Slowing down after the summer of speed
When I was young, there was a farmer who lived west of me. George’s wife had passed away, and he lived alone. Several times a day, George drove to town for coffee, meals, and fellowship at Schultz Café. The staff and other old guys were his family. George was never in a hurry to get to town. I knew that if I got behind his green Buick, it was going to be a while till I got to where I was going. I guess he was going about 30 mph. It’s possible that my younger, more impatient self thought he was slower than he really was. Regardless, there are two curves and a hill which made it ...