BRAD FISHER
I'm new to the industry, got my start hauling in grain for the neighbor who farms a bunch more than me. After getting the hang of the big things, I knew I wanted one. My wife thought I was nuts at age fifty-eight , starting a new career of sorts, but an old International day cab had my name written all over it. I thought so anyway.
My first load was a near disaster, ruining a trailer tire backing into a building where I was to be loaded. Tire and rim constituted the profit I originally calculated and was only half done finishing the load with three o'clock in the afternoon a few minutes away. Twenty miles into the 300 left to go it started to snow, traffic slowed to a fast crawl and the four hour respit I had planned dwindled to zero. Contract said be there at two AM and I was going to make it come heck or horrible snow. Made it but was informed of a four hour wait for testing of product on my load. Just tired old me and my day cab and four hours to wait. Long story short, I lived through it and broke even. Halellujah.
My second load turned out to be a disaster also but of a much different nature. You the reader are at the jist of this document. I hauled organic oats to a very nice Amish family in southern Iowa. The man was prepared for me, his unloading machinery oiled, tightened and tested, an aging ear corn elevater. It was just another load for me while a big deal for him, six months feed for his dairy herd. The hour to unload proved a thoroughly enjoyable wait as the farmer and I shot the breeze watching the elevater fill his bin. Farmer to farmer type talk.
It was December 23rd, the Amish school was clearly in sight of the farmsight where my load of oats found it's home ,and I realized that something, the Christmas play, was gearing up at that school. Black buggys, each drawn by a spirited beautiful horse, began showing up in force in the schoolyard with families piling out all dressed in traditional Amish dressed-up type clothes as I pulled out on the road toward them and home. To me, the sight was of true beauty, whole families with smiles on their faces piling out of those black carriages ready to participate or audience the Christmas play. As I slowly passed the schoolhouse the little boys in the yard gave me the old "honk your big horn" motion with their arms, all in unison. It seemed 19th century looking face to face with the 21st through a pane of glass, each of us smiling with the spirit of the season cheering us on.
As I passed the school I noticed another buggy just coming over the hill toward me and the school with a semi tractor and lo-boy trailer right behind , and the juvenile driving the rig was anything but patient with the people and the buggy. The horse pulling the buggy was clearly frightened to the point of bolting from the truck's huge growling motor and sheer size. I thought I was about to witness a Christmas to forget for those poor Amish people as they passed me with fear in their faces, a blemish aready on their Christmas play. As soon as he could, the child driving the big rig tore around the buggy, leaving dust and disgust in his wake. The family had a mere hundred yards to the driveway to the school yet the child in the truck couldn't wait.
Child in the truck, you should hang your head. You are the face of raw prejudice. You are a child, not ready to be in public and here you are, driving a huge truck, with no regard for the people in front of you. I could go on but you are not yet worth the keystrokes, you've some growing up to do and I'm going to hit the rack on this beautiful Christmas Eve. It just made me hurt so inside to see what you did. So I write. Merry Christmas to those Amish. Merry Christmas to the child in that big truck too. That's what the Amish would do.
My first load was a near disaster, ruining a trailer tire backing into a building where I was to be loaded. Tire and rim constituted the profit I originally calculated and was only half done finishing the load with three o'clock in the afternoon a few minutes away. Twenty miles into the 300 left to go it started to snow, traffic slowed to a fast crawl and the four hour respit I had planned dwindled to zero. Contract said be there at two AM and I was going to make it come heck or horrible snow. Made it but was informed of a four hour wait for testing of product on my load. Just tired old me and my day cab and four hours to wait. Long story short, I lived through it and broke even. Halellujah.
My second load turned out to be a disaster also but of a much different nature. You the reader are at the jist of this document. I hauled organic oats to a very nice Amish family in southern Iowa. The man was prepared for me, his unloading machinery oiled, tightened and tested, an aging ear corn elevater. It was just another load for me while a big deal for him, six months feed for his dairy herd. The hour to unload proved a thoroughly enjoyable wait as the farmer and I shot the breeze watching the elevater fill his bin. Farmer to farmer type talk.
It was December 23rd, the Amish school was clearly in sight of the farmsight where my load of oats found it's home ,and I realized that something, the Christmas play, was gearing up at that school. Black buggys, each drawn by a spirited beautiful horse, began showing up in force in the schoolyard with families piling out all dressed in traditional Amish dressed-up type clothes as I pulled out on the road toward them and home. To me, the sight was of true beauty, whole families with smiles on their faces piling out of those black carriages ready to participate or audience the Christmas play. As I slowly passed the schoolhouse the little boys in the yard gave me the old "honk your big horn" motion with their arms, all in unison. It seemed 19th century looking face to face with the 21st through a pane of glass, each of us smiling with the spirit of the season cheering us on.
As I passed the school I noticed another buggy just coming over the hill toward me and the school with a semi tractor and lo-boy trailer right behind , and the juvenile driving the rig was anything but patient with the people and the buggy. The horse pulling the buggy was clearly frightened to the point of bolting from the truck's huge growling motor and sheer size. I thought I was about to witness a Christmas to forget for those poor Amish people as they passed me with fear in their faces, a blemish aready on their Christmas play. As soon as he could, the child driving the big rig tore around the buggy, leaving dust and disgust in his wake. The family had a mere hundred yards to the driveway to the school yet the child in the truck couldn't wait.
Child in the truck, you should hang your head. You are the face of raw prejudice. You are a child, not ready to be in public and here you are, driving a huge truck, with no regard for the people in front of you. I could go on but you are not yet worth the keystrokes, you've some growing up to do and I'm going to hit the rack on this beautiful Christmas Eve. It just made me hurt so inside to see what you did. So I write. Merry Christmas to those Amish. Merry Christmas to the child in that big truck too. That's what the Amish would do.