Full of Surprises

Last night as some of us sat with plates on our laps at a Welsh tunes pot luck, we got to talking about Village Harmony experiences, and the stories were quite wonderful.  Here's my contribution.

Full of Surprises.

The Village Harmony bus never sounded great. It's engine always was a little louder than you thought it should be, like an over-sized Volks Wagon with a smoking habit. But as we headed down Interstate 91 on a hot June day, the engine missed a beat, then several, then, sputtering in earnest, it stopped.

Larry eased the brightly painted, aged school bus over to the side of the road without comment. He did it easily. He'd done it before, I guess.

With the outside temperature in the mid 80s, we soon decided to wait outside the bus, which heated up almost instantly, sitting still, no air rushing in the windows. Sprawling on the grass we watched Larry pop the hood on the engine, disappearing behind the brightly painted blue metal. He didn't say anything, and whatever was happening behind that hood wasn't visible to us.

My mind was racing.

We were headed to Stratton Mountain Academy for Village Harmony Camp, and I was the cook. The bus wasn't full of campers. There were only a few of us inside. Otherwise, the seats, overhead racks and storeage area at the back of the bus were packed with food for campers, a lot of it perishable.

I'd known Larry for a number of years, and he was a wonderful choir director, dynamic with music, a reasonable cook, a little vague about practicalities. I didn't hold out much hope for engine repair.

In 1999 we didn't have cell phones, at leasst not amongst the vegetarian singers of rural Vermont. I wondered if we should be flagging down a ride, trying to find a mechanic, and, given the age of that bus, figuring out other ways to get cream cheese, milk, lettuce and tofu to Stratton. At least there was no meat. I was running through the list of campers I knew, where they were from, what vehicles they had and wondering when I should check in with Larry or Patti about hitch hiking to the next exit.

This was my second cooking gig with Village Harmony. For the teenage camps, which had been running for years, the kids cooked their meals, beans, rice, pasta and stir fries, but when Larry started running adult camps, I'd offered to cook in exchange for camp. The experience at Burke Mountain Academy the previous year had taught me that singers eat a lot, and that they can be enticed into helping in a kitchen if there is good singing to be had. I'd learned which menu items went over well, and felt pretty confident that I'd manage well this year. I had also negotiated a salary this time. It had been a lot of work. I was looking forward to it. Then, several weeks before camp I'd gotten a call from Larry. He sounded pretty hesitant over the phone.

"I just found out there's been a change in the. . . uh . . . dining situation at Stratton Mountain" He said "But don't worry, I've got some help for you."

"What's up?" I asked, with the beginning of a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"Well, there will be some kids cross country ski camps running at the same time as our camp, and . . . um . . . if we want to use the kitchen, we have to feed them too."

I was silent on my end while my stomach finished it's plummet, then asked, clearung my throat nervously "how many campers?"

"20 or so 10 - 12 year olds, then they leave and 20 or so 14 to 16 year olds come in, but I've got help for you. Patti's son Ken is going to work with you."

I had never met Ken, and when Larry told me he was 18, I wasn't too reassured, but I didn't have much choice. I also was younger and more energetic then by about 15 years. "OKay, I guess we have to make it work." I said heavily.

So we had a lot of milk and butter and cheese in the bus, not just for our 40 campers, but for 20 additional, athletic teenagers.

Ken, my helper, had been asleep on the bus, and was asleep on the grass. Things didn't look good.

Then, still without a word, Larry slammed the hood of the bus down, climbed in the driver's seat and started the engine. It worked!

"OKay, everybody back on the bus." He called.

Ken struggled up out of the grass, and we all wedged ourselves back into the bus. And by the time we reached Stratton, Ken woke up and began loading in, and cleaning with a thoroughness and willingness unlike any I've seen in a teenager before or since. And when we unpacked the refrigerator items, the milk was still cold.