As I sifted through the various bits and pieces of steel, I saw years and years of memories for people past associated with each piece. There is an old set of tractor discs that has probably cultivated the gardens and fields of the pastures in the Rose Hill area of town. (By the way, I did not miss-spell Rose Hill. It is actually two words and not one. Ask the old timers and they will set you straight.)

There next to the discs are several pieces of rebar that look like they had been cut to length for a single wire electric fence. That looks like parts of an old wagon hitch over there and that part may be an old vehicle body. Each and every piece of stuff that is in this pile has to carry some kind of memory for somebody. Honk, honk, honk, honk…

I don’t care what you have at your home regarding junk, you will probably agree that memories are associated with most of it. How about that one special drawer you have in your kitchen. The one that is supposed to be the kitchen “tool drawer.” How many magnets do you have in that drawer that have been given to you by the kids or grandkids as a gift? How about the number of old ball point pens that you may have picked up from a business that closed down years and years ago, but you remember shopping there? There is that old movie ticket stub from many years ago when you and your favorite person went to a show together. Honk, honk, honk, honk.

Being able to enter a man’s junk area is kind of a private matter. Some men find soul-searching moments while they are near their junk. That piece of wood over there was part of a hobby horse I made for my children. That piece of angle iron in the corner came off my Daddy’s first truck he ever bought brand new. That old rusted car rim that is half sunk into the ground came off my first car, and so on.

When we get near our junk, a connection of life’s memories begin to enter our minds and the fleeting moment can take us back to moments in time that can be both good and bad. I still have an old sheep’s wool pad that I was using to buff our old 1985 Chrysler Fifth Avenue on the day I got the call to come to the hospital to see my dad just hours before he left this world.

The family that owns the junk pile I was walking in is probably a combination of the Krahn and Triechel family with maybe a little Schultz mixed in. Honk, honk honk, honk.

We had gone over to my Aunt Florence’s house for a family get-together when we suddenly learned that Cousin Lisa had locked her car keys in her car. Honk, honk, honk, honk. As we all began wondering how we were going to get the door open, Cousin-in-Law David stepped up to the plate and began trying his hand at breaking and entering by prying the driver’s door back just enough to get a steel rod inside the car to try and push the electric lock open to cause the car to unlock when you guessed it, honk, honk, honk, honk. He set the car alarm off.

It was extremely annoying, but there was nothing to be done. After a minute or two of honking, the car would then cut itself off and the alarm would re-set itself. The steel rod he had was just short of getting the job done, so I set off across the yard to look for another type of material to use when I came upon the junk pile. I found a couple of good samplings, but none worked.

As I wandered through the pile I began to reminisce of years past in that very yard of childhood memories of foot races between my dad, Kathleen and Shirley. There is also the infamous chicken coop that used to house the family stash of combination chickens and game boards. Yes, they had special storage in the chicken coop for the games that could not be stored inside the home because of space issues. All of my memories about the place are pleasant memories.

As David continued to work on the car, the family gathered to begin serving the evening meal. Several times the car alarm was set off and David tried and tried to get the car open. Soon you could tell from the expression on his face that he decided he was in for the long haul and he would have pitched a tent overnight until he got the thing open.

Finally, after numerous tries and numerous interruptions of honking, he succeeded. Way to go, David! Thank you, Lisa, but you don’t have to do a repeat next year! You both gave me many more lifetime memories for The Book of Clifford.

Clifford

Comments (0)

Subscribe to this comment's feed