There she is, a 1963 Ford Falcon station wagon… complete with wood on the sides.
I don’t have to tell you this was more than slightly mortifying to a teenager. The Falcon was a lot of things, but cool wasn’t one of them.
That picture was taken in the late eighties… judging from the head to toe acid washed denim… and yes, my mother was still driving her. She grew up in NYC where no one in her era drove or even bothered to learn. The woman got her first license when she moved to the suburbs at age 40 right before I was born and didn’t enjoy it. She was a nervous and overly cautious motorist and never felt comfortable behind the wheel. She learned to drive in that Falcon and it was literally the only car she ever drove her entire life.
It had vacuum wipers, no seatbelts, an am radio, a manual choke and by the time I drove her? A top speed of 51 before she started to rattle so badly you had to slow down. It was a good thing we lived on the Island because the old girl would never have tolerated a highway.
On an overcast and dreary day, my husband went out back to battle the trees.
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If you remember, we planted 6 trees in the north forty 2 years ago. Four maples and two cherries. The maples are thriving, the cherries are dead… thanks in no small part to the deer who apparently see cherry wood and think “snack time”!
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Dry and brittle, my husband thought it would be a simple thing to rip them out of the ground.
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He was mistaken.
Our miserable backyard clay was not letting go.
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He pulled, he tugged, he dug, and finally resorted to sawing them down.