Hobo Living is the Life for Me!

I'd never really considered the life of a Hobo until a few years ago when my sister Tracy moved to Florida.  She and my brother-in-law are both active-duty military personnel, and they are currently stationed in a small town in Florida.

On one trip with my parents to visit them, we drove through a small town called Laurel Hills.  Sign after sign read "Home of the Hobos", "Hobo Video", etc.  I really found it odd that this town was a self-proclaimed Hobo haven, and yet there were no Historical Markers, no museums, basically nothing to identify what exactly gave this town such Hobo bragging rights.

I, of course, googled the town and tried to find a valid history, but could find nothing.  So, I instead searched the definition of what the politically correct terminology of a Hobo means.  According to dictionary.com, a Hobo is 1) a tramp or migrant, 2) a migratory worker.  I found no supporting documentation of why Laurel Hill was considered "Home of the Hobos", but I fell in love with the saying nonetheless.

Every time my oldest sister, Clara, and I visit Tracy, we make sure to take the route that leads us through this town.  The elementary school boasts of skills it instills upon its young students to further them in life, yet their school mascot is a Hobo.  The irony in this is absolutely hilarious to us.  So much so, we were immature enough to stop and take pictures.

As I was browsing recently at a local bookstore, I found a book on the $3 clearance rack about Hobo Living 101 and was tempted to purchase the book for Clara.  After careful consideration, I decided that Clara needed to learn to be a Hobo on her own, and that this book would not help her.  I did text her to let her know that I had an old pillowcase I was willing to part with, and surely we could learn to tie it to some type of sturdy stick.  What we were to carry with us, however, was beyond me.  And the "graffiti" signs portrayed in the book were definitely 1890s old-school (if you know what I mean)-we'd definitely need to get with some real gangsta/Hobo-ish people to learn the new, correct signs to spray paint wherever we went to let other Hobos know whether the town was safe, if there was food, etc.

We had a good laugh at this.

Our next trip is planned for an upcoming Holiday weekend.  I'm hoping to locate the Town Historian, or maybe, just maybe, get lucky enough to see a Hobo parade...this Hobo living really intrigues me.

Plus, if the closing on my house becomes anymore stressful, I seriously may consider making a throwback decision to the Hobo way of life.  I mean, how hard can it be to become a migrant tramp?  My wardrobe is definitely wide enough, and I have plenty of pillowcases...of course, that leaves the problem of needing an Hobo Entourage.

So I beg the question, "Who's coming with me?".

Hobo-fully yours,
Freeway Fairington