My parents never forgot that warm spring morning I decided to do some exploring with my German Shepherd puppy, Rin Tin Tin, otherwise known as Rinty. We lived on the Jardine Farm, just outside of Crouseville. My father was working in the fields and my mother was hanging linens out to dry in the front yard. White towels and sheets spilled from the confines of a tan wicker clothes basket like undisciplined flattened clouds; in sharp contrast to my mother’s black and white striped sundress.
I left quietly, my right hand tucked under Rinty’s collar. We drifted through the sun bleached grass that towered above our heads, making our way toward a weather-beaten, muted red barn that sat just beyond our dooryard. Behind the barn and partially hidden from view sat a tired, ancient potato truck the color of well seasoned, rusty brown soil.
I could not wait another moment and without hesitation, climbed up on the driver’s side running board and opened the door. I spotted a metal lunch bucket that served as the perfect booster seat! I perched myself on top of the lunch box and grabbed on to the steering wheel. Rin Tin Tin squeezed himself through the truck door and took his place on the passenger side; his pink and crooked tongue peeking out from the right side of his mouth. Letting go of the wheel, I leaned toward Rinty and kissed the top of his silvery head.
We “drove” for miles that morning. Caribou, Presque Isle, Crouseville and Washburn just to name a few of the places we visited. We were on our way back from Portland, where my father’s mother lived, when I heard my name being called.
Quickly, Rin Tin Tin and I made our way back home. That voice calling my name belonged to my father and soon he came into view. He was kneeling beside my mother, who was sitting on the grass, her wicker basket completely tipped over. I began to cry as I realized just how frightened my mother was. As I got closer, my father turned toward me; his face dark and stern. Soon, I was in his arms, my face against the roughness of his cheek. My mother reached for me, speaking my name over and over as she held me to her breast. My parents and the crew they had gathered to look for me were quite convinced I had wandered down the bank and into a pond directly behind our little house. I tried to explain to them that I was not at all interested in ponds. It was the truck and the prospect of driving it that enticed me.
I got to drive the truck many times over the course of that summer on the Jardine farm. Sometimes, Mom, Rinty and I would venture no farther than a mile or so down the road and other times we would travel to very exotic destinations such as Alaska, Hawaii and Mexico. Mom was the illustrious tour guide and I did all of the driving. As for Rinty? Well, he was delighted to sit there between us, his beautiful head on the dashboard of an old abandoned truck brought to life by the imagination of a little girl and her very wise mother.
Editor’s Note: Belinda Wilcox Ouellette has lived in the Caribou area for all of her 56 years. She presently lives in Connor TWP. with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
