The first ol’ truck father bought was made of steel, rode rough and was a two-wheel drive. It was bought secondhand, in a rusty, faded green with a rattling tail-gate that rattled running boards that sagged. It was tough.

The second ol’ truck was similar to the first one, except it was called a four-wheel drive because not only could it pull using the rear wheels, but also the front wheels could be engaged providing the extra traction needed to climb out of and over gravel pits, rock piles and mud holes. There was a lot of pulling and climbing on the farm; tree stumps, wagons, animals stuck in mud holes. This truck was larger, tougher and more comfortable.

The third ol’ truck was the same as the second, except the paint was brighter, less dings and scratches and the box was covered with a ‘cap,’ so we didn’t have to clean the snow out of the box in the winter.

Father bought the fourth truck when the transmission went in the third one and it cost more to repair then it was worth. A snowplow came with this one, and this was good. We were now able to open up the roads around the farm buildings and this made life a little easier. We were also getting to an age where we were making more friends and we could plow the farm pond for skating parties. Life was a little easier and we had time for a little more fun. Father said the payments were harder to come by but he thought the truck would last until it was paid for.

When the fifth ol’ truck was needed, it cost much more, so he didn’t get the cap or the plow with it, but it served us well as we were becoming older now and could help more on the farm.

The sixth ol’ truck was bigger and had a plow. The cap was too expensive, so we built a cover out of wood which served its purpose and kept the box free of snow. As we were older, we took over some of the labor on the farm and father lived a little easier.

The seventh ol’ truck had a plow, a cap, and what was known as an extended cab. We could then all go together and we thought this was great, but it cost so much to run the truck, we couldn’t afford to go many places after all.

The eighth ol’ truck came when we had grown and were mostly out on our own and father was getting along in years, but he enjoyed the new truck as it was bigger and had everything except a hitch, winch and grill guard, which were later acquired as gifts for holidays, birthdays and the like.

As the truck aged, he did. He died and the truck was traded for a small, compact pickup with only a two-wheel drive. As they say, history repeats itself and it starts all over again.

Bernard Michaud is a resident of Presque Isle.