And so the Rodney Mobile bounces further along the Seventeenth Grange Road.
Twistine frowns, "We should be getting close to my Uncle’s by now."
Then through the roled-down windows of the Rodney-Mobile comes the distanct sounds of gleeful polka-music.
Both the Weener-man and myself attempt to make ourselves invisible, which ishard to do in a ’74 VW Dasher.
Twisty smiles, "Sounds like one of the bands at Uncle Heinrich’s barbecue!"
"Oh really?" I say with releif.
"Yeah, he lkes to have lively music, he says the bands really brightens things up," Twisty explains.
"That’s good," Weenerman growls, "For us, your Uncle Heinrecih plays, ‘Polka Music to Bale Hay By.’"
"They play that on WFHC?" Twisty asks.
"Sometimes," I admit, "DJ, the DJ does have a copy of it."
"Your Uncle Heinrich has the other copy, and he plays it in the tape-deck on his truck, over the loud-speaker," HM Weenerman states, "Out in the field, while we’re on the wagon baling hay."
"My Uncle Henrich does have the old-world sense of humor," Twisty admits.
"A laugh a minute," I shrug.
"You betcha," Weener-Man confirms as he checks the callouses on his hands from our last baling-outing.