DODGE TRUCKS ARE RELIABLE AND CAPABLE OF TOWING HEAVY LOADS

Dependable, capable of hauling heavy loads, and rugged, are the qualities I look for in a truck.  I have used all my trucks for work.  None of them has stood up as well as, Dodge has for me.  The other trucks all had one thing in common – rust.  My Dodge truck was rust free, when I traded it after ten years of dependable service.  It was an SLT model, loaded with all options. 

Dodge trucks are known for getting poor gas mileage.  My previous Dodge truck only got about seventeen miles per gallon, after I installed, four prong spark plugs, and a K&N air filter.  Prior to that, it got about 13mpg.  It was a V8, and outperformed any other truck I ever owned.  I drove it for ten years.  The heaviest load I towed was just about a ton (bricks).  I never carried more than a half ton in the truck bed; however, many of my, Dodge friends do.

The new Dodge truck V8’s, are said to be capable of about 20mpg, over-the-road.  Do not expect that to be normal gas mileage.  You might be more likely to get about 15mpg.  The new V8’s, can run on four cylinders while on the highway, if you have a light foot. 

I did serous research before buying another, Dodge truck.  The work I currently do as a landscape architect, no longer demands heavy loads and long cross-country voyages, on a regular basis.  Old Dodge trucks hold their value and there is a demand for used trucks, in good condition.

This time, I searched for a truck with good towing capabilities, and a smaller engine for better gas mileage.  Using the internet, I found the best asking price.  I spoke with, Robert Devereaux – an ex-Marine and three-time Iraq, VFW – at K&M Dodge, in Grand Rapids, Michigan.  I told him what I was looking for, described the truck I would trade toward the purchase price on a new vehicle. 

We made the deal over the phone.  I came in that day, purchased the vehicle and drove home.  It was the easiest deal ever.  I am not a salesperson.  If a person is shopping, I say, get the best deal wherever you can.  That being said, I enjoyed my purchase experience.  I do recommend, Robert Devereaux as an honest person to do business with, and I currently prefer Dodge trucks to all others, because of the service I got from my previous truck – it had no major problems, and amazingly, no rust in ten years.

My last truck was the quietist and most maintenance free truck that I ever owned, in forty years of truck driving. 

My new truck is a six cylinder.  It is actually quieter than my last one (that was a big surprise, especially after reading, Edmond’s review).  I usually haul only light loads, and tow less than a half ton, for short distances.  It is an ST with only the basics, cloth seats (comfortable), manual windows and locks, without cruise control.  Power is adequate for merging into traffic, or passing.   I would not hesitate to take it anywhere.  It is currently averaging about 17mpg; however, I expect that to improve. 

The normal Dodge warrantee is, three years or thirty-six thousand miles.  I purchased a lifetime warrantee, even though I drive less than I used to.  The paint finish is sealed and lower parts smothered in Z-Bart, to prevent rust.  I hope to have it in twenty years.

APPALACHIA POEMS

APPALACHIA POEMS

There are many legends in our valley.  God chose us.  She saved us.  We lived under our father’s image, chiseled into our mountain, the face of man.

If you looked upon the face of man, she looked rugged, centuries old, and her hair cloaked in white.  , Her shawl stretched for miles and covered great valleys where our families lived for centuries.  She was here, before we came.  Few people would ever see her, as she revealed herself.  Many touched her cloak, neither knowing her nor seeing that it was, She.   They were blind.

She came to me one evening in the middle of the night, and I slept by her side.  Many had died there, where she took me in and gave me life.   I saw her in a different way, and felt her presence.  She spoke very harshly.  I felt the wind in her voice as it tore at my cloths and whipped by my face.  Agiachohoc.

I told her of my love that was every bit as great as her cloak that covered her.   However, she would hear none of it that night, she turned me away.     I was tenacious and slept by her side, shielded beneath her right arm.  She covered me with her blanket while I slept.

The next morning as our father’s light crested, she was cloaked light blue, miles away, before sunrise.  She lifted her veil, exposing her beauty.  I looked upon her.  As radiant and splendid as she appeared, I asked her benevolence for the privilege to sit upon her right shoulder; while the sun rose to halo her head, where I could see the ocean, miles away.

Then, She, carried me back into her valley, where she healed my spirit and I gave her my love.  We united in spirit. 

My grandfather came to visit me one day.  I took him for a long walk to a place my father had once taken me.  We hiked upon a mountain trail until we came along the water’s edge.  There we sat, for a moment only to catch our breath.  I was young and eager.  He was much older than I, but there was spring in his feet.  His enthusiasm peaked as we hiked up toward the mountaintop.  We passed many caves while climbing.    Some were centuries old, while others less.  Carved for and by centuries; abandoned (the caves).

We pondered the significance, while we sat upon the crested mountain, when grandpa spoke.  He told me to look upon the water at the base of our mountain.    When I looked at the water, it was murky and brown.   I closed my eyes to look toward the sun.   When I looked at the lake, it was black.   But my eyes went farther, to the village in our valley.  Then, I lifted my eyes to the mountain beyond, and imagined how it would be at the other side.

Grandpa spoke.  He told me I would live to seek knowledge, beyond the mountains, to places he would never visit.  I asked him why.  He smiled and said we had much to learn.  Then I bounced down the mountainside.  My legs felt like springs.  While grandpa followed in a distance.  He called to me, warning me not to lead us stay, but I would not listen, and, we were lost in the valley, tired and thirsty, in the middle of the day.   Grandpa turned over some stones exposing before me, water.   He then displayed a compass.  Nevertheless, I found the trail quicker than he did.  

When we returned home from our climb, he looked tired and worn.  He looked upon the mountain and closed his eyes.  That was when he spoke again.  He talked about flowers that bloomed in spring and how they filled the valleys with color, only to wilt and fade, within hours.  Then he spoke of hearty flowers that were sturdy and endured many environments from our seasons start to finish, but they were often plain, sometimes containing healing qualities.  Another flower was slow to grow, but developed steadily over time, to bloom in fall.    He said that I could be that flower.

I told him about, She, the lady who wore blue.  He looked at me, with his eyes penetrating my soul.  He called her, Oombeketh, our native word for peace.  He pointed to, our mountain; and, She, appeared in white.   He told me that he would see her soon.   That could have been our last time together.  But he taught me many things, like how to live.  He taught me to look deeper than the surface.

I grieved for Grandfather, never knowing quiet what he meant.  We worked as a team.  He was kind and gentle, but firm; teaching me about life, and, to be a man.  Where others taught me differently, Grandpa encouraged.  He was tough, as  if chiseled off a glacier – and  there were many glaciers in the caves behind our home.  They were cold and dark, but not silent.  If one only listened, they might hear water droplets, plinking onto stone, covered over in ice.

Grandpa was my hero -- he could do no wrong.  I followed him everywhere.   He showed me how to survive.   I loved listening to his mellifluous voice; comparing it to a mountain brook, gently flowing over stones – although, I could barely understand his words.  We walked for miles, over the mountains, to settle in valleys hidden in the folds, taking time only to rest.  Our beds were fashioned from leaves.  We used the bows of elm trees in a grove, for shelter.  I sometimes called him, Pa Pierre.  Pa Pierre was different from everybody.  He seemed to be confident where others faltered.  Grandpa told me, I would never be alone; but, I would feel lonely, only in the city.  My spirit soared where mountains ruled.

Appalachia, I love you as forever, to worship at your feet, that we could see the tear in your eye, to watch the soldiers come, to make our nation die.  Where did you ever go that day, that day they cried, the day our nation died?  You ask me where I am and I stand before you, but you are blind as our nation unfolds before time. 

The legend says that centuries ago our land was deluged by a great flood.  Our fathers’ families fled to the great mountain to seek refuge while the waters surged around them.  In that way they were spared from drowning.  After the flood had subsided, our families returned to the valleys.  The mountain dawned a blanket of white as an extension of peace.  So it was our people were spared. 

For many years we worshiped at Agiachohoc.  We were with,  She.  She lived among us in our valley and we worshiped together.  But our history is equally as harsh.  For, as beautiful as the mountain valley was in summer, it was equally as horrific during our winters.  We traveled.  We hunted.  We fished.  Everybody lived for centuries.  And then, we were gone.  Vanished – forever in the midst of men, unseen and unheard.

I was dead to the world and into myself, lost in a fog and deep into wealth.   I was chasing a dream I should have not seen.  I was trapped in a world, and deep in myself.   And you died in my arms, when you put me to sleep, and I cried on your cheek, when I fell into the creek.  I was locked  in a world and deep in myself, chasing a dream I should not have seen. As I rounded a corner, sinking in dearth, seeking the dream and living in death, I was trapped in my world and deep in my dreams, living a life that no one had seen.  

You gave me your life when  you gave me a dream, deep in my heart that I’d never seen.   I was picking on cotton, deep in the south  wandering how and far and about.  And you gave me your love and you set me about.  You taught me to hate and you taught me to love.  You gave me your heart and I give you my soul.         I was down on my luck, deep in my dreams, dead to the world, not to be seen.  And, you gave me your home when you gave me your name, lead me to riches took me to fame, and you showed me your art, we were never to part, while deep in my heart, you were calling me still.

  There was sister Suzan she was ringing a bell, talking of heaven, going to hell, taking a toll on my mortal soul, and then breaking my heart and then throwing me out.  As I rounded a corner deep in my thoughts, fell into debt and had broken my neck.

Then you came in my life and you gave me your heart and you gave me your love and I gave you my soul.  But, a servant I’d be if not for thee.  You taught me your love when you showed me your soul.  While you showed me your art while you mended my heart,  I was there in your arms to be held, to be well.

HOW TO BALANCE A BUDGET

Some years ago, I figured my first strategy for making money.  I saved pennies, picking and lugging five gallon buckets of choke cherries to make wine.  I made my first batch at age six.  At the end of choke cherry season, I had saved fifty cents.   The palms of my hands were stained black for months.  I could not afford a pair of shoes, but I saved it in my only draw.  My father made less than one-hundred dollars a week back then; however, my mother also worked.  In fact, we rarely saw both of them together at once for the majority of my childhood.  They must have met at night, as Mom’s goal was a dozen children.  She did not quite get there, but came close.

The next year I figured how to turn fifty cents into five dollars.  I made a deal with Dad.  I offered to make wine for five dollars a barrel.  Dad not only accepted, he upped the ante and offered ten for two.  That worked in my favor.   I bought sugar on sale, and borrowed  yeast from under our sink.  With as many children, Mom had to improvise.  We made bread.  The wine was my secret.  I even hid it from, Dad.  There was a vacant closet in the chicken coop.  I placed the barrels beside the storage unit and covered them with a cheesecloth and an old dirty tarp.  I could check it daily, with a rusty ladle that I washed in pump water, for sanitary purposes.   

The first few weeks were futile , since it had to ferment.    The concoction wasted away in a corner.

Weeks later, I remember sampling.  I thought it tasted as bitter as the chokecherries.  I added more sugar.

I completely forgot about it.  By the time I’d mustered nerve to draw a sample, it was January. 

Sometime in mid afternoon, New Years day, we had just finished the family feast with several aunts and uncles.  Dad took my uncles into my bedroom where he kept his new 3030.  They went to sight it in at the gravel pit, a short hike across the street.  The moms and girls forgot about the boys for awhile and we split up.

My cousins went outside with me.  There was not much to do in the cold, but shovel snow in the driveway.  It was too cold to make snowballs.  The girls did not want us inside, so we went to visit the chickens.   My cousins saw treasures stacked into the storage area, an old wooden rake with wood dowel tines, a manure shovel, and other garden tools. 

I remembered the barrels and thought I might try a sample while we were there.  I dipped a ladle and we each sipped.  It was cold and sweet and had a warm feeling in the throat.  I did not like it.  They did.  In several minutes, they were rolling on the floor laughing.  Suddenly our cold, dismal,  snowy winter turned to summer.   We were having the times of our lives.  We used a manure fork and shovels to pile snow.  Then we built a huge igloo that we could stand in.  Life was great!  I was ten dollars rich.

Dad was a man of his word.  When the men came home, I suggested that he might want to try the chokecherry wine I made for him, which he did.   My uncles sampled it as well, followed by my aunts.  Everybody got into the act, even baby Thom.  We celebrated deep into the night, before everybody left for home.  I hid the money under my mattress, and it stayed there.