Okay, you see that little maroon pickup truck behind my larger than life husband? That is Pop's pickup truck. We inherited it after he died at age 92. Today, we sold it to a pastor who is shipping it to Haiti where it will become a taxicab.
Pop had amazing cheekbones. His skin was the color of soft leather, and he walked and rode a tractor most every day of his life. Before the simple pickup truck, there was a Lincoln Continental, which was one of the first cars I ever drove. It had a speedometer with a horizontal orange line that grew longer the faster you went -- kind of like the blue bar that extends as you download something onto your computer. It also had an 8 track player, which meant that I spent gobs of time at the thrift store buying nickel 8 tracks. Then, one fateful night, I parked it in a dark lot on Southside, and after returning to it in an altogether tilted state of mind, I found that it was no longer there. My friends told me to wait until morning, when I would remember where I had REALLY parked it. Morning came, empty of any revelations pertaining to the REAL space in the REAL lot in which I had parked the Continental. The same Continental that my friends once (only temporarily) had stolen from me to go midnight spelunking. The same Continental that many times I had driven in circles around Lake Purdy. The same Continental that every single time had floated down the asphalt like a wide yellow raft on smooth black water. I loved that car.
If you ever find yourself traveling through Troy, Alabama, whether in a pickup truck, a Lincoln Continental, or a Toyota Prius, please take a moment to stop by the Pioneer Museum. It was founded by my grandparents, and my grandfather (Pop) was always there, every day, even on Christmas.
Curren and Margaret Farmer
Pioneer Museum of Alabama
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