“You mean you’ve never been to a bean suppah?  We have two kinds of beans, hot dogs, two types of gelatin salad…”

When we rolled into Maine via New Hampshire, I remember seeing a beautiful New England church, complete with its majestic white, wooden spire. The church, nestled in some very thick woods, vividly displayed the small town, New England charm that we fell in love with. 

But, on the sign out front, where you’d usually see a thought-provoking or inspirational message like “Forgive your enemies, it messes with their heads”, there was a very simple message, “Bean Supper 5:30 PM.” 

 I remember driving on towards Portland, bewildered, wondering just what in the world is a bean supper.  The church looked old, possibly out of commission, so maybe it was an old sign from the 1970s?  The 1930s?  We went along and never heard of bean suppers again, until today.

New Englanders Take Beans Seriously

“You mean you’ve never been to a bean suppah?” asked the white-haired church lady.  Darci looked to me, desperation in her eyes, but I was talking with someone else about jobs in the Scarborough area.  Her plea for help went unanswered.  The church lady took the please-someone-help-me look as an invitation to continue with new vigor as she launched into a breathless litany.

“We have two kinds of beans, hot dogs, two kinds of gelatin salad, and chop suey.  You better come to the bean suppah, and keep coming to chuhch.”   

We drove away, completely forgetting about what the message was during the sermon (something about being precious), but focused on the really big question–what in the blue blazes is a bean supper (suppah)? 

This question then diffused into other questions: why two kinds of beans? what if another kind of bean is suddenly introduced? what’s a New England gelatin salad?  does that also have beans jammed into it? and who in their right mind thought it was a good idea to toss in chop suey? 

I mean, we’ve used beans for burritos, tacos, and bean dip.  What are they doing out here?

Carillon Park: Why Haven’t You Invented Something, You Slacker?

Dayton, it turns out, is a city of innovation.  What has Dayton given you, you might ask?  How about the starter for your car (no more hand cranks!), the pop top for your soda can, the cash register, the basis of IBM, the Wright Brothers, and a bunch of other crazy things that I took for granted.  This is a museum that waves the banner for Dayton: the town where, for some reason, inventors seems to flock and just come up with ideas.  I left feeling dazzled about what Dayton has done for the world and a little less of a man–why in the world haven’t I invented anything recently?

Ritter’s Frozen Custard

Ohio, you are known for a lot of things: festivals to popcorn, strawberries, anything you can have a festival about; buckeyes; ice cream; and custard.  

I know ice cream.  I know custard.  These frozen treats are my jam.  Sorry Colorado Custards, you have lost the custard war.  Those Coloradoans really don’t know what its like to have a place like Ritter’s Frozen Custard, where the custard is a velvety, rich smoothness that caresses the taste buds.  Ritter’s: You are the King of Custard.

Thank you, Grunows, for a wonderful day!

Not a Sterling Start

What do you mean you don’t know how to transfer money?  You’re a freakin’ bank!  Shouldn’t you know about all that stuff?  Why do I need to call up Bank of America to tell you how to transfer money? ? These are the words that were blaring in my head as we closed down our Wells Fargo account and tried to transfer our money to Bank of America.  Instead of doing something seamless like a wire transfer or an ACH, we eventually capitulated to use a cashier’s check in order to escape the Wells Fargo branch office.  How quaint.  And how strange that this forty minute delay at Wells Fargo, where we baffled two very overly-friendly employees, and screamed at them behind our smiles, would end up actually saving us from being stranded on the highway.  Strange!

“I don’t want to alarm you,” Darci said as I was going into the Bank of America branch to deposit the check, “but the battery light is on in the Jeep.”  An hour later, here we were in a Bank of America parking lot, the Xterra saddled with a U-Haul trailer, basically homeless, and we are supposed to be driving to Kearny, Nebraska, and the Jeep is on the fritz…again.  

“The fritz” was an understatement for what happened next. All the lights were on as if the car were possessed.  Then the Jeep was dead.  Dead in the parking lot.  A big metal brick with four balding tires, three cats, and our tears of panic and frustration.  Our epic move to Maine was torpedoed by superior Chrysler engineering: we only made it 30 minutes down the road.  

The next moments were a blur of sweaty panic, frustration and actually a godsend.  After replacing the Jeep’s battery, and limping it along to an O’Reiley’s, they tested the alternator and found that it was a goner.   Our trip was probably going to be delayed by a day and we’ll be scrambling to catch up.  But…then we spied a mechanic right behind the auto parts store, and at 10 minutes before it closed we needed a miracle.

Town Center Auto, 10 minutes before closing, agreed to replace the alternator and did so in just 40 minutes.  Not only that, they diagnosed and fixed the short that was causing the U-Haul trailer to stop working.  At 6:00 pm, four hours late, we were on the road.  We wouldn’t make it to Kearney, but found our way to Sterling, Colorado.  The plus: without that dumb Wells Fargo mishap, we probably would have been stranded somewhere on I-70.  Talk about a godsend!

Now, it’s 11:48 PM.  We’re hunkered down in our hotel room.  Our cats now chasing after the flies that have snuck in and stalking what might be a cockroach…