Camping out Neah Cape Cawd

Miles Standish State Park, South Carver, Massachusetts. A peaceful enough place, with a few ponds and some pine-shaded campsites, vernal forest edging cranberry bogs and picturesque homes.
We pull into our little spot and level out the camper, weary after a full weekend of hawking our goods at King Richard's Faire. Having already visited the over-priced grocery store in Carver (pronounced Cawh-veh by the natives), we were eager to throw our meager meal in the wok and settle down with good books- Anna Karenina and Atlas Shrugged, respectively.
Cooking inside a truck topper camper gets a bit steamy, and not in the good sort of way. Michael cranked open the windows while I put the finishing touches on whatever slop sizzled on the two-burner stove. We ladled food into hand-thrown bowls, crawled into our cozy nooks, and had just cracked open our classics when The Voice assailed our ears.
It was a nasal voice, female and loud, with a heavy Eastern Seaboard accent, obviously shouting into a cell phone,
"Yeah, hi!" The Voice carried over several empty campsites and rattled our windowframes, "I'm out camping- yeah CAMPING. Oh, yeah... in Cawhveh. Camping. Ohmigod it's so peaceful heauh. Yeah, I'm cooking trawhout- grilling! GRILLING TRAWHOUT. I caught it myself, in the pawhnd. Yeah. Peaceful."
I cannot begin to explain to you, without personally mimicking her voice over the phone (which I will gladly do) just how loud this woman was. If you have been in that area of Massachusetts, you will probably be familiar with how this certain type of woman sounds, rather like the sound aluminum foil would make if run over a cheese grater, but amplified to about 140 Db.
The woman then proceeded to call every person on her Nextel call list, repeating the exact one-sided conversation, verbatim, approximately eleventy-nine times.
While I tried not to hate Kitty Shcherbatskaya for being such a muddle-headed fool, I tried even harder to block the woman's voice from my head. It was too warm to shut the windows in the camper, but after an hour our nerves could bear no more. We peeled off as many layers as we could, shut the windows, and ran the bathroom vent fan for white noise. Still, The Voice splintered through the trees,
"Yeah, CAMPING... cooking trawhout... so peaceful out heauh."

I love Massachusetts, but next time I go, I'm bringing my iPod.