As I've been driving down the local country roads, I've noticed the abundance of two forms of wildlife. Alive and dead.
I've also noticed the abundance of two forms of vehicles. Pickup trucks and Lincoln Town Cars. That's right, you read right, Lincoln Town Cars.
The other night, I had the opportunity to talk to a genuine wheat farmer and posed the question, "why do all farmers seem to have a pickup truck in their yard and a Lincoln Town Car in their carport?"
He chuckled manly. His wife sitting next to him smiled slyly.
"I've got a '99 Town Car and an '03 Chevy pickup."
Expecting more of an explanation, but not receiving even a morsel more, I returned with my much practiced "I-understand-without-really-understanding" nod and smiled back.
Later in our conversation he mentioned that when "he and the missus" go on the town, they like to drive in comfort, thus the necessity of the Town Car. Near as I can figure, this is a tradition that must date back to Pa Ingalls times, when he and Ma would pack up Mary, Half-Pint, Carrie, and Jack into the custom-made in St. Louis buckboard and head into Walnut Grove for church-doins and social eventuns.
I asked him if I'd need to get a Town Car to "fit in" around town. He raised an eyebrow and said, "whyn't you start off with a Taurus or Crown Vic first, then work your way up to the Townie."
Silly me. I should have known that I'd need to begin at the bottom of the corporate grain elevator then work my way up.