The Cowardly Composter

This is my composting uniform.  Snazzy, eh?

My Mom used to diligently tuck her pants into her socks before she got into Old Yeller.

Old Yeller was a 1954 yellow Ford pick-up with his name brushed in turquoise paint across the hood.  The bench seat was lacking somewhat, but bolstered by skeins of baler twine piled high enough to cover the wire springs that were likely to catch the crotch of your pants as you exited and entered the truck.  Entering and exiting were quick because there was no door on the drivers’ side.

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