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sing Kumbaya, but frankly we talked politics and gay history. I was in my element again if you discount the embers and mosquitoes.
    The reading and signing was a blast and on a walk up the road, we made the very rustic discovery of the Outlet Mall, which we happily avoided in favor of a game of redneck horseshoes. What’s happening to me???
    Some women played Pickle Ball, a combination of tennis, ping-pong, and delicatessen. But the action stopped with the arrival of the Amish Pie Man, his horse pulling the wagon, his wife handling the transactions, and his pies beckoning us all. As we chomped down on our goodies I fully understood the origins of the name Shoo-fly Pie. (Sing it with me: Down by the old mill stream, where I first ate shoo.)
    One great thing about these RVing Women—if you need assistance, look out. Somebody said, “Let’s start a fire,” and a woman came bounding out with an ax. While Lizzie Borden split logs like Abe Lincoln, other gals dispensed RV lore. We had twelve women with tool holsters offering opinions and a bunch willing to slither under anybody’s rig and check for whatever might be ailing. Wow, that sounds naughty, too, but I’m really just talking about load levelers and pump-outs. Although after the dinner buffet I think I needed a personal load leveler.
    For sheer contrast, our lesbian mechanical crew stood on one side of the old mill stream (had to say it again) and on the other side, an Amish farmer tilled his field with a plow drawn by a pair or horses. I’m sure if he had needed help, our women with axes would gladly have leapt the stream to assist.
    For this novice camper, the RVing Women put out thewelcome mat and gave us reason to join the group. They are organized, they can cook, they encourage traveling canines, and they have a wealth of RV info and stories…and they don’t even mind when somebody asks, “What kind of engine on your rig?” and I say, “the seats are beige.”
    By Sunday it was time to explore and naturally, I had to visit Intercourse, PA, and photograph the city limits sign. It wasn’t easy. I walked to the side of the road, straddling a steep incline and side-stepping horse shit—and not the verbal kind I’m used to. An Amish family, spending Sunday on their porch, went inside while I did my photographic circus act. Bonnie said they didn’t want to be in my picture but I think they didn’t want us to see them laughing at the dumb tourist slipping in horse manure.
    We traversed the countryside from Bird-in-Hand to Intercourse to Paradise, repeating the RVing Women mantra: “Not all who wander are lost.” My personal adage is “Not all who RV wield an ax.”
    But I did wield the GPS, making certain we avoided taking the RV through any of the 28 covered bridges in the county. That would have been ugly. And everywhere we went, we wound up behind a horse and buggy with the “slow moving farm vehicle” red triangle on the back.
    By the time we finished up the Amish bakery items and campfire cocktails, I was a slow moving farm vehicle myself, needing a butt triangle and load levelers. I’m an RVer and I like it. Go figure.

June 2011
    S WEATING I T O UT FOR M ARRIAGE E QUALITY
    Between Delaware celebrating the passage of Civil Unions and the stunning late-night vote to approve marriage equality in New York, it seems we’re queer, we’re here, and we’re registering at Crate and Barrel.
    That’s the royal “we” of course, since Bonnie and I were married back in 2003 in Canada and now Delaware, along with New York and seven other states, will recognize our Canadian same-sex nuptials.
    New York’s vote was made all the sweeter as Bonnie and I traveled in the RV to a home by the Chesapeake Bay Bridge last weekend to celebrate with pride, the DC wedding of two very dear, longtime friends—and it was just as New York was heading up the vote.
    But