With our household size decreased, so is our garbage. On a sunny Friday afternoon, I swing by the transfer station with two bins of recycling and a bag of trash. The roving raccoon who appears regularly outside my kitchen door, pre-dawn, apparently found a way into my barn and enjoyed the trash far more than I did.
At the transfer station, I interrupt a woman who’s eating her lunch salad. I apologize, and then I stand at the open window as we kick around a weather conversation for bit — flowers blooming in my garden and all. She tells me she’s headed to Florida next week — not for the winter, but to drive down her convertible and store it at her father’s house. Where he lives, he’s eight hours from New Orleans, eight hours from Nashville, eight hours from just about anywhere worth going. The trash business slows in the winter (something I’d never considered), and she’s looking forward to doing some traveling this winter.
I’m no fan (who is?) of consumption and trash, but the transfer station has a particular allure to me: so many stories here. When I moved from our last house, I negotiated with the transfer station owner about swapping used tires for metal, and what could he offer for two old pickups in the woods? We each held up our end of the bargain we struck.
A flock of juncos settled around my house this afternoon. While I folded up the laundry I had hung on the back porch, I imagined my acquaintance driving south, roof cranked down and the breeze in her hair, speeding towards her dreams.
On some nights, I still believe that a car with the gas needle on empty can run about fifty more miles if you have the right music very loud on the radio.— Hunter S. Thompson
10 thoughts on “Chasing Dreams.”
Gotta agree with HST. What would be your choice of music?
It’s hard to go wrong with The Rolling Stones if you’re looking to make time and keep awake. You?
Feels like a good time to take a long road trip…. before the snow settles in.
Several years ago at a house party in Burlington, a friend of my daughter said that it cost him 8 dollars in gas to drive to JSC in his Saab ( where they both went ) and back. I told him that in in 1972 I drove to Wisconsin in my VW beetle for 8 dollars. So it goes…
$8 to get to Wisconsin? I think you could buy a cup of coffee for $8 in Vermont now. I remember when my mother used to put $2 in her Volkswagen bug. Indeed, so it goes…
I’m not familiar with the juncos. Birds?
But I reckon that Hunter S T is right. Sometimes, even, the car can fly.
These little birds periodically appear in a flock around our house. Gray with white bellies.
This one settled in with me. Chasing dreams.
Those ethereal threads of dreams.