Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Going to the Dickens
Driving through a blinding rainstorm this week reminded me of the day we “went to the Dickens” during the summer of 1946.
Daddy’s brother, Charlie Gunn, lived near the little town of Dickens, maybe 60 miles southeast of Flomot, a long trip in the old ‘28 Buick pickup. You’ve never heard of a Buick pickup? Let me fill you in.
When he bought the Buick, it was a convertible, somewhat past its prime. On the farm, he needed a way to haul stuff, so replaced the turtle--or rumble-seat or whatever was on the rear--with a small wooden bed. Then a year or so later, he took the whole body off and installed a pickup cab that was wider than the frame. I have no idea how he made it work, but Daddy was a very inventive guy. He built a larger wooden bed with short sideboards but no fenders, which was where all five kids usually rode.
We spent Father’s Day with Uncle Charlie, Aunt Dove and their family, then started the long trek back home. Nearing Matador, we met a storm that included hail, and Daddy found a service station where he parked until the hail subsided. Then onward to adventure.
The road north to Turkey was paved, but west toward Flomot it was hardly even graveled. For about ten miles, the rear tires without fenders threw mud on the already sodden passengers in the pickup bed. Instead of a disaster, we considered it uproariously funny. Arriving home well after dark, we jumped in the horse tank at the windmill to wash off as much mud as possible, bringing the memorable day to a close–The Day We Went to the Dickens.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
Daddy’s brother, Charlie Gunn, lived near the little town of Dickens, maybe 60 miles southeast of Flomot, a long trip in the old ‘28 Buick pickup. You’ve never heard of a Buick pickup? Let me fill you in.
When he bought the Buick, it was a convertible, somewhat past its prime. On the farm, he needed a way to haul stuff, so replaced the turtle--or rumble-seat or whatever was on the rear--with a small wooden bed. Then a year or so later, he took the whole body off and installed a pickup cab that was wider than the frame. I have no idea how he made it work, but Daddy was a very inventive guy. He built a larger wooden bed with short sideboards but no fenders, which was where all five kids usually rode.
We spent Father’s Day with Uncle Charlie, Aunt Dove and their family, then started the long trek back home. Nearing Matador, we met a storm that included hail, and Daddy found a service station where he parked until the hail subsided. Then onward to adventure.
The road north to Turkey was paved, but west toward Flomot it was hardly even graveled. For about ten miles, the rear tires without fenders threw mud on the already sodden passengers in the pickup bed. Instead of a disaster, we considered it uproariously funny. Arriving home well after dark, we jumped in the horse tank at the windmill to wash off as much mud as possible, bringing the memorable day to a close–The Day We Went to the Dickens.
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
