Truck

I was surprised by the way people congratulate me on my new truck—yes, your truck is your baby upstate—shall I give out cigars saying, "It's a Ford," a 2006 F-150  with 19,000 miles on it that is clean inside and out.  The color is called Arizona something or other and it is practical around the farm; it is a metallic hue that you don't have to wash often, it is the color of a dusty road. 

I got the truck for the power it gives me rather than the mileage it gets.  Under the hood are 300 hungry horses which can handily pull a trailer full of lazy sheep.

The box is almost three times larger than my pick-up truck with the cap on; it is an easy step up to the bed and I can stand inside the box.  Nevermore will I crawl into the back of a truck on all fours to load and unload it. 

And now I have room to bring the garlic that we harvested in July to market.  The revenue from the garlic should help pay for the truck.  The garlic grew in compost where the sheep overwintered the year before last: the cloves are sharp, strong and very good voodoo.