Keep on Truckin'

Yesterday a pair of gentlemen came to the farm to check out Taylor, my truck. She’s been for sale a while and most emails and calls about her were dead ends. It was looking pretty hopeless but then this past weekend a deal was made ($400 below the asking price, but what can you do in the dead of winter in the midst of a pandemic). We shook and soon they will be taking her away to become the engine and cab of a truck they are working on together.

It’s so bittersweet. After those guys left I couldn’t help tearing up. So much of that truck was wrapped up in my own story of coming out and finally allowing myself to be happy. If that seems overly simplistic, it is. But I firmly believe chapters of our lives are marked by vehicles. The single lad goes from a sportswear to a family minivan. The gal fresh out of school buys her first hatchback with her first real job. You get it. And that truck was the first time I was buying exactly what I wanted to drive, for the exact life I had created. Vintage, thrifty, sturdy, Farming. Ugh. She's leaving a rusty hole in my heart!

Also, the memories and timeline of having that truck perfectly correspond to my own memories and timelines of coming out and starting to date women. It felt like being 15 again, or 22, or whatever Taylor Swift song I was scream-singing from the cab as I rolled through the Battenkill Valley carrying everything from livestock and hay to firewood and feed. I had friendships, lovers, dogs, goats, kisses, nerves, first dates, adventures and picnics in that truck (not all at the same time but plenty of overlap). It was so associated with me in this town folks waved from their porches when I drove by. And now she’s off to become an organ donor for a sweet young man who is as enamored with old Fords as I am.

It’s the end of an era. And here’s to being able to go more places and see more things in 2021.

If you’re local and have a 4WD pickup in need of a new home, send me a note.