To really understand this story you'd have to have known my dad, and to REALLY understand this story you'd have to be one of his kids.

 The old man was a product of the depression and the prairies, he never threw anything away, and he bought as much crap as he could at garage sales... that's why everything he owned was crap, and why nothing ever quite worked right. Dad lived by many simple axioms, but the ones this story centre around are " If they're giving things away free a fellow shouldn't go short" and "If I hadn't taken it... some unscrupulous bastard would've stolen it"

Now the old man couldn't pass up a bargain, and he sure as hell couldn't pass up anything free. He was discerning, don't get me wrong, he wouldn't take it if he didn't think he had a use for it... might have a use for it.. once had a use for it.. might somehow, someday have a use for it...KNEW someone who had a use for it.. might have a.. you get the idea. He wasn't above risking his job over it either.. he was an elementary school principal.. damn good one too by all accounts.. but couldn't afford scandal.. so when he did things like this, it had an even more real sense of danger.

One day... I guess I was about 14 or 15.. a nice, eager-to-please fellow, kinda naive, kinda dozy.. basically trusting. Unlike my siblings I was utterly unable to say no to my dad.. if there was work to be done I'd be the one he called.. and I was the one who ended up nearly getting killed more times than I care to remember.. Anyway.. one day I was at home, it was a weekend in the summer, dad was out somewhere and drove urgently into the yard "Get the pitchfork!" he yelled as he jumped from the truck. I didn't question.. I just ran to the barn.. obviously something was afoot, and adventure of some kind.. I emerged from the barn with the pitchfork (The barn is an entire other story) tossed it in the back of the truck and hopped in, he spun gravel as he backed out of the driveway and we tore down 216 Street as he crashed through the gears of our '52 Chevy pickup.

It was green, brush painted, rattled, rust holes, 25 years of hard, hard use and no maintenance.. bought as a bargain (as you might have guessed..) I guess THAT'S a whole other story too.. suffice to say it was an improvement on the previous truck.

We tore down the road at the old girl's top speed, about 60 mph. he gripped the wheel with white knuckles and ground the gears with twitching hands.. he was grinning.. the sky was darkly overcast.. threatening rain, it was humid, mid-summer.. we were on our way to adventure.. the excitement was contagious. "What's up??" I asked.. intrigued by the grin on his face.

"A hay truck lost it's load in the curves on 16 avenue, hay bales from hell to breakfast!" he grinned, "Wouldn't want them ruined by the rain" he giggled "Best get them before some unscrupulous bastard steals them "

We laughed, the mile and a half ticked by quickly and we were on the scene.. about 20 hay bales lay there, unguarded, half of them had burst, they were strewn on the side of the road like a dazed herd of gazelle.. helpless.. easy pickings.. we were the lions. descending on them to gorge ourselves.

It was glorious, giggling, in a kind of blood lust we tossed free hay into the back of the truck, we had to work quickly lest we get caught. In a trice the bales were in the back, but the old man didn't stop.. he seized the pitchfork in a frenzy and began tossing great forkfuls onto the load, I helped as best I could by grabbing armfuls and tossing them on top...the pile grew.. and grew.. More than once I wondered how the hell we were gonna get this all home, there was no way on earth it was gonna ride, it would be off the back of the truck and strewn along 216 street before we were halfway home....

But I knew my dad.... HE'D have a plan..

We got the last of it on.. a great domed haystack a foot higher than the cab.. loose hay spilling off the sides.. panting.. gasping.. sweating we grinned at each other as the first drops of rain began to fall...
If you know anything about farming you know that rain and hay don't mix.. mold, mildew, spontaneous combustion to name a few reasons. Anyway, the urgency level went way up at that point.. I looked expectantly at him and said "How the hell are we gonna get all this home??" I waited expectantly for his mouth to open, for wisdom to flow from the smartest man in the world.. for the revelation.. for. the answer.

His face fell a bit....
"Jesus.. it DOES look a mite unstable doesn't it..."
But his face lit up quickly... "Climb on up there and lay on top.. I'll take it easy on the way home"

OK... I'll admit.. I was a trusting.. earnest ..naive guy.. who wanted nothing more than to please his dad.. who was unable to say no... maybe I was a bit of a dumbshit too..... But I climbed up onto that stack, and reached my arms out, gripping the drip rails on the sides of the cab.. chin resting on the roof....What I was doing slowly beginning to dawn on me.....

Too late.. the truck was in gear and we were moving.. my mind began to race.. how many turns?? (two) jesus.. he said he'd go easy didn't he??.. it had been spattering rain before, now it was starting to actually rain....The truck picked up speed...
Half a mile... first turn.. not too bad so far... a fleeting feeling of hope...as the tires turned  he nailed the throttle, the load shifted six inches, my sphincter puckered like an old woman eating a lemon.. now we were on 216 street, a straight run for a mile.. my fingers were already losing feeling where the tips.. the very tips ...were gripping the drip rail..

CHRIST ALMIGHTY!!!  we were through the gears and it was raining in earnest now..the speed of the truck making the raindrops hit my face like .303 bullets.. my hair plastered back and my body floating a bit as we hit bumps (not a hell of a lot of springs left after 25 years and half a ton of hay)I hesitate to think what it all must've looked like to pedestrians...green truck,engine bellowing,  madman hunched over the wheel with staring eyes and set jaw.. haystack on the back with young wide-eyed man spread eagled on top like something out of a Warner Brothers cartoon... all of this flashing past at what seemed like the speed of sound. Maybe after we passed my screams followed us like a ghostly reminder.. I dunno....

I guess he was being merciful.. we were going fast enough that if I had lost my grip I would've died quickly and relatively painlessly.. he always was a caring man.. then the last turn.. taken on two wheels I swear..my eyes tightly shut I keened the Ross prayer..."OOOOOOOHHHJEEEEEEZUS!" Then.... it was over as suddenly as it had begun,  into the yard...brakes squealing, gears protesting,  Mother, standing on the porch NOT looking impressed with it all..as we backed around to the barn door.

I lay there.. gasping.. dazed, amazed to be alive, thanking god..(A god  that was never admitted to in our family)  Incredulous..gratefully drinking in sweet lungfuls of hay-scented air...

"FOR CHRIST'S SAKE...  GET THAT SHIT UNLOADED!!!! IT'S GETTING WET!!!!

 he always was such a caring man...
 
 

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