THE WEIRS TIMES, Thursday, September 30, 2010
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hensive about driving in. I really didn’t know where I was supposed to go once I was inside.I waited until a pickup truck, loaded with dump stuff, made its way through the gate and I slowly followed it in. Inside it was like a Disney
World of junk. There was a place for everything: gar- bage, old furniture, card- board, newspapers, car batteries, tires, brush and leaves and, as I expected but was still happy to see, a large bin that contained nothing but wood. I drove over and stopped
behind another pickup which was parked at the bin marked “Construction Materials”. I was a bit con- fused though. The gentle- man who owned the truck was there but he wasn’t unloading; he was actu- ally putting wood into his truck. “Some people have no
sense throwing away per- fectly good wood like this,” I heard him mutter under his breath. He turned and faced me. “Can you imagine?” he
said while shaking his head. I shook my head along
with his, a wave of embar- rassment weaving through my psyche. I didn’t dare pop my trunk, instead I studied the contents of his truck as he added more wood and something that looked like moldy roof shingles. There was an old bed frame in there as well as a rusty hot plate, something that might have been a bicycle once and a couple of things that were either old broken gar- den tools or else extremely valuable weaponry from the Middle Ages. “Got most of the good
stuff already,” he said while pointing to a small metal mountain about twenty yards away. “Still a few good items though, if you know where to look.” There were about ten
people on this pile, sifting through this tower of teta- nus like some unsuper- vised archaeological dig. “Know where there’s a
beauty of a lawn mower in that pile. Already got two at home. C’mon, I’ll show you.”
I didn’t say anything as
I followed. I didn’t dare object. He walked to one end of the pile, picked up a large hot water heater, flipped it over, reached in and there, in its glory was a rusted, dull bladed push lawn mower with a broken wheel and a rotted wood handle. “Ain’t it a beauty?” he
sighed. A tear rolled slowly down his cheek. “Sure is.” I said. He held it aloft, the other
explorers stopped in their tracks, mouths wide. He carried it to my car. “A little works all it needs,” he said, not know- ing who he was talking to. “Pop the trunk.” “I’l have to put it in the
back seat, trunk’s fulla wood,” I confessed. “Got here early didja?”
he said with a smile and a wink.
“Yup.” He threw the mower in
the back seat and shook my hand. “Don’t mention it.” I got in my car and drove
home. I couldn’t wait to show my wife what I had.
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