Last week we needed to move a heavy limestone bench to a part of our property that hasn't seen a truck for a few years.
As you can see, we got the truck there anyway.
It was the kind of thing my dad would have loved. He got a kick out of pushing his vehicles and equipment past their reasonable limits.
Legend has it that once he snowplowed most of a large parking lot in his little jeep with only two gears - 2nd and reverse. Or maybe it was just reverse. [This is how legends happen. Dads do crazy things and over time their kids forget how things really happened but we keep telling the story as if we actually remember what happened in all its glorious detail. Folklore in action.]
And then there was the time that we took the van to Willow Slough in northwestern Indiana and Dad drove through what I am sure was miles of flooded road. In the van. With water up to the floorboards [but not high enough to get inside the van. I think.] I was sure we'd float away any minute.
My sisters have even better stories to tell, I'm sure.
Last week we channeled Dad and drove the big truck down this very narrow path through the brambles and roses and past some baby dogwoods that I've been wanting to get to be big dogwoods....
...and down this path under some very low hanging branches, which got caught in the ladders on the top of the truck....
The truck just barely fit, but fit it did.
The bench looks nice here. And Dad would have laughed at me for being worried about the truck.
He'd have grinned at me and said, 'What were you worried about? Doncha trust me?'
And he'd have teased me for the rest of the day.
But maybe he'd have gotten up early the next morning to come sit here and watch the squirrels and deer in the early morning mist.