To my horror when we were building our house, he zoomed the nieces and nephews up and down in the cherry picker like it was some sort of a carnival ride; I was a nervous wreck. Being a little apprehensive of heights, our contractor actually permitted him to use it to install the tippy top of our cabin's metal roof. The Farmer didn't mind. He had a blast. In the army, he operated a tank, and everyday he's behind the wheel for his sales job.
But I get to drive Big Red.
Big Red is our 2007 Ford F150. If you know anything about me, you know that's a big deal because I wasn't born with a steering wheel in my hand. But when you have a farm, about the most important piece of machinery you'll need is a reliable pick-up truck.
Before Big Red, we depended on Old Faithful. Old Faithful was our trusty, but rusty, white F150. We made the trek in him over the mountain to Healing Brook from our prior home several times a week. This was before we sold our house and started building the little cabin at the farm.
One crisp, fall Saturday evening after spending the day hiking through the woods and sipping coffee by the fire pit, we began to load up for the trip back home. When we pulled out and onto the gravel road that lead to the mountain, the Farmer calmly informed me that the brakes had gone out in Old Faithful.
Big Red is our 2007 Ford F150. If you know anything about me, you know that's a big deal because I wasn't born with a steering wheel in my hand. But when you have a farm, about the most important piece of machinery you'll need is a reliable pick-up truck.
Before Big Red, we depended on Old Faithful. Old Faithful was our trusty, but rusty, white F150. We made the trek in him over the mountain to Healing Brook from our prior home several times a week. This was before we sold our house and started building the little cabin at the farm.
One crisp, fall Saturday evening after spending the day hiking through the woods and sipping coffee by the fire pit, we began to load up for the trip back home. When we pulled out and onto the gravel road that lead to the mountain, the Farmer calmly informed me that the brakes had gone out in Old Faithful.
"Oh no, I will call one of the boys to come get us."
"You don't need to do that," he instructed me, "I can still drive it with the gear shift."
"What?" "Wait!" "What does that even mean?"
"Don't worry. It's fine."
Well, since you're so kindly reading my blog - a huge thank you, by the way - you've gathered that we survived. At any rate the next morning, I enlightened the Farmer that we were buying a new truck. With a farm now, I would be driving the truck, and I would prefer one with brakes.
So off he went immediately. Of course he did, he is a red blooded American male who had just received a blessing from his wife to purchase a new truck. He came home happy. His friend Eric was coming into town, and he was going to give him a lift down to the dealership to pick it up later.
"Here's a picture of it," he said proudly, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
So off he went immediately. Of course he did, he is a red blooded American male who had just received a blessing from his wife to purchase a new truck. He came home happy. His friend Eric was coming into town, and he was going to give him a lift down to the dealership to pick it up later.
"Here's a picture of it," he said proudly, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
It was definitely an F150, but it was a gray F150. Gray???? Drabby ol' gray????
"No offense, but we will have this truck a long time so could you pretty please get a red one?" I begged. "Remember I will be driving it too, so make it bright cherry red and with brakes."
To my delight, he complied.
Once Big Red arrived on the scene, he got right to work.
To my delight, he complied.
Once Big Red arrived on the scene, he got right to work.
He started by moving the man children to and from their college dorms then to their first apartments and sometimes back home again. He never asked any questions.
He helped transport kitchen tables, washers and dryers, book shelfs, couches, landscaping mulch, camping gear, and flea market finds for countless family members and friends, never complaining.
He's been hailed a hero for rescuing many a vehicle from snow and mud by pulling them to safety - never letting it go to his head.
He whisked me away with him on multiple romantic weekends to visit the man children after they married and found jobs in the big city.
Every other Saturday while the Farmer did his bidding and "shooting the bull" with the other farmers at the Livestock Auction and Stockyard, Big Red could be found waiting patiently in the parking lot with all of the other hitched up trucks, understanding this just came with the territory.
He has never had to seek counseling after being used as a ladder, a picnic table, or a diving board.
And boy can Red keep a secret. He never breathed a word about the time I slammed both of his mirrors while attempting to pull into Sonic and place my order for a chicken wrap, or all the times the poor things actually cracked and fell out as I hit them on the narrow bridges of Bedford County. He didn't roll his headlights and mumble, "Geez, women drivers."
I'd be willing to bet he holds the record for the most trash loads to the refuse and recycling center.
He didn't kick up a fuss about the tear that occurred in his driver's seat when the Farmer forgot about the screwdriver in his back pocket, or about the scrapes and scratches all over his bed from building supplies, gravel, and grain tubs.
Over the years, Red and I have put on miles together as we traveled on our weekly shopping trips for groceries, gas, and farm supplies. Whenever I would play my music, he never made fun of my horrendous singing voice. And he was so quick to forgive me when I waited six months to wash the dirt off of him, falling behind on his tender, loving care.
He has dutifully pulled trailers full of sheep, goats, cows, horses, hogs, and visitors - young and old. He has carried plenty of Pyrenees puppies and kitty cats safely to and from their vet appointments, enduring mounds of fur and bucketfuls of drool from the big white doggies. He has hauled countless bags of feed and bedding, and tugged his share of tractor implements, gooseneck trailers, and U-hauls. He has never failed us once during hay season.
At eighteen years old, Big Red is all broken in now, and there are numerous dings and bumps in his cherry red armor. Mature and experienced, I would put him up against any of those young bucks coming fresh off the assembly line this year.
After all this time, I still love driving Big Red, even though I continue to have trouble with parking spots and small spaces.
Recently when I took my dad out to run errands, he proceeded to point out all five times that I managed to run over curbs - the health clinic, the post office, the dry cleaners, the credit union, and Wendy's Drive Thru.
"That's okay, don't worry about it," Bid Red whispered softly in my ear. "I'm not going anywhere; I'm in this relationship for the long haul."
He whisked me away with him on multiple romantic weekends to visit the man children after they married and found jobs in the big city.
Every other Saturday while the Farmer did his bidding and "shooting the bull" with the other farmers at the Livestock Auction and Stockyard, Big Red could be found waiting patiently in the parking lot with all of the other hitched up trucks, understanding this just came with the territory.
He has never had to seek counseling after being used as a ladder, a picnic table, or a diving board.
And boy can Red keep a secret. He never breathed a word about the time I slammed both of his mirrors while attempting to pull into Sonic and place my order for a chicken wrap, or all the times the poor things actually cracked and fell out as I hit them on the narrow bridges of Bedford County. He didn't roll his headlights and mumble, "Geez, women drivers."
I'd be willing to bet he holds the record for the most trash loads to the refuse and recycling center.
He didn't kick up a fuss about the tear that occurred in his driver's seat when the Farmer forgot about the screwdriver in his back pocket, or about the scrapes and scratches all over his bed from building supplies, gravel, and grain tubs.
Over the years, Red and I have put on miles together as we traveled on our weekly shopping trips for groceries, gas, and farm supplies. Whenever I would play my music, he never made fun of my horrendous singing voice. And he was so quick to forgive me when I waited six months to wash the dirt off of him, falling behind on his tender, loving care.
He has dutifully pulled trailers full of sheep, goats, cows, horses, hogs, and visitors - young and old. He has carried plenty of Pyrenees puppies and kitty cats safely to and from their vet appointments, enduring mounds of fur and bucketfuls of drool from the big white doggies. He has hauled countless bags of feed and bedding, and tugged his share of tractor implements, gooseneck trailers, and U-hauls. He has never failed us once during hay season.
At eighteen years old, Big Red is all broken in now, and there are numerous dings and bumps in his cherry red armor. Mature and experienced, I would put him up against any of those young bucks coming fresh off the assembly line this year.
After all this time, I still love driving Big Red, even though I continue to have trouble with parking spots and small spaces.
Recently when I took my dad out to run errands, he proceeded to point out all five times that I managed to run over curbs - the health clinic, the post office, the dry cleaners, the credit union, and Wendy's Drive Thru.
"That's okay, don't worry about it," Bid Red whispered softly in my ear. "I'm not going anywhere; I'm in this relationship for the long haul."
💔
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| Hay Wagon Rides are Red's specialty |
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| Not to mention the annual farm auction with the hubby |
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| And Bedford Animal Hospital |
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| He's Our "Animal Control" vehicle whenever the Big White Doggies decide to roam |
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| He never seems to mind pulling our "Ewe Haul" |
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| Or me running over curbs and construction cones |
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| Nicky and Big Red: oldies but goodies. |
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| Hers and His |
