photo #1482299

Old Tom just kept coaxing his old mule Elmer along the last dirt road from his house to the grocery store in town. Kids and drunks sped past in their cars, honking and yelling insults as they passed, but Tom only adjusted his kerchief and squinted through the dust they raised. He knew they only took the back roads because of the empty beer cans and whiskey bottles they threw at him. They long ago lost their licenses back when LEOs were PROactive instead of REactive. It used to take 1/3 the time to make the trip, but this was the last unpaved road due to " PROgress ", and Elmer's hooves appreciated the dirt more than asphalt, especially when pulling a wagon load of taters to market. He'd made this trip many times before, but only made it now when he needed to exchange surplus crops for supplies about once a month. Just seemed a lot easier on an old man and his mule, in spite of the disrespectful younger generation that couldn't seem to figure anything out anymore. If they could, they'd be building a future for themselves. He eventually pulled up behind Fred's store, and went in. Fred was extremely happy to see him, as there were fewer and fewer of the old farmers bringing in fresh produce, and eggs. He couldn't even buy fresh milk anymore, the government saw to that. With the new restrictions, he could only sell prepackaged meats from packing houses that were approved, and he couldn't break the seals. He couldn't sell beer or wine, because the permits were too expensive and insurance went sky high to cover the many break-ins it caused. The permit to sell tobacco was over $1000.00 now, and copies of daily records had to be submitted. Clapping Tom on his weary back, they went out and checked the load of potatoes. Fred reckoned that the load was #1 grade, but Tom said it wasn't because he knew the bigger taters always rose to the top during the trip. Fred got his son to work unloading the wagon as Tom and Fred went inside to start filling Tom's shopping list of staples for the next month. With every weighing, the tare was set with Fred's heavy thumb on the scale. After Tom signed for his pipe tobacco, he picked up a new hair ribbon for Mary, his wife of over 55 years. She was a saint. When the time came to tally everything up, Fred knew Tom would owe him, so he fudged the figures and told Tom "I don't know how you do it, but you're still owed $1.25", which he paid him. Tom reckoned he'd be back in about a month with some fresh produce, thanked Fred, and slowly headed home. He knew it would be dusk when he finally got there. About five miles outside of town, he came to one of those cars that had thrown a whiskey bottle at him, jammed in the ditch with the two occupants passed out in it. He pulled them out, loaded them into his wagon, and headed back to town. Fred knew them, and called their parents. When they asked how much they owed him, Tom was surprised they actually asked but obviously replied "Nothing, it was just the right thing to do". He got back on the wagon, and headed back home again. He arrived well after dark, and his worried wife was in tears. Then, he reached into his pocket and handed her her new hair ribbon. Needless to say, she started crying again, this time out of happiness. Tom unloaded the wagon, unhitched Elmer, and put him in his stall with a sack of grain. Then, he went inside the house and sat down to the wonderful supper Mary'd kept warm for him. Tom sat in his chair and lit his pipe while recounting his day. When he finished, he set his pipe down and fell asleep. Mary came over, covered him up, and gently kissed him on the top of his bald head, knowing he was the last of a dying breed.