Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Thursday, February 26, 2015

Parked

Ha! Parked.
Driving is important.
At least when you live on a ranch a million miles from anywhere.
And it happened early.
Driving, I mean.
As soon as I was able to reach the pedals on the tractor and still hold onto the steering wheel,  I was driving. Mowing. Baling. Stacking. There were lots of reasons to perch me up on 'the beast' and start the engine.
But on a tractor, I had the entire field to turn around in. And on the Stringam ranch, the fields were . . . large.
Just FYI.
At the age of twelve, I graduated to the pickup.
Again, I was limited to travelling in the fields and doing ranch work but I was still driving.
And in control . . . more or less, as I made wide turns about the fields.
On to my story . . .
One morning, bright and early, I decided to go for a ride.
I don't know why.
It was spring.
I'm an idiot.
Take your pick.
Anyways . . .
Because I was still a fairly new driver and driving was still a treat, and because I was basically  lazy, I decided to take the pickup to the far corral where my horse, Peanuts was currently residing.
All went well.
I drove there and parked, spent an hour or so riding in the early morning sunshine, and drove back to the ranch house.
And that's where it all went so very wrong.
I should probably mention that I had gone riding really early. By the time I returned, everyone was still in dreamland.
And remember where I said that I was only accustomed to maneuvering in large spaces?
Well, that would apply here.
I drove carefully up to the carport situated, by the by, directly beneath my parent's bedroom.
And very, very carefully drove into it.
And I do mean 'into'.
Crunch.
Oops.
Frantically, I backed up.
And clipped the pillar again.
I tried to straighten out and hit it a third time.
The truck just kept getting more and more . . . crooked.
Stupid machine. This was going nowhere fast.
And suddenly, standing there in a shaft of early morning light looking like the avenging God of Sleep(lessness), was my father.
Now I should explain to you that my Dad always wears pajamas. Nicely pressed, matching, button-up top with trousers (that Mom cuts off just below the knee and neatly hems).
They are quite a sight.
But I digress . . .
At this time, I only vaguely noted his light green PJ's.
Because Dad. Wasn't. Happy.
I let the engine die.
We stared at each other.
"What the hell is going on here?!" Okay, he's a rancher. Sometimes they say 'hell'.
But only when really perturbed. Oddly enough, it's usually when I'm around.
"It's okay. I can fix it!"
"Diane, get out of the truck!"
"I can fix it, Dad!"
He just looked at me. I knew that look. I'd seen it before.
A few times.
I climbed sheepishly out of the truck and moved towards him.
"What on earth are you doing? You almost shook me right out of my bed!"
"Umm . . . I went for a ride."
"In the truck?"
"Well, Peanuts is clear over . . ."
"I know where Peanuts is."
"Well, I drove over there and went for a ride."
"At five o'clock in the morning?"
"Well, yes."
"Get in the house."
One never moves faster than when avoiding fallout. I knew this from past experience. I disappeared in a heartbeat.
Dad surveyed the damage. There were a couple of 'bruises' on one of the carport supports and a dent in the truck door. (Which popped out later when Dad went to get the mail and slammed the door.)
So the damage was relatively minor if you don't count lost sleep.
Which Dad does.
Sigh.
I want you to know that I did learn to drive.
For real.
But I'll always remember that first time. And my Dad in his PJ's.
Some things you just never forget. 

10 comments:

  1. I grew up in a house at the end of a very long, narrow driveway. The only way to get back out was to do a sort of backwards u-turn. And my parents had HUGE cars. A time or two I left tire marks on the edge of our neighbors grass - until they put big rocks along the border. You can imagine what happened next! My poor father pounded out a lot of dents!

    ReplyDelete
  2. i can see him standing there glaring at you...smoke coming out of his ears, sparks shooting from his eyes. Still...you lived through it...couldn't have been TOO bad. Could it?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You're right. My record for getting past my Dad's anger is 100%. He's still scary, though! :)

      Delete
  3. Nothing good comes of getting up that early!

    ReplyDelete
  4. I never learned to drive a car, but I did ride a motor bike. Much easier to park, since it wasn't much wider than myself.
    Your dad seems very forgiving, in spite of being woken so early by several crunching noises.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yeah. I had my motorbike days as well. Loved those days . . .
      Stern but forgiving. That describes my Dad whenever one of us kids did anything untoward. Which was often.

      Delete
  5. I remember my daughter's first time driving. We all went out for a drive her, hubby and I. I was in the backseat and hubby was "instructing" while I held on for dear life. The ride is over and we are back at home pulling into the driveway when she pulls into quickly and slams the side of her father's truck, right in the driver's door. He was none to happy!

    ReplyDelete
  6. Nothing wrong with going out for a ride real early. Nothing wrong with taking the truck either. What you did wrong was get caught. That rarely turns out well, LOL!
    I wish I had known you back then. Sounds like you were so much fun.

    ReplyDelete

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