I had a strange encounter in the mid-80s that still makes me wonder to this day.

I was in my early 20s and I managed to move out of mom and dad's basement into a place of my own.

Honestly, I hadn't gone that far. I lived three quarters of a mile due north of my folks' place as the crow flies.

However, if you were sensible and decided to drive there,

it's quite a bit further.

My parents' house was set back from the road,

and once you left their driveway you were going north and then the

road curved to the west. The little farm I was renting was right there on the north

side of the road. There was a little bit of a neighborhood, but the best part

where the houses weren't group tight up close together. We were all spread out and we had

elbow room. The privacy was great and improved when the crops grew tall. That part of

Illinois wasn't just flat tillable farm ground. There were acres of rolling timber

that began about 500 yards behind my parents' house, and it

spread out to the west and south.

A small narrow stand of trees grew between our houses separating the two farm fields. I was at the age when a country

boy was in his prime and was sure to have himself a big old four-wheel drive truck. My truck was a one ton. That heavy

suspension was great for getting me places. I probably shouldn't have been going.

It wasn't overly tall like some of my friend's trucks, but that old pickup truck wasn't just a toy. I used it for work too.

Tall trucks are well and good, but when you're throwing hay on it, it gets tiring having to throw those heavy bales that much higher.

I had a pretty nice light bar and I had it built especially for this truck, and when we were going places in the mud that we shouldn't,

a lot of the time it happened under the cover of darkness.

I like to see what I was getting into,

...