I was purging some stuff from my apartment today and dug out my "memory" bin from under my bed. I opened up my old high school comp papers and came across this little gem. Which I have no recollection of actually happening. I actually emailed my mom to find out if she remembers it.
It was the summer of 1990 and Park lake, which is the lake south of our house, was as dry as a parched desert. We had planted oats there, and they were tall, at least three and a half feet tall if they were an inch. It was the beginning of autumn and we were in the middle of harvest and my parentswere out in the lake trying to get the old green and white Ford grain truck up asteep slope out of the lake. About half way up the hill, the old truck just stopped dead in it’s tracks and just would not start.After spending about fifteen minutes trying to start it, my dad decided it would be a good idea to try and put gas in the carburetor to help it start,this might have worked another time, but it didn’t work that time and becausethe gas was near the hot engine a fire started in the truck.It was very dry and my parents Where worried about the sparks catching the prairie grasses on fire, so my dad thought quickly and tossed some dirt in the engine. This put out the fire but made it impossible to start the truck, and because they had no other vehicle they ended up having to Walk back to the house in roasting hot weather about one and a half miles on the dusty dirt roads. After they got back, they had to turn around and go right back again. I guess my parents learned from that experience becausewe quit farming the lake soon after that summer.