We’re still moving.

Or, rather, we have hit that point in Oregon Trail where we’re out of water, 100 miles from town, and we just ate our last horse. We may not be in Kanssas anymore, but we sure as heck aren’t reaching California before Little Becky dies of dysentery.

And now I know exactly how the Dakotas managed to get anyone to settle there long enough to become anything more than the pit stop of America…

What I’m trying to tell you, is that we will soon be starring in TLC’s newest prime-time reality series “Accidental Nomads.”

Although nomad would imply mobility.

And we’re not, exactly, mobile.

It all started last Friday, when I packed up the Little Man’s still-pinned-together-busy-book, our sewing machine, and enough clothes, toys, and diapers to outfit ever kindergarten class we meet between Maine and Virginia, stuffed the Little’s into their car seats, and set off for Vermont.

We decided to take the “scenic” route Down South…via Vermont. And New York. And Pennsylvania. And pretty much every other state between here and there with enough grass to let the Little out to graze run.

We got as far as New Hampshire.

Gorham, New Hampshire, to be exact. Which, if you’re ever looking for a charming, friendly little New England town to get stranded in, I highly recommend. Partly because of how helpful everyone was to a mother on her own with two toddlers and a car so loaded down with their worldly goods that it decided it simply could not go two feet more. Not even to finish getting out of its parking space at the local Burger King. Or to reverse and go back in. But mostly because it also happens to be the only town on the six hour drive between Maine and Vermont that can lay claim to more than just the local Burger King and a smokes shop.

Which, while that was not an original priority in my choice of lunch stops so much as a clean bathroom and in-door playground, turned out to be a key point in our journey. Seeing as how, after discovering my car refused to go more than 2feet in any direction before shutting down, it took 1 tow truck, 2 vans, 3 auto repair shops, 5hours, and 1 employees personal vehicle to get us to a place that could tell us that yes, yes our car was, indeed, dead.

At which point, had my Mommy filter not been on, I’m fairly certain I’d have begun calling on the good lord to explain himself. Especially when the mechanic explained that, much like the good lord himself, it would take at least three days to raise my car from the dead.

At which point, he suggested that I might be more comfortable in a rental car, rather than, say, his waiting room, for the next three days?

I’d like to think he was being kind. But, really, I think he just wanted to watch me cram a luxury sedan’s worth of stuff into a subcompact rental while dodging the sticky fingers of the Little’s he’d just gifted with their very own ice cream sandwiches. He said it was better than Jenga. Just wait till he sees my Battleship moves…

So. Here we sit. On top of a mountain in Vermont. Waiting for our car to recover from her bout of dysentery, and eyeing the towing strength of the herd of cows down in the pasture…

{ 1 comment }

Deb & Alix July 17, 2012 at 8:25 am

Love it!!! Attach a convoy of sleds to the cows and you’re on your way :)

Comments on this entry are closed.

Previous post:

Next post: