Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Drive - A Memoir 39th Installment

throttle pulled out part way. He would bail out of the truck, and I would stand on the seat and steer. At the end of the field I would start turning as the Old Man would clamber into the cab and aim the truck back down the field. Even Vicki, a very young and inexperienced human being, knew how to drive any vehicle.
For transportation – we had a bike, a scooter, the Ford tractor that got us around the farm, and the 1938 International pickup got us down the highway, to the store, fishing, and to work. I loved that pickup: inline flathead four cylinder engine, 4 speed, narrow bed with running boards and the headlights perched out on the front fenders. We also had a snow plane in the winter, and we had ‘shanks pony,’ our feet; we walked everywhere.

Farm kids, end of story.

Russ and I would occasionally walk to Hamer which was two miles away. Hamer consisted of the Hamer school, the small white Mormon church, a couple of homes, and Mel's place – a huge rock building that had a small grocery store, one gas pump, the post office, and the bar and pool hall. It was the town center of unincorporated government that was filled at night with the locals drinking, playing cards, and yammering about all things wrong in the world and in this town of – population 23. This wide spot in the road was surrounded by several small farms, ours being one of them.

Chapter 8
         We made the bargain for the wire and over the next few weeks we worked long daytime hours, along with our farm work plus chores, and then late into the night on weekends and after school and chores on weekdays. Soon, we were finished; we had our wire carefully rolled up, and we had saved a lot of smaller pieces and poles of wood to build free standing traps. “I still think this was a dumb deal and really, really hard,” Russ grumbled.

       “And I still think it was fun,” I replied; only I was having a hard time thinking of any reason why. “Oh Yeah, when we freed, then rolled the thirty foot logs off the top of the wall and down the ramps we put up; they went fast and far, crashing and smashing everything. That was fun! See work and fun are the same,” I concluded. I could BS with the best of men, I thought.

        “No it wasn't,” he said stubbornly. “Then we had to stack those logs in a fine looking pyramid pile, and each log weighed more than both of us.”

         “Well, we did it, just like the pyramids in Egypt. They had a hard thing to do; we had a hard thing to do. We both did it and they had us out numbered.” This was a bit of a stretch coming from an Idaho farm kid. It was getting

500 more words tomorrow

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