Does it look like he's got a little bit of mud on his tires?
That's not mud, that's liquefied farming soil!
Not enough mud to talk about, Just a normal day in the country. Now when you can no longer see the spokes for the mud, Now that's a mud story worth talking about ...
Is there a driver in there? I hope he doesn't slam on the brakes or this guy will be calling Brassworks for some new ones.
Over on the Lake Washington side of Rose Hill from where my parents' farm was, there
was an old woman who lived on another chunk of old farm land. Her name was Mrs. Miller.
She was old as dirt and a bit senile. Could not keep her mind on the moment, but could
tell you anything about what was going on around there in 1900. Her fruit trees were all
broken down, her fields gone fallow. The house was in desperate need of paint, and the
outbuildings looked worse. In the front yard sat her early 50's Ford Mainline sedan, and
out in the tractor shed sat a truck just like this one and whole bunch of other farm implements.
Mrs. Miller talked about all sorts of things that made no sense. That was, until I realized
she was speaking as if it was still 1915 or 20. All the road names were changed to numbers,
and things like businesses and freeways had obliterated much of that world she knew. It
was fascinating to try to envision what she was seeing as she described how it used to be
around there. She talked about catching the ferry in Kirkland and riding to Madison Park,
where she'd ride the trolley down to Pioneer Square.
All of this is a big part of why I own a TT today. Call it child abuse, but my mind was poisoned
with evil thoughts of cool old things and how it used to be. Now look at me ... a life wasted
chasing ghosts of good things past.