I’m drawn to the 74 Chevy. I think nothing of hanging out with a horse or dog but I have rarely hung out with such a venerable old farm truck. I visited him again today. I think the 74 Chevy is proud. I love the idea that he needs nothing. And that the price is “firm.” I asked the gas station owner if the price was really firm, and he said yes, it was pretty firm. This truck is in great shape, he said, and is a find. He’s worked on it himself, and can speak for every plug. The truck has great cred, and proves that aging is partly a state of mind. The gas station owner says the truck will ride again, and has plenty of good hard work in him. If I had $3,000 and Maria wouldn’t strangle me, I’d go for it.

The truck seems to refuse to be defined by others, or take senior discounts for coffee at Dunkin Donuts, I bet. He doesn’t dye his hood. He will buy his own coffee. I met a neat man tonight and he told me he thought my coming to the farm was  heroic. It’s not the word I would use. But his saying it reminded me how frightening coming here was, how much trouble it caused me and my family and how frightened I was to be here. It reminded me that we have to take chances in life if we are to be fulfilled, to come where we are meant to come, do what we are meant to do. Life is not to be wasted by fighting, moving to Washington, going to New York City cocktail parties, living in uptight and antiseptic suburbs. Or by downsizing your life to meet the shrinking expectations of other people. Life is to be treasured, savored every day, and not squandered in fear and hostility and complaint.

I’ve written seven books here, taken thousands of photographs, met the woman I love and given rebirth to life here. Even closing in on the spiritual path I have long sought. I am no hero, for sure. But living your life is heroic. Like the 74 Chevy.