Roy Likes His Fords.

Roy has a farm up in Shelburne.

Well, it used  to be a farm.  Now it’s turned a corner to become something else.  Maybe it’s a dream which didn’t last; maybe it’s a damned lot of work come grinding to a halt.

At any rate, it’s a piece of the world with a story to tell.

I’m sorry that I don’t really know that story, but grateful that I can therefore insert my own happy details.  Like those bountiful harvests, and Roy teaching his children how it’s done, and old fashioned holidays spent together around an old fashioned hearth.

And how Roy always bought Fords, ’cause their trucks were good for the money, never let him down.

So OK, the family “story” is a wild-ass guess.

But the Ford part is real, and I have pictures to prove it.

One of many Ford torsos come to rest in a steep pasture:

… and on the ridge above it, a still-proud F-600:

I bet she still runs (plates on her, and tires better than mine) and did a buttload of work in her day.  She’s a dumper don’tcha know, though her dump body is long gone:

This place straddles a ridge of meadow and is slowly tumbling toward the valleys on either side; the barn at right lost its southerly extension this past winter, and the rest of it has seen better years.

One wonders how long it will be until farms like this are no longer a part of our local world, given that the only constants are change and a hope that it will be in the right direction.

I guess we’ll have to wait and see about that.

Thanks to Elliot for his honest (if not always factual) rendering of what I saw up at Roy’s place.