car, you have been abused in the name of farming. for years you have helped me on my trips to and from farm to school, farm to home, all over this big state in the name of getting muddy, dusty, and all the in-betweens.
at the beginning, you were my gleaning mobile. never did i leave home without you packed with harvest bins, five-gallon buckets, and paper bags. i had a list and phone numbers, and i used them. found all those fruit trees unpicked, those fields left un-harvested, and we ran around, redistributed, found joy.
for years, i’ve thrown my muddy boots on your upolstered floors, industrial sized bags of salad mix picked up and brought to schools to turn into a salad for three hundred little mouths.
when we tended to the pigs up on that wind-swept hill, you carted around the big blue food drums, filled with fly infested, gooey composting veggies. score 1 for the pigs, 0 smelly car.
now, it’s hay bales and celery root piled floor to ceiling. future car, you will be delivering my own crops to school district kitchens, and who knows where else. here’s to more, more miles, my dear (farm) car.