Does my choice of housing define me?

I’m downsizing for the second time, and some folks think I’m “stepping down.”

I wanted to stay in downtown Benicia, a riverside town in southern Solano County. In the years I’ve been here, I’ve left the world of getting in my car every time I want to go somewhere. I looked at the options, which were limited. The one I chose raised a few eyebrows.

Rancho Benicia is a highly rated and gated retirement community (55 and older only), very well kept, with a pool and hot tub, a clubhouse and many activities for the residents. It’s almost crime free.

It’s a mobile home park. A block from the Benicia Marina, it’s often seen as another world.

“Trailer trash? Is that what you’ve come to?” someone asked.

“That’s really stepping down,” my brother, who lives in Idaho, said.

My former neighbor from Moraga said his mom once talked about moving to a mobile home park. “No mother of mine is going to live in a trailer park,” he told her.

My son is visiting from Colorado next month and will see the new place as the remodeling is under way, but both of my sons know of my plans. Neither has expressed any skepticism; just encouragement for thinking about my future and making it what works for me.

I’m 77, and though I’m very healthy, I began to realize that the steps to my former home, a second-floor condo, could become a challenge. They already were for some of my friends, or when I had to carry heavy items like suitcases up and down. So, I thought about downsizing again to a “level in.” No steps.

What was referred to in the ’40s and ’50s as a “trailer park” was often portrayed as a place for poor, low-life types, such as the three felons in the movie “Trailer Park Boys.” In the ’60s, the term “mobile home” came into use. Along with manufactured homes, they became popular with retirees, especially in Florida and Arizona, and as vacation homes throughout the country.

Who lives in such homes has changed dramatically over the years, though the stereotype of “low-lifes” still persists.

To be honest, I had some negative reactions myself when I first considered Rancho Benicia. I thought about my friends in Moraga, Walnut Creek, San Francisco and Idaho and felt some misgivings about what they’d say. Good friends of mine, who had lived near me in the condo, moved to Rancho Benicia last year. They worked with an interior designer, and had the entire inside redone in their style. It’s lovely. They refer to their place as a “tindominimum.”

And what they’ve invested in the kind of housing that is often looked down upon would buy a spacious home in any of the flyover states and some parts of California.

Even when I moved from Moraga to Benicia, my Realtor said, “You won’t find as many intelligent people there.” I’ve been in Benicia since 2000 and have never lacked for stimulating companions.

At that time, I exchanged my four-bedroom, ranch-style house where I’d raised two sons and lost my husband to cancer, for a two-story condominium on the Benicia Marina, with a view of the Benicia Bridge and the Carquinez Strait.

Those who drive by Benicia on Interstate 680 see a refinery and an industrial area. That view doesn’t take in the historic downtown on the water’s edge, the yacht club and the marina. Once the state capital, Benicia still has the building where the Legislature met, along with many charming, old homes. First Street, the commercial hub, has many restaurants, shops, art galleries, wine and sports bars.

It’s a great place to live. I walk to coffee three mornings a week, to restaurants, shops, the library, the post office, the grocery store and the gym, where I practice yoga. All that is part of what keeps me healthy. Beyond that, I relate to the people in my community differently when I see them in person than I do when I’m a driver in another car.

I’m doing a complete redo of my new home and yard — I want flowers, which were a challenge in the condo where I lived. I’ll also be more free to travel and do the other things I’d like to do. Who knows how much time I have? In any case, looking at a short horizon for living in some ways increases one’s vision of what’s important.

So while some may be hung up on the cultural stereotype of mobile homes as “trashy,” I see myself living in a cottage surrounded by flowers, in a safe community, with access to the whole of downtown Benicia and beyond that, the rest of the Bay Area and the world. That’s not bad.

Lois Requist is an author and the former Benicia poet laureate.