Brad Nelson

Shaving. Washing your face. Buying gas or diesel for the vehicles. Mowing the lawn. And, in my end of the country, dealing with goat-heads or puncture vine. These are just some things that are regular, reoccurring – and not a big deal if done regularly.

Ron was new on the job, driving a semi. Sleeper team – he was the junior driver. He came to a stop sign, stopped and, when traffic was clear, he gave the truck a little throttle and eased off of the clutch.

Flack. Harassment. Annoyance. Utter disbelief. Face-making accompanied by head-scratching. Occasional profanity. Threats of bodily harm.

In the summer of 1964, shortly after graduating from high school, I was working at a dairy farm near Nampa, Idaho. The owner decided to get his hay from Fairfield, Idaho, hauled in by a smaller trucking outfit, which was relatively new on the scene and struggling.

Different is OK. For instance, I like to see how many years and miles I can get out of a pickup (my current 12-year-old rig has almost 326,000 miles and 99 percent of everything still works), but I know a fellow who must have a new pickup every year.

One of my best friends shared with me that his wife cannot understand his need to explore junkyards. His idea of a nice afternoon, and mine too, is having a couple of hours to explore a new junkyard. His own, he calls his “boneyard.”