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Nineteen or twenty years ago, shortly after moving into our new place, Bubba and I were taking a drive to nowhere in particular in the countryside. We came to a road where an old barn had been made into a private dining club and I hung a right to take her to see it. After a couple of miles of going up and down hills and around curves, telling Bubba that the place I wanted to show her was right around this curve, I went down a hill then started up thru a right hand curve and there she was on the left — the Workin’ Girl, an old International-Havester farm truck peeking out of a perfectly matched old barn. “I gotta paint that truck,” I shouted to Bubba. “What truck?” she said. But the truck and the farm were already in the rear view mirror. It was a gray, rainy day and I thought I could come back anytime, so we continued to the diner club — a dissapointment, and then meandered home on other interesting impressionist country roads. I never got bact to take a photo of that I-H...

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