The old white bus looked so lonely sitting out by the farm, far from the school kids it used to haul around the Hudson Valley on day trips and camping excursions. But our community mechanic was clear: its driving days were over. It had been rusting in the lot for two years, waiting for someone to buy it for parts at a pathetic price, or at least for its Mercedes engine. When no bidders came along, my husband, Jason, walked around it a few times and made an offer.
Publisher’s Note. This article was originally published in Plough Quarterly magazine. Used with permission.
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