My Carhartt coat is a wreck. I've had it for only four months and it no longer looks like it used to. It is faded in color due to being covered with dirt. It is broken in so well that it is my best fitting article of clothing. It has cobwebs stuck to the back. There are broken zip ties, pieces of hay, and feed bag ingredient lists in the outside pockets. The inside pockets are filled with random things which weighs it down. It's heavy to pick up and feels like a horse blanket. I love that coat...
While working on fencing today, I thought about how I want a dirty truck someday... I am finally putting my nose to the grindstone in getting my driver's permit/license (yeah, now that I'm turning 20...), and hope to have a truck of my own before the year is out. My vehicle choice is something that can't be argued. In fact, I would hardly call it a choice. I need a truck and that's all there is to it. A few years ago I sighed at the sight of a Subaru Outback (okay, I still harbor feeling towards them), but it doesn't make economic sense for someone like me to own one. Nope, this farm girl needs a truck. And I want it to be dirty.
My Carhartt coat is filthy and I love it that way. It is not to be washed (forewarning for ya'). My boots are just as filthy. My clothes are always filthy by the end of the day. I live in Oregon, and here it is wet. Wet equals mud. Mud equals mess. My Carhartt coat is left dirty because it shows that this girl knows how to work. She knows the ins and outs of this dirty life. And she leaves the dirt on because she likes it.
I want my truck to be dirty too. I don't want it to look clean and sparkly, as if it never saw hard use. I want it to be obvious that this is a country girl's truck. A vehicle that is used to haul livestock, hay, and slaughtering equipment. A mode of transportation for a girl and her trusty farm dog named Dulcie. It will rumble and growl when the ignition is turned, there will be dirt streaked on the sides, a dog riding shotgun, and music blaring from the speakers. Oh yeah.. That's a truck.
Someday I'll have that four-wheeled beast of my dreams sitting in the driveway. And I'll drive it while wearing my dirty Carhartt coat...
While working on fencing today, I thought about how I want a dirty truck someday... I am finally putting my nose to the grindstone in getting my driver's permit/license (yeah, now that I'm turning 20...), and hope to have a truck of my own before the year is out. My vehicle choice is something that can't be argued. In fact, I would hardly call it a choice. I need a truck and that's all there is to it. A few years ago I sighed at the sight of a Subaru Outback (okay, I still harbor feeling towards them), but it doesn't make economic sense for someone like me to own one. Nope, this farm girl needs a truck. And I want it to be dirty.
My Carhartt coat is filthy and I love it that way. It is not to be washed (forewarning for ya'). My boots are just as filthy. My clothes are always filthy by the end of the day. I live in Oregon, and here it is wet. Wet equals mud. Mud equals mess. My Carhartt coat is left dirty because it shows that this girl knows how to work. She knows the ins and outs of this dirty life. And she leaves the dirt on because she likes it.
I want my truck to be dirty too. I don't want it to look clean and sparkly, as if it never saw hard use. I want it to be obvious that this is a country girl's truck. A vehicle that is used to haul livestock, hay, and slaughtering equipment. A mode of transportation for a girl and her trusty farm dog named Dulcie. It will rumble and growl when the ignition is turned, there will be dirt streaked on the sides, a dog riding shotgun, and music blaring from the speakers. Oh yeah.. That's a truck.
Someday I'll have that four-wheeled beast of my dreams sitting in the driveway. And I'll drive it while wearing my dirty Carhartt coat...
My family has three cars. A Toyata Corrola, a Dodge Grand Caravan and a GMC Seirra. Out of all of them, I love the GMC best. I can't wait until I'm old enough to drive it.
ReplyDeleteCarhartt, a dirty pick up and a dog ridin' shotgun *wishful sigh*.
ReplyDeleteOh, and you can't forget that the blaring music must be country... but that's just me :)
Whatever you do, when you come into my county, unless you're driving an 18 wheeler, please call it a pick-up =)
ReplyDelete