
This trip wasn’t just a line item in our budget.
It was ten National Parks.
It was adventures, new roads, and stories we hadn’t lived yet.
It was early mornings, late nights, and spending time with people we love.
It was asking, repeatedly, “I wonder what’s around the next bend?”
Today, the definitive answer turned out to be a Ford service bay in Decatur, Texas.
That wasn’t on the itinerary.
The funny thing about travel is that it teaches you flexibility, whether you want the lesson or not.
The fact remains, the memories don’t disappear because the engine died.
We still crossed the Mississippi River on foot.
We still wandered the grounds at Graceland.
We still explored the forests of Hot Springs before most people had their first cup of coffee.
We still spent a day doing almost absolutely nothing.
We still laughed.
We still got lost.
We still made our way West.
Maybe that’s the lesson.
The destination is never guaranteed.
The adventure shouldn’t be measured by how many miles we completed or how many parks we checked off a list.
It is measured by the days we were given.
Would I rather be writing tonight from Palo Duro Canyon?
Absolutely.
Would I rather be staring out at the second largest Canyon in the US?
Without question.
But tomorrow we’ll put our well-loved and formerly trustworthy RV on a trailer.
For those of you playing along at home, the tow bill for 1500 miles is $5000. (Fun fact, Good Sam roadside assistance will only get you to a place of repair. Once we were at the Dealership, that was it for all of our towing coverage even though they did NOT tow us to the dealer. I will be having a conversation with them when I get home. Their Platinum Roadside Assistance with Travel Assist did NOTHING for us today. Read the fine print.)
However, with that said, we cannot spend 15+ days in Decatur, TX to spend $17,000+ fixing the camper. Just not an option.
IF, that is the final cost, so be it, but it needs to be done in our town by our people. I need a second opinion at least. Right?
I do plan to fight a little with Ford as well. This truck only has 48,000 miles on it. It came from the factory with a 60K/5 year warranty, so we exceed the years, but not the miles. It may amount to nothing, but I feel like a phone call or two, and maybe calling them out on Twitter, is in order before I write another check. Right?
So, now we are at a cheap motel in Decatur, TX. (To add insult to injury, the Ford Dealer here would NOT let us camp the night in their parking lot. I will forgive them the $195 diagnostic fee they charged to ruin our trip, but c’mon…no camping? They could take a lesson from Walmart.)
I have spent the past hour canceling tour and lodging reservations. Tomorrow, we will meet the car hauler at the dealer to pick up the RV.
Our son is going to meet us there and carry us back to DFW where we will hopefully fly home tomorrow evening and start picking up the pieces.
I try to remain upbeat.
Truthfully, I’ve been somewhere between holding back tears and actively crying for most of the afternoon.
It feels silly to write that as a grown man sitting in a budget motel room in Texas, but there it is.
We’ve spent months planning this trip.
Months of researching campgrounds, plotting routes, making reservations, checking weather forecasts, buying gear, cleaning, tweaking, packing, upgrading, fixing little things on the RV, and dreaming about places we’ve wanted to see for years.
Today, I spent my energy canceling reservations.
Tours.
Campgrounds.
One cancellation email after another.
That may have been the hardest part.
Not the diagnosis.
Not the estimate.
Not even the tow bill.
The realization that the trip we’d been looking forward to for so long was suddenly over.
I know, no good story ever started, “Remember when our RV DIDN’T lose an engine in Texas…”
And somewhere down the road, after the frustration fades and the credit card bill stops making my left eye twitch, this will evolve into a fondly remembered family episode. Right?
We’ll laugh about the engine that self-destructed in Texas.
We’ll laugh about the hotel.
We’ll laugh about the tow bill.
We’ll probably even laugh about me crying into my pillow.
The Buttervale Life 