Danny had been interested in farming for years, and after he had saved up enough, a farm went up for sale in his home state. He obtained a loan, closed on the property, and moved to his new place.
He met his immediate neighbor right away when the older man, Clifford, saw the moving van and drove his ATV over. They chatted as they moved Danny’s belongings into the farmhouse. “I live over yonder,” said Clifford, gesturing across Danny’s west field at a home not far beyond the fence.
It wasn’t long into Danny’s time on his new farm before he noticed a strange aspect of Clifford’s routine.
Every day, right after milking his cows and feeding his chickens, Clifford would walk over to an old pickup truck—the kind with wooden slats set up on the sides of the bed—get in, fire it up, and drive it about ten feet. Then after sitting in it for a few minutes, idling the engine, he would turn off the engine, get out, and resume his farm work. Danny knew that Clifford had a much newer pickup in his garage that was functional because he’d seen Clifford make trips to and from town in that one.
At first, Danny shrugged it off as the eccentric behavior of an old man. But as the weeks went on and Clifford completed this daily ritual without fail, Danny became more and more curious. Clifford never drove the truck farther from his house than fifty feet—he simply made a loop around it, never rolling more than ten feet forward on any given day.
Finally, Danny’s curiosity got the better of him. The next time he and Clifford were near each other in their fields, he came to the fence and called out to his aged neighbor in greeting. Clifford, noticing that Danny wanted to talk, joined him.
“I have to ask you a question,” Danny said. “That old truck. I notice you drive it every day, but you don’t go very far. What’s the story there?”
Clifford grinned. “There’s a story all right. That there’s my pa’s truck. He did the same thing with it. I never paid much attention because, well, that was Pa, and it was the way of things.
“But when he left me the place, one of the last things he told me was, ‘Clifford, now you listen up. You be sure to move the old truck every day, just like I done all these years. Don’t you forget.’
“Well, I done it for a good while. Years.” Clifford lifted the brim of his hat to let the breeze pass across his sweating brow. His gaze wandered across the fields to times past. “Wanted to honor his wishes, ya know? But then I quit. Started to think it didn’t make a difference, and I’d save a bit of time if I didn’t, so why go to the trouble? So there it sat for months.”
Clifford looked back at Danny. “You can probably guess what happened next. The truck I usually used broke down and would need a new part and some real elbow grease to fix. So I needed Pa’s truck for a run to town. I went out to get her started, and the battery was dead. Not only that, but the freezes and thaws of that winter had allowed her to sink into the ground a little. Ground was frozen that day. Huge pain getting her going again.”
His eye twinkled. “How many days since then you think I’ve let her just sit there?”
Danny chuckled and said, “If I were a betting man, I’d say none.”
“You can go ahead and bet them britches, and them boots along with ’em, ’cause you’d be right.”
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