We followed the Duck Truck. First we had to run out to the farm, Deep Hollow, they were working on, where they were going to cut a load of vegetables for Dana’s mom.
Leaving Deep Hollow, we found ourselves zipping along behind the Duck Truck, headed south, through the rain. Then there was the ocean.
Our route was not to be direct. Dana had bought a large peanut butter cookie for her Grandmother, who suffers from an addiction to the substance. Delivery of this confection proved to be a top priority. Before even getting to Grandmother’s house we saw Dana leap from her car and run through the street. Understandably mystified, we soon realized that Grandmother was just coming home herself. She turned out to be a wiry individual. Though perched venerably atop generations of progeny, she was as full of energy as the Duck Truck duo. Such was Grandmother’s conviction that this little trip of ours is a vital thing for the world, that she punctuated her sentences with sharp little fists and the indignation of a child. I want her to write reviews about us.
After Grandma’s, we beelined it for the Duck Truck home base. Although the rain had taken a bit of a breather while we were chatting with Grandmother, it redoubled its efforts as we left. Our view of Connecticut was obscured by the veils of water, so I can’t tell you much about how it looks. People honked at us, others drove by with overburdened carloads of recyclables, we could see the silhouettes of Lexi and Dana bobbing along to some fabulous music in the car ahead of us. We searched through all the radio stations frantically trying to find what music was so inspiring. Somehow things seemed much more adventurous with these two.
Staying at stranger’s houses has never been a simple affair for me. Different smells, different shoe customs, different pet peeves, and different bathrooms are only a few of the obstacles to inner peace. At the Duck Truck abode we were not surprised to find a decor in keeping with the personality of the composters. A large porcelain fancy shoe chandelier hung over the dining room table. The Humanure Handbook and other texts were piled on counters. Buckets were kept in the shower to collect the water that is run while trying to get it hot. My paranoid fears proved unfounded.
After cooking up our typical rice and bean based dinner (the Duck Truck, we will have you know, found this diet quiet normal), the rain had mostly stopped. Around 10pm Lexi asked if anyone was up for ice cream. Trying to come to our senses and not refuse a good thing, we said we just might be, and waited for her to open the freezer. Instead Lexi plunged into their crowded garage. Loud clashes and clangs brought forth four bicycles in various states of repair.
Biking through a still damp Connecticut night, I realized that trust people was perhaps more valuable than I thought.