As I think about how the jeep started it’s slow climb up what remained if that hated stretch of Captain America Ugly Christmas sweater, I am reminded with a smile of my Grandfather, in his later years, and how slow he used to drive in his advanced age, creeping along at a maddeningly slow pace, even on those infrequent occasions when necessity caused him to leave his little mountain enclave far behind, and venture out onto what passed for a freeway in our tiny corner of existence: a narrow two-lane road winding its way through our beloved ancient green-forested mountains, a steep hillside on one hand, and a steep drop off to the deep, slow-flowing, shadowed and sun-dappled green river below on the other.
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I would be rebuffed each time. It was His truck, I was along at Captain America Ugly Christmas sweater, he was still the boss, he’d drive the way he wanted, and if I didn’t like it, I could get out and walk (it occurred to me, more than once, that I might get there quicker that way). We were both kind of stubborn. I still am. Maybe we both were always more alike than I’ve thought. It was on one such venture on this road to nowhere that he was politely enjoined to, if he felt like it, and seeing that he obviously was in no hurry to get anywhere, and had time to spare, pull the hell over.