Me, My Truck, and the Very Difficult Decision

Today, I called the insurance broker and told her to take the coverage off my truck.

Because

I won't be driving it anymore


Because


of THIS.

THIS

is a real drag, a total bummer, a huge disappointment, a stupid mistake, and a sadness all rolled up into one expensive problem.

THIS  is a little car accident I had at the end of June.

We weren't hurt but the other car was finished.  Being a total tank, my truck got out still going down the road as straight as it ever did, but less functional with that side smashed in, and a whole lot uglier.

I didn't blog about it because... well, come on.  You can see why, right?  Who the heck wants to admit on the internet that after 5 years of driving this brute that a stupid lane change ruined everything?  I sure didn't feel like putting that up on the internet.  I was going to fix it.  Well not me personally.  I am not good at fixing things.  I'm good at bodywork but I don't do it anymore. We figured we'd get a gently used door and panel, since parts for these trucks are easy to find, and after some hammering and welding and likely some swearing, we'd be able to get into and out of the truck from the passenger side again.

I drove it like this all summer.

Feeling even more paranoid than usual.

Telling myself we'd fix it.  Just not yet.  Soon.

Here's the thing: I LOVE THIS TRUCK.  I know it's not really anything special but I totally dig it.  I love its bigness.  I love the way it sits with the ass end higher than the front.  I love the proportion of the long box and extended cab.  I love the split bench seat, love the backseat, love the big black steering wheel.  I love the 350 cubic inch displacement, all 8 cylinders worth.  I love that it's over 20 years old.  I love that it's mine.

Here's the other thing: it's got a lot of annoying little things wrong with it.  Door handles, turn signals, things lighting up on the dash that shouldn't.  Some rust has poked through. Now the only working door won't close right.

sigh.



And... THIS.

Add it all up and the result is:  it's not worth fixing.

So I'm sad.

And slightly weirded out by how much importance I place on it... as part of my identity.

You know.  I'm the small woman with the big truck.  I'm the girl with the gnarly old beast that would make many drivers quake.  I can parallel park this sumbitch.  I can look down, literally and figuratively, on all those normal people who drive, y'know, cars.


I'm also ridiculously sentimental.  I have a hard time letting go of things.  I tend to name machines and other inanimate objects.  With me, it's not just a truck, it's a friend!


Well, so long friend.  There will be no rock-n-roll flat black paint job in the future, with bright shiny red rims to contrast, which is just as well since my ol' man scoffs at my big awkward truck and also I don't do bodywork anymore.  There will be no fixed up dash.  No new tailgate handle.

As of today, she's off the road.


even though I'll keep it around

cuz the township says we're allowed to keep a project or two

And since all the scrappers are gone now

I can just hide it under a tree

in case I need parts

like those nifty taillights

or the frame hitch

for my next truck....

Guess what I did yesterday? And today? Huh? Guess?

SPLASHED AROUND IN THE POOL.

Oh yes.  The kids and I were in there goofing off for two hours yesterday!  I was using my mad bug-skimming skills, I dog paddled, and almost put my head under water.  Bucky and Annyong invented about three new games.  Yeah I know next weekend is Labour Day but I don't care!  One week of pool is worth it!!!!

Air - hot.

Pool - cool.

It's lopsided... the floor is lumpy, on account of maybe a few crab-apples underneath... the water is slightly orange despite careful administerings of pool chemicals... but what the heck man.

Splashy splashy!

So much better than smashy smashy.

The horses gawked at us like we were nuts to put up that giant blue water trough and then jump in it.  Shows what they know.

Also, I watched some awards show.  I fully plan to compose a review which will mostly be about clothes and George Clooney.  Although, I might be in the pool.  (Taking pool boy applications?)

My mom says that blogging pictures of your laundry is just as bad as tweeting pictures of your lunch.

Okay, yes.  BUT.  My laundry is so PRETTY!

(And how does my mother know so much about the Tweetering?)

Look at those colours, up there against that vivid blue sky, and the kind of cotton-ball clouds you always think of when you think the word clouds.

Through my eyes, the backlit clothes glowed, but the iGadget couldn't quite capture it.  I still like this picture because of the shadows, and that it makes me think of the smell of the wind.  

And of course, a quilt.

How typically Mennonite of me.

We found it in my uncle's house.  Mom says my Grandma made it, since she recognized some of the fabrics in the squares.  Grandma worked in a shirt factory for a few years, and brought home remnants rather than throw them out.  It's practically an unwritten unofficial rule of being a Mennonite woman.  Thou shalt not throw away perfectly good fabric scraps.  

Yep, I've got three boxes in Mom's sewing room.

See the Pug at the bottom of that picture?  He's the reason I wash quilts so often.  Him and his shedding all year round, sleeping on my bed every night habit.  

It's okay with me though.  I love doing laundry.

And here all this time we were calling it the "honey wagon"...

...this might explain a lot, actually.

(Anybody thirsty?  No?)

IT'S STILL SUMMER, Y'KNOW!

I'll not hear any of that nonsense about how it's almost over and it's not worth getting that rassafrackin' pool filled.  Summer has another month left and dammit I am gonna be in that damn pool before the snow flies if it's the last thing I do!  Got that?!  The third attempt will be successful!  It will!  So what if it took over 4 weeks to find the ONE LEVEL SPOT ON THIS WHOLE PROPERTY.  It's level now I'll have you know!  I've been in it, the water's up to my knees, and if the water pump in the cellar doesn't burn out, and if the breaker panel doesn't start smoking from the pump working overtime, so help me I'm filling that pool tomorrow, filter and chlorine and all, and I am going to spend THE NEXT THREE WEEKS IN THAT POOL.

Rural water pressure is lame.  And also turns things orange.

I dreamed last night that we drained it and set it up in the corral.  The horses took a dump in it, so we had to drain it again and clean it.

Make it stop.

On a happier note, skimming leaves and bugs and stuff is pleasantly hypnotic.  Good thing, eh?

I'm a bad swimmer, actually, but an awesome pool skimmer...

Games Invented by a 14 year old Boy When His Friends Visit The Farm

1) SHOOT THE CANS

This game has a couple variations.  There's the Shooting Range, which positions the boys on folding lawn chairs, aiming BB guns at a home-built "target trap" which consists of a few 2x4s nailed to together and an old bedsheet.

Am I okay with this??? Not really... there's something extremely messed up about buying ammo to keep the kid out of trouble.  

But it's going right in some ways.  He's become a total safety expert.  He'll give you the Safety Speech any time, the whole speech, with examples.

 Recently, three steel t-posts sprouted behind the cement floor where the new shed is about to built.  Of course their purpose is to hold up a string with pop cans threaded by their pull tabs.  Bucky had this game in town too, only then it was water guns, not BBs, cuz you can't shoot varmints in town.

2) BALD MEN TACTICAL SQUAD SOMETHING SOMETHING SOMETHING

I can't keep track of all the terms this kid throws around.  It has to do with a show on CTV in which the city of Toronto has a major hostage incident every week requiring the expertise of a group of highly skilled cop-negotiator-sharpshooter-hero type people, two of whom are Bald Men and quite badass in a nice Canadian kind of way... and of course they have, like, lives and issues and stuff but they also wear bitchin black uniforms and have all kinds of mics and headphones and holsters.  The boy thinks it's all awesome.  (You wouldn't believe how often I shake my head at how my Mennonite upbringing spawned this rifle slinging redneck kid...)

Bucky is fascinated with Hugh Dylan, a guy who provided growly vocals for The Headstones back in the day.  Now when a Headstones tune hits the radio, the kids shriek about how Bald this song is.  Everything hardcore and bitchin and flinty-eyed is Bald now.

So how the Bald Men blah blah blah game works is this: stand with your back against the big sliding barn door.  Pistol (EMPTY because Mom has this thing about gun safety, I don't care if the BBs are plastic or not) held in two hands at shoulder.  Yell clear or something then jump out into the hay mow and proceed to hit the styrofoam sheet, the truck hood, the weedwacker box, and the plywood leaning against the stack of pallets.  Oh, and you're timed on this.  Hours of fun.  For kicks you can throw in a laser scope or some kind of thing like that.  He even got his sister in on this.  He better watch it; she's a darn good shot.

3) NINJA STEAK KNIVES

I came home from town to find Bucky and his buddy D Man throwing knives at that big sheet of styrofoam insulation.  They had it propped up against those sliding barn doors, standing on the barn bank, taking turns flinging the knives.  Wow.  Just wow.  They were being all safe about it, with a line to stand behind and "proper" stance and all, but I wasn't sure if I should freak out or commend them on doing stuff rather than watching stuff.  Once they showed off their accuracy and how they were scoring their successes according to distance vs depth or something, well, I didn't have the heart to make them stop.  I told them not to stab anything that would bleed as I was tired and didn't feel like carting anybody to the emergency room.  They were cool with that.

4) EXTRA FUN JUMPING JACKS

Not sure who made this up, but I walked out the kitchen door yesterday, and there was my friend's son Little M (who of course is taller than me now) doing jumping jacks while Bucky casually squirted his feet with the spray bottle full of water he keeps beside the BBQ.  M's little brother Cute Stuff watched like this was normal.  I went back into the house totally forgetting why I went outside and thinking that girls don't come up with ideas like this.

5) SHOOTIN' BLOONS

yeah, more shooting.  Tie the helium balloons to the fence rail, and when the horses are way over in the other side of the pasture, go up into the hay mow and shoot the balloons.  Bucky says it makes a satisfying noise when they pop, "much like tin cans at close range."

I'm sure why you can see that I become apprehensive about boys in the window three stories up shooting BBs into the field.  This only happened... ONCE.  I had a soft moment. It won't happen again.

6) ATV TRAIL COURSE

He's got an aerial map of the property on the computer, I think from Google Earth, and he's drawn these coloured lines all over it with the computer to show the trails.  With all the junk rearranging those trails have been modified, so that keeps him busy, and of course the trails all have to be maintained.  He does pretty good considering he's only -only- got about an acre and a half to work with.  He's got names for the trails and all.

Sadly it's been so hot this summer he hasn't ridden the 4 wheeler much.  By that I mean, not four times daily.

Boys.  They play hard.

My horses got their hooves trimmed today and I paid for it WITH MY OWN MONEY!

That's right people, I earned that money all by myself!  I went out to the barn, gathered all my tools and props, put together a lesson plan.  I drove to the home of the students' grandma and taught two adorable sisters on their ponies.  The girls had a good time, we smiled a lot, and at the end I got handed some cash.  I wrote out a receipt and drove away feeling pretty darn good about myself.

After spending all of last summer and the past winter and spring worrying that nobody would ever call me for lessons... I've ended up with a nice handful of 10 year-old girls with ponies.

I LOVE IT.

I love teaching riding.  I love going to a student's place and helping them with their own ponies.  I love putting a kid on gentle, lazy Phoenix and watching her confidence bloom.  I love horses.  I love having my own bank account and putting my earnings in there.  As much as I'm afraid to spend money, I even love withdrawing some to pay for things I need for the horses.

I picked up some soft brushes for my mare and some bright purple crossties.  Phoenix is wearing a really solid purple halter now.  It's the colour of royalty and he's my prince!  I bought a bag of horse feed the other day, and some farm-strength insect killer.

I made a goal to make enough money to pay for my horse's upkeep without getting any help from my husband or parents.  Like, I'm pushing forty.  I want to feel like a grown-up about it.  The next goal is to pay for my kids' school trips and like, new shoes and stuff.

Of course, yesterday I had the vet out to float the horses' teeth.  That's a whole other story.

I might be borrowing some money from Jethro for that, unless I suddenly get about 5 new students with their own horse, preferably all within a 5 minute drive of our place.  Y'know it could happen...

A picture of contentment

All lined up like they're waiting for me to take their picture...

Last week I visited with my friend DW at her pasture.  I was surrounded by speckled muzzles and I loved every second of it.  DW is the owner of Suzy, the sweet old mare I borrowed to keep my Little Lady company after Champ died.   Actually, this visit was like a little family reunion, since our Little Lady herself was born at DW's place. 

Suzy is still there, part of a trio of retired horses in their 20s.  There are a few younger horses, including a yearling and a foal.  They live on ten acres of heaven... grass, hills, flats, trees, a river.  

Happiness.  

The scrapper has left the property...

After four months of sweat and tanks of gas to get to the scrap yard... propane for the cutting torch... chains on the tractor... every scrapper in the yard is gone.  The yard isn't empty exactly, because the horse trailer project still waits for us and the old Pontiac waits for a new owner.  In the last week, the last two old Ford trucks went to the Great Scrapyard in the Sky.  

I won't say I hated to see them go.  My ol' Man's exact words were "Not a minute too soon."  He's been feeling the pressure to get the yard emptied.  Truth is, there is something ridiculously sad about sending a wreck off to scrap.

This had been a useful truck up until a few years ago.  When its owner got out of the snowplowing biz, he brought the two black Fords out here with the intention of doing some kind of project.  But good intentions are hard to keep up with once jobs and kids and mortgages happen to a guy.  He chose to spend his time and money on his wife and kids instead of difficult old trucks.  He made the right decision.  It's hard to let go though, and I know that.  The transmission from this one and the engine from the other truck are still here; he'll be picking them up soon.  Once a gear head, always a gear head.  

I grew up with stuff like this in the backyard.  Only back then it was stuff from the 50s and 60s.  

I knew that it was, and is, actually possible to take an old wreck and turn it into something that can be driven.  It's just that it takes huge amounts of work and money and time.  I'm not willing to sacrifice any of those things anymore.  

But I'm still fascinated by an old truck with a rotten floor.

In 1981, you could still get a truck with a plain bench seat, rubber floor mats instead of carpet, and a steel headliner.  It was practical and all about WORK.  No cupholders, nothing... fancy.

Although it still boasted some mighty spiffy fake woodgrain!!

(Notice the CB holder beside the radio.  As my kids would say, "old School.")

Yeah I'm sure in its day it was a bitchin truck, with that row of clearance lights on the roof and whip antennas, it was a mean ol' 4x4.

So anyways, it and its slightly newer brother, languishing behind the hill for years, are outta here.  

It's the end of an era.

(And the beginning of a nice, empty piece of land at the back of the property.)

I am changing language part 1: The iGadget

You probably recognize this little device and say, "Oh yes, that's an iPhone. It's one of those freaky-deaky Mac things."

You would be right about that.  It is called an iPhone and it is freaky-deaky.  I have one because Jethro insisted.  Now I have to admit that I kind of like the thing.

But people, calling it a PHONE is ridiculous.  This thing is not just a phone.  It's a calculator and a camera and a music player and a calendar and a tiny video screen.  It does map things I don't even understand.  If I gave a crap about the stock market it would tell me all about that stuff too.

I can't call it a phone.  But of course because it's made by those Apple computer dudes it has to have a little i in front of it.  iEverything.

And that's why this thing is now called an iGadget.

So far I've converted Jethro and his engineer (that's Bubba to you) and I think my auntie says iGadget too now.  (Are you out there, Auntie D????)

This concludes today's lesson on how Heidi the Hick is changing the language.  You may now discuss.

Get off the road and stay out of the parking lot!

We planned to take Annyong to the licence office today.  It didn't happen, but that just gives her another few days to read the book and study.

She has had a few drives around the farmyard and I'm pleased to say that she has not hit anything!  That's a pretty big accomplishment considering how big the truck is and how crowded the yard is.  We took her to the old school parking lot to practise shifting gears in the VW and yes, she can start off in first gear!

She knows what the signs mean, she knows what the speed limits are on most roads.  The speed limit on country roads confuses her though.  She was sure it was the same as the highways and it turns out her mother is a speed demon.  Poor kid.  What's the speed limit on gravel roads?  Oh... let's see... the speed at which a big cloud of dust follows the truck?

Sometimes it kinda freaks me out, in a cold sweat kind of way, that my first baby is thisclose to legally driving.

I need to find a bumper sticker saying "I BRAKE FOR UNICORNS!"

Farm Country Traffic Jam

Cruising down the dirt road doing 90 klicks.  (I think that's about 60mph but who's looking at the gauge that closely, eh?)

Dust hanging in the wet hot August air.

Up ahead, a huge giant tractor is trying to use only two-thirds of the road.

Swing out a little and see if passing would be a good idea.

Because normally it's okay to pass.  I mean, don't be a jerk about it.  The guy on the tractor is just doing his job, and the road is part of his workplace.  So you wait until you can get around him and while you're waiting you just chill the **** out because there's no point or reason or purpose to getting all bent up about it.

Turns out there's another tractor coming along the road the other direction and no time, no room, to get around.

At least if you'd rather not be wearing Case IH grill around your neck, that is.

Don't care how bitchin' your pickup truck is... you take on a tractor, you lose.

So follow that tractor for awhile.  No bigs.

Except that maybe if he's pulling a big honey wagon.... might want to keep some distance.

The tractors meet and wave and move on their ways.

Then it's safe to pass.

If you want to get anywhere during harvest season, just leave a few minutes earlier, I mean, duh.




These days, when I see traffic jams on the 401 on the evening news, long lines of stressed out commuters simmering in their cars, I am silently blissfully happy to be out here waiting for tractors.  (All I have to do now is figure out how to move a good chunk of the music biz out of Toronto and out to the sticks, one project at a time, so that my Jethro can ride a tractor to work...!)

Well, yeah, if you want it done right.

I had something else planned for today but then I found out it's Watermelon Day.  Who knew?  No seriously, who knew about this?  Did those wacky cheezeburger people make this up?  We even had watermelon after supper.  Coincidence?  Hmmm.  And here all this time I thought it was Muggy Humid Hot Change Your Sweaty Clothes Day.