An Unlikely Symbol of Connection and Hope

Back in July, when we were visiting Jake’s parents in central California, we made a spontaneous decision that ended up changing things in ways I didn’t expect. We were walking down a quiet street when Jake’s eye caught the back end of a bright red VW bus with a for sale sign taped to the rear window. He casually suggested we take a look. Neither of us thought much of it at the moment — just a quick detour to take a peek. But two days later, we became the proud new owners of a 1970 VW Westfalia. Affectionately named Pidgey – inspired by Pen’s favorite book, Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus – our bus made the trek halfway across the country and is now an official Kansas City resident.

I’ve wanted a VW Bus for as long as I can remember. I don’t know exactly when I first saw one or when my love for them took hold, but over the years I’ve collected hundreds of pictures of buses in every color, model, and state of repair – or disrepair. To the point that I have friends and family who regularly send me photos, and a past boyfriend who once rented one for my birthday that we blissfully drove around southern California for a few days (thanks, Tom for best gift ever).

There’s always been something about the bus that resonates with me — the camping, adventure, that sense of being able to pick up and go anywhere. I guess, in a word, freedom. When I thought about owning one myself, I was entirely focused on what that would mean for me. That it would force me to slow down – both metaphorically and literally- the bus tops out at 63mph. But mostly I imagined the joy it would bring to me and my family — the open road, the possibilities, the escape from routine.

What I didn’t anticipate is how the bus would bring joy to everyone we encounter. People from every walk of life — every age, race, political belief, neighborhood — are drawn to the bus. From Pen’s classmates who run to the playground fence when we pull up to daycare yelling “bus, bus!” to the bearded guys on Harleys who honked and waved as they passed us on the highway to the Ozarks in rural Missouri. We had a woman walking with her teenager daughter flag us down in the middle of the street just so she could tell us how cool the bus is. There have been more peace signs flashed than I can count. And people love to tell us stories about a bus in their life – like the guy who had his bus completely taken apart because authorities thought he was stashing drugs – for the record, he insists he was not.

The mechanic who works on Pidgey told us that if you want to avoid conversations, don’t take the bus out that day. And geez, was she was right. A stop at a gas station is not just about getting gas. Now it’s a car show where we often give bus tours. The bus leads to a conversation, an exchange, a smile. It serves as a catalyst for human connection.

The last time we took the bus out, we stopped at a light and there was a man who was sitting on the curb with a sign asking for help. He signaled for us to roll down our window and asked the year –he just grinned at us and told us we have a beauty. And we do – but not just physically, but for the joy it brings, the stories it sparks, the connections it fosters.

I don’t think the bus is some cure-all for the world’s problems. And I don’t mean to be naïve or dismissive of the divisions we’re facing right now. But I’m finding hope in the bus  — that there are so many things that connect us across divides – including a 55 year old bus. That there’s room for joy, for community, and grace – we just need to seek it out or take notice when it drives by. And right now, more than ever, I think we all need more of that. So you’ll find us in the bus as often as we can be, and we hope to see you, too.

Photos by the incredible and incomparable @cassandrajoyphotos