The Stories Our Vehicles Carry

[PHOTO: Full, uncropped photograph of the red truck sitting in the freshly mowed back

I had just finished mowing the lawn.

The grass was freshly cut, the sun was shining, and there was my shiny red pickup truck sitting against all that beautiful summer green.

I looked across the yard and thought:

That’s a picture.

Maybe that’s the photographer in me.

You can look at something hundreds—or thousands—of times. Then the light hits it a certain way, the surroundings come together, and suddenly you don’t just look at it.

You see it.

So I grabbed the photograph.

But then I started thinking about the truck itself.

I’ve driven it. I’ve hauled things in it. I’ve used it for work around the house. It’s gotten dirty. It’s gotten cleaned up. It’s needed maintenance. It’s accumulated miles.

And, of course, it’s carried dogs.

It’s been part of our family for years.

And looking at it sitting there in my backyard made me wonder:

How many stories can one vehicle carry?

When we first get a car or truck, we tend to think about the vehicle itself.

The price.

The mileage.

The engine.

The features.

The color.

Maybe even that wonderful new-car smell. FYI- I love that new smell…I can literally sit in a brand new car and breathe it in and feel my blood pressure coming down and relaxing me. Don’t you ever feel that way?

But keep a vehicle long enough and something changes.

It starts carrying more than people and cargo.

It starts carrying memories.

And in my case, quite a few of those memories have four paws.

There’s Freedom, sitting in the truck and looking perfectly pleased with herself.

Every time I look at this photograph, I smile.

There’s something about a dog looking out of a vehicle window that changes the entire picture.

Suddenly, it isn’t really a photograph of a truck anymore.

It’s a photograph of going somewhere together.

That’s what our vehicles become.

They’re there for the ordinary Tuesday trip to the store.

They’re there when the dog realizes we’re going somewhere and suddenly becomes VERY interested in whatever we’re doing.

They’re there for Sunday drives.

They’re there when we haul something we’re absolutely convinced will never fit—and somehow make it fit anyway.

They’re there for the people who regularly occupy the passenger seat.

They’re there for the first scratch that makes us crazy and, eventually, the scratches we barely notice anymore.

They’re there for the maintenance, too.

Years ago, this particular truck even made a visit to Competition Imports for some decidedly unglamorous automotive necessities—an oil change and, if my memory serves me correctly, a New York State inspection.

Nothing dramatic.

No heroic mechanical rescue.

Just the everyday business of taking care of a vehicle so it can keep doing its job.

And maybe that’s part of the story, too.

Because most of our lives aren’t made up of enormous, dramatic moments.

They’re made up of thousands of ordinary ones.

A dog in the passenger compartment.

A ride with someone we love.

A trip we didn’t plan.

A load in the back.

A stop for gas.

An oil change.

Another mile on the odometer. Or hitting 10,000 miles, or the first 100 miles, etc…

And another.

And another.

Eventually, a vehicle can stop feeling like something we simply own.

It becomes part of the backdrop of our lives.

That’s what struck me when I looked across my freshly mowed backyard and saw that shiny red truck sitting there.

Someone else might simply see an pickup truck.

I see the dogs who have ridden in it. Scout, Liberty, Justice, Freedom, Benji, Monty.

I see the places we’ve gone.

I see the work it’s helped us accomplish.

I see ordinary days that didn’t seem particularly important at the time—but became memories anyway.

I see chapters.

And fortunately, this story isn’t finished yet.

There are still plenty of blank pages left.

Now I’m curious about yours.

If your vehicle could tell just ONE story about your life, what story would it tell?

Hit reply and tell me. I’d love to hear it.

One foot. One paw. And sometimes…four wheels.

Have a happy and healthy tail wagging day until we meet again,

Pamela and Freedom