I was talking with someone the other day about a pickup I used to own. My first pickup. Husband #1 bought it to move our belonging to Colorado when he got stationed there in the Air Force. The truck was a 1968 step-side Ford F-100…the most beautiful blue with a white grill. Like many things from my younger years…I had no idea what I had and lost till many years had passed.
When I took up camping and wanted a vintage trailer, I thought a vintage truck to go with it would be grand. I don’t have a picture of my actual truck and, since the advent of the internet, I periodically search images to see if I can find one. This week, I did!
This was the coolest truck. It was truly a stripped down basic pickup. It did have a radio and a heater. Other than that, it was quite utilitarian. We drove it from West Virginia to Colorado in early April. I honestly remember nothing about that trip save for two schemes that stick out like a couple of old slides from a dusty shoebox.
The first is trying to pack all of our belongings in the truck. We had a small freezer, a washer and dryer we had accumulated. Along with our clothes. All of our household furnishings were being shipped from England and would arrive sometime after we checking into Lowry AFB and our new apartment off the base. Our wedding gifts had been stored at my parents’ house while we were living in England. We tucked those and our clothes into the freezer, fit everything else into the bed of the truck, and tied a tarp over it all.
The second memory I have is driving through a raging dust storm in Kansas. I had never seen anything like this. It was reminiscent of one of those movies we saw in school on the Dust Bowl. It was foreign and frightening. We could taste the dust in our mouths and felt the grit of sand between our teeth for days. Once we arrived at our new apartment and were emptying the truck, I remember finding fine dust and dirt in our clothes that were packed in the freezer under the tarp. It permeated everything.
We were a one vehicle family. We were so young. I was only 21, my husband 22…with a nine month old baby. I don’t remember when we got rid of the truck or what we replaced it with. I don’t really remember loving it at the time. It was just a necessary piece of equipment to me back then. Now I look back and see it as the “one that got away”.
Maybe someday I’ll run across a truck like this again. Then again…maybe memories like this are best kept just that…memories. I look at the steering wheel of vehicles from that era and there were no safety features. I think seatbelts might have even been optional. And certainly there was nothing like airbags. Once you have been in an accident where the airbags deploy, you’re pretty conscious of the need for such safety features.
For now, it’s just fun to have found a picture of the exact model and color of the truck we had. Although, if memory serves, the roof of ours might have been white.
Memory is a funny thing, isn’t it? I chatted with Husband #1 after I wrote this. I showed him the photo and he said it was close. The one we owned was 4WD. Close enough.
❤️
“I remember the days of long ago; I meditate on all your works and consider what your hands have done.”
Psalms 143:5 NIV