The Wheels of the Truck

The Wheels of the Truck

A beautiful morning. I’ve been out in the back yard with Nemo and my cup of coffee. The wildflower seeds I planted are still looking OK. I hope they grow and spread. A funny¬† thing–some seeds I planted years ago are poking up. That’s okay with me. I like happy surprises.

People are out walking, taking advantage of the coolness. I glance across the street at my neighbors’ cars and, for some reason, I remember a long ago time and an adventure with my dad’s old International truck. It was a good truck in its day and a heavy one, but it had a manual gear shift and this teenage girl didn’t particularly like to drive it. However, if I wanted to get from place to place, I drove.

My mom, little brother and I were coming back from church when this adventure took place. I started up one of the steep dirt hills and I had to shift into second, or maybe, low gear. That was tricky. I didn’t do it right. The truck jerked, sputtered, and came to a halt. Then, wouldn’t you know, it started rolling backward. For some reason (probably because I was flustered) I couldn’t get my foot on the brake fast enough and we rolled off the road and down into a steep ditch, backward. No way could that truck pull itself out of there.

I don’t even remember how the problem was resolved. When all was said and done, the truck came out and we got safely back home. Funny, though, how just looking at cars across the street triggered that old memory.

I guess morning times are good for thinking about the past, as well as walking.

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