Victory Lap

With winter coming, there was one more short drive to take.

utting the truck away for the winter is a ritual, just as is getting it out in the spring. I don’t use the truck in the winter, one way to extend its already long life. The truck is a 1997 Ford Ranger, white with no rust. I bought it used, with a tender transmission and no gas gauge, to replace my husband’s truck, which had lasted 18 years after his death. I’ve grown to love this truck for its many uses. When I put it away in the late fall and roll the barn door shut, I know that I won’t see it again till warm weather comes. Keeping it out till the last minute is like stealing time. I like to use the truck until storm clouds carrying snow come over the hill and the first flakes start to fly.

Last November, I waited as usual, and when I felt the snow coming, I went out and started the engine. One other thing I do before I tuck it away: I take it on what I call a “victory lap” around the back field. It’s my way of saying goodbye to the field and the trees that surround it, before they take on their winter guise. And it’s also a way of celebrating one more year in the life of the truck. So I started off around the field. By this time, the ground is normally frozen or on its way to being so. But we’d just had a strange stretch of warm weather; as I approached the back of the field, the rear tires suddenly sank in and spun wildly. I put the truck in reverse and tried backing it up out of its self-dug hole. In my rear-view mirror, I could see a great spray of mud flying into the air. I went forward, which produced another fountain of mud. I did that, back and forth, mud flying, until I finally accepted that I was completely stuck, as far away from my barn as I could get. I got out to look: The truck was sunk to its axles.

Back at the house, I started making phone calls. I finally reached Brian, who plows my driveway and does many other important things for me. I sometimes call him Saint Brian. At that moment, he was busy putting his plow on for the coming storm, but said he would try to get over as soon as he could. A fine dusting had already come down, and the forecast was for a considerable accumulation. I imagined the truck stuck in the back field all winter, covered in snow and sunk in the frozen earth. That field can stay mushy sometimes into July. I felt a sadness at the thought.

I had to go to an appointment, so I held some faith that Brian could somehow liberate the truck and get it into the barn before the storm. I knew he had many things to tend to before snowfall, and many people who depend on him to keep their driveways clear. I felt stupid for taking that victory lap, for disturbing Brian from his work.

When I returned two hours later, the snow was about three inches deep and falling steadily. I didn’t see any sign of Brian and felt that he’d probably run out of time. I’d left my gloves in the truck and started to walk back through the snow to get them. As I walked past the barn, I suddenly saw faint tire tracks, now almost completely covered with new snow, leading into the barn. I peeked into the window and saw the truck safely inside, a shroud of mud weighing it down. Victory lap complete.

Edie Clark is the author of As Simple As That: Collected Essays

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