When I was a kid, I grew up in the country–more specifically, Indian land; these are lands that were relegated to Indians, when the government, conceded that their efforts of bureaucratic genocide, acculturation, assimilation, termination, and others had failed. Indians refused to die, so they were shelved in desolate, deserted, dilapidated and (hopefully), soon to be forgotten areas. In the high desert of southeastern Oregon, we had no roads or infrastructure; which necessarily meant no indoor plumbing and no electricity.
I had never known that things like store-bought Wonder bread or electricity existed, so, I never missed them. We had a generator; she was a beast of a machine. I call her a ‘she’, as my mother named her Ole Nellie. (It has been my lifelong belief, that once things are named, they won’t let you down–as easily)
Ole Nellie had to be fueled, primed and coaxed into firing up. I would approach her house—(yes, she was big enough to require her own house); prime her, which means fill the carburetor bowl, while singing the chorus to the Beatles tune, Strawberry Fields Forever, and then start her up. The smell of fuel would fill the room and the walls would begin to vibrate; she was as loud as a jet engine.
Once she was humming away, we scattered, to our various chores–the ones that required electricity. We had one hour of Ole Nellie time, and we accomplished a lot in that hour. Things that didn’t get finished, laundry or churning butter, would have to be done by hand; hence, we were always strategic.
Yesterday, I bought a generator for Bubba the Bus—and generators have come a long way from the days of Ole Nellie. I bought a 2000 Predator. He is small, compact and quiet. He runs on one gallon of gas for 13 hours, which is no small feat.
Although I got a great deal, I still hated spending the money; as my Nashville job–(like many others)–is currently on hold. Still, the idea of fresh coffee, hot food, and heat—are wildly appealing in this 37-degree weather I am currently parked in.
I have yet to name him–(and yes, it will be a ‘he’). I am open to suggestions.
I will send you a thank you from the road--(yep, an old school postcard–handwritten by me and MAILED, with a stamp at a POST OFFICE!!!)