Godspeed, Vern!

We sold Vern—our 1997 Volvo—today. After two weeks of unfruitful Craigslist listings, Andrew learned of a local college that, every weekend, for a fee, opens their parking lot to used cars for sale. They arrange the showings, and then interested parties can contact the sellers to arrange a test drive and, ultimately, the sale. We delivered Vern at 6pm last night; got a call at 10pm; and, after Andrew met the buyers for a test drive at 7:30am today, Vern left us for good. The buyers were a couple and their sixteen-year-old son; they wanted a safe, cheap car for him. We’d priced Vern to sell—there are some flaws that need fixing, but I think they still got a deal.

We’re sad to see him go. He was with us for all three years of our California life, taking us on countless road trips, giving us our first taste of car ownership; we brought Lucia home from the hospital in Vern. He was a good car, bearing his original bumper sticker—“THE CHRISTIAN RIGHT IS NEITHER”—with amusement and grace. I relearned to drive in Vern; once terrified of getting on the highway, now I merely dislike it. And Vern’s trunk was filled with what I consider good evidence of our California spirit—a picnic blanket, a field guide, binoculars, and guidebooks and maps for wine country, Route 1, Tahoe, and San Francisco.

Vern is a California car; it’s right to let him go, send him on to new adventures. But we will miss him. Godspeed, Vern!