Wedding rehearsal

We chug out of Marshfield, Vermont in our friends veggie oil Mercedes. Let us note this friend is getting married the next day and is not in the car. It is running so loud that we have to shout to hear one another, but we think nothing of it. “I can feel my brain rattling in my skull,” Becca says, and as we pass a few people in their front yard, all heads turn towards the car with looks of horror. Yet we chug along, taking in the sunshine passing green forests, pastures, old barns, quaint towns. We stop for lunch, to pick flowers, to buy flowers, for a latte, for a thrift shop. When we stop for gas, a gaggle of boys follow our car with their eyes. On another stop, a group of young women sing in harmony in a public park. Finally, when I want to stop for a farmer’s market, we think to look under the car. It so happens the muffler has been dragging on the ground the entire time (and here we thought they we admiring our good looks). Jen, Becca, and I all take pictures as Carly looks for a solution. Luckily there is a mechanic across the street. He agrees to do it, and we entertain the shop with interpretive dances as he saws off part of the muffler and welds it back together (all for $28.00). It turns out he is some famous Vermont hero who is known for good work, fair prices, and supporting progressive organizations. The whole damn state seems to be progressive, which is a good thing having only lived in very conservative rural areas. Where are the rednecks? We pull in just a little bit late for the wedding rehearsal, but it doesn’t seem we have kept anyone waiting- the hour and a half drive has taken us roughly five hours. Typical.