This lovely Ford F-150 of a mature vintage has captured my imagination. It showed up here sometime this summer and has taken up a consistent residence in the public parking area by the dam. It is a classic ride in the style of my South Dakota high school days in a harvest palette–the one I got to drive on Senior Skip Day was a pale mint green. It tugs at my memories and captures my curiosity.
When you live in a small town there may be days and days of not-all-that-much-going-on. During such a longstanding lull, a person who bears witness to the simple things day after day starts to dream stuff up to fill in the nothing. Neither accuracy nor veracity has any bearing on these fabrications, and so it is with this observation. Be warned: facts and truth were just tossed aside.
This truck is parked here night and day, and I know for certain I am not the only one noticing. My neighbors would nod right about now if they were reading this. I start to notice its absence more than its presence, and this is when I develop new theories regarding ownership, backstory, etc. Everyone can practice their deductive skills.
A pink rabbit’s foot hangs from the rear-view mirror, so the driver has a bit of superstition in his spirit. Yes, I said “he” when referencing the owner. Other than the color of the rabbit’s foot, this is a fella’s rig. Red is fugitive in sunlight, so my guess is: that foot started out crimson.
At first I was sure the truck belonged to a couple Amish kids on rumspringa–a time of greater freedoms for young adults in that community. After reconsideration of the obvious, would you spend rumspringa in New London?! Seriously. Vegas offers so much more in the areas of rum & springa.
Another theory is this is a getaway vehicle, hidden in plain sight. Renting a criminal lair in a dinky little midwestern town is not unheard of. Piles of detective novels are based on just this plot line. Who would care about such a thing? Nosy neighbors, that’s who. Specifically, a nosy, blogging neighbor with an overactive imagination.
One afternoon in late autumn, I saw the truck pull in and two young people got out–a guy & gal in their twenties–one long, plain ponytail each. They were wearing vintage military-style overcoats buttoned up tight and carrying old hardside suitcases. Very non-descript, very quiet, very under the radar. Sorta Soviet, even.
Curiosity on fire.
It is winter now. The truck remains in position. My inquisition is not resolved. Now neither is yours. Facts and truth are yet to be had; mystery surrounds us. Welcome to my neighborhood.