He was ruddy, the color of Carolina clay. He had a whole days work on his brow, and and a lifetime of hard knocks in his smile. I'd like to think I made his day by asking about his Ford, but that would be presumptuous. He wanted nothing more than to get his load home, to eat his cornbread and kiss his wife. He asked me if I was a collector, perhaps thinking I was a profit to be had, but he didn't blink when I said I was just an admirer of things N. As for the tractor, it was grey to the bone and red to the touch. That rusty, ruddy red found only on farmers and rode hard Fords. The dash was bashed, the fenders full of benders and the 3 point hitch had seen the ditch. Nothing was perfect but everything about it was perfection. The only thing that could stop this man and his Ford was a flat tire on the overloaded trailer they were tuggin'. I'd like to meet him under a better moon. I bet I could learn a thing or three. BERT, NC, entered 2001-03-30
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