Our weekend adventure rejuvenated me. The natural beauty and suprises in the great outdoors are good for the soul! Well, particularly when accompanied by a good visit with family.
After we had ventured through Muir Woods, we drove the winding roads along the coast and through state parks to the marine reserve, our conversation turned to how we learned to drive. My uncle revealed his first memory of driving on the farm. It all started on the back 80 (acres) when my grandfather put the truck into first and let him drive it back to house with strict instructions to shut the key off as he approached the house. Of course, he could not touch the pedals. My memories were similar. Dad would let the pickup roll forward in the lowest gear before jumping out, and then all I had to do was steer while he threw hay off to the livestock. Generations learning to drive on the family farm.
And the scariest part...we survived. More than survived probably...why else can I drive my big ol' rig around proficiently?
Speaking of big rigs...please indulge me one more memory. When I was a young girl, I visited my uncle's job site in Gillette, WY where the equipment is giant-sized. I remember sitting in a one of those giant haul trucks. I like to think it was my uncle that lifted me up, so I could clamor up the steps. Equipment operation is his forte. I suspect through the years there isn't much he hasn't operated. I remember occasionally hearing comments from people who had worked with my uncle through the years that he could drive anything. I am sure this is true, but now I know he can ride anywhere too..even with me at the wheel!
And he survived...again.
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