Back when Renaissance Man and I were first married, I dreamt of one day owning a small piece of land where I would grow a large field of flowers. It all stemmed (no pun intended) back to a magazine I use to subscribe to called “Victoria”. There was a particular article that caught my attention and fancy. The pages were filled with stunning photos of a mom/daughter team working their flower fields. One particular photo of them, in the old truck they used to transport flowers, was etched into my memory. And that’s when my courtship with old trucks began. I lived vicariously through those pages.
I just knew I was destined to one day drive my old pickup through fields of lavender. In my denim jumper and cute work boots, I would jump out and load the cut flowers into the bed of my truck. Then I’d drive them to my rustic flower shed where I would hang them to dry.
Okay, this was in the early ’90’s, people. Little House on the Prairie wear was in fashion, and dried flower arrangements were the latest in home decor.
I realize I’ve traded in my dream of flowers for goats and asparagus, but I’ve never really given up on the ‘ol truck. And it just can’t be any old truck. It can’t be too modern. No aerodynamic edges. And it cannot be in pristine condition. Renaissance Man has over the years, been able to pinpoint exactly what it is that I’m looking for. He knows makes, models, years, you know, that kind of thing.
And if’n you didn’t already know, Renaissance Man is a car guy. Among his many wonderful qualities, this is the trait that endeared him to my dad. But true to his name, my man loves all kinds of cars. Although he much prefers huge tail fins and lowered muscle cars, Renaissance Man loves to hear about the cars I enjoy. And then he gets a kick out of pointing them out when he sees them, even if he thinks they’re quirky or the car manufacturer stinks. He just loves to see me get excited about cars. I know. He’s the best.
So, lately, old trucks have been a topic of discussion. I brought it up really. Almost daily, we drive by a place that has a Willy’s truck sitting in its field. I feel bad for that cute truck. It has no windows and it just sits out in the rain. So, finally one day, I asked Renaissance Man’s advice. “So, exactly how much should I offer for that truck?” My plan was to knock on the door, wave some hundred dollar bills around, and drive that baby home. Okay, maybe not drive it, but at least have someone tow it home. My man gave me the biggest proudest smile ever. His woman wanted to buy a car. His fantasies were coming true.
In the midst of toying with that crazy idea of mine, Renaissance Man found another Willy’s truck on craigslist. And this one had windows. Giddy was the only way to describe the way I felt. One, that we might finally get the ‘ol truck I’ve been pining for, and two, that my man was actively seeking to buy one for me. He’s not really a truck man. He wants to work on his 1970 Dodge Challenger. But for me and the bonding experience of sharing the love of a car, he’s willing to get an old rust bucket.
We’ve got a few things still to work out with the owner, but I think maybe this summer, I’ll be picking up the goat’s hay in my own truck. Rust and all.