Winter pumps the brakes in the best way.
Less hustle and bustle. More garage time. More reflection.

It’s the season of standing there with your hands in your pockets, staring at the van thinking about things you never have time (or interest) in thinking about once July fun rolls around.

Pontificating. Head scratching.
One might ask, “Why do we keep these old vans?”

On paper, it doesn’t always make sense. The quirks are ever-present. The leaks seem to have personalities of their own. And the hiccups show up right when you swear everything was fine last time you checked. Each one different. Each one familiar.

Modern vans promise reliability, comfort, and fewer surprises. And sure, that sounds nice. But anyone who’s spent real time with a Vanagon knows that ease was never the point.

These vans hold something newer vehicles don’t. Something that can’t be measured in miles or resale value.

They hold mornings that started cold and ended somewhere unforgettable. They hold roadside fixes that turned into stories. They hold the patience you learned chasing down a noise that only happens on left turns, uphill, when it’s raining. They hold the quiet pride of fixing something yourself, even if it took three tries and a lot of muttering.

Winter is when those thoughts tend to surface. With fewer trips on the calendar, the relationship shifts. You listen a little closer. You notice what’s been asking for attention since summer. You decide what actually needs fixing now, and what can probably survive one more season, fingers crossed.

Memories. Frustrations. Confidence. Humility. A sense of freedom that doesn’t disappear just because the keys are hanging on a hook instead of in the ignition.

We don’t keep these vans because they’re perfect.
We keep them because they’re ours.

And winter, with all its stillness, has a way of reminding us why that still feels like enough.