The Veteran’s View: By Dennis Mitchell The golden days of summer have passed and that autumn air is refreshing. The leaves are cloaked in passionate reds, golden ambers and russet browns. Our children will spend hours raking them up only to have a few minutes of fun running through them and hiding from each other before they have to redo their efforts and rake them up again. As a child in Michigan, we had many large maple trees in the front yard, and every year it was our job to clean them up and haul the massive mounds of leaves to a burn pile. Dad would cover it with a tarp to keep them dry until around Halloween, when we would have a huge bonfire. Neighbors would come from miles to roast hot dogs, marshmallows, and drink fresh cider. It was our country version of a block party. There would be many cars, pickup trucks, farm tractors and bicycles parked in dad’s hay field. After we were full of hot dogs and cider we would load up on one of the hay wagons and dad would pull us all over the neighborhood with his old Case farm tractor. We would ride through farm lanes and down the dirt county roads laughing, singing, and snuggled under the straw – everyone had a wonderful time. A few may have stolen their first kiss and secretly held hands under a blanket. I wouldn’t know, I’ve only heard the rumors. That was a simpler time then, but the lessons learned carried me through a lifetime of opportunity, friendship, and education. Sometimes that slower pace gives us more time to reflect on what’s important in our lives. Money can’t buy happiness or gain you respect, but it can purchase things to make our lives easier. In the modern world, where we are all racing around, so involved in our own little circle of activities, we seldom take time to look around or take notice of the simpler things that hide in plain sight. This month I got a message from an old friend in the trucking business. What he sent me was an article penned by someone named Doc Blackman, and the premise of the piece is focused on an old thermos found resting on the dash of their father’s Peterbilt, which had spent many years parked in the pasture. It wasn’t until after he (the driver) had passed that the sons found a note written to them giving instructions on life. “If you are reading this, my miles are done. Don’t cry for me, roads don’t end, they just change drivers. This thermos is yours now. Keep it full, keep it hot, and keep it going. That’s all life ever asks of us.” Wow! How many of us have wondered what the meaning of life is and what it has in store for us? As a driver, we all have time to think, to ponder, and to run scenarios in our heads. What is the meaning of a life well lived? Who gets to set the standard and judge us by our accomplishments? In my life, only the Lord will judge me, and I hope my accomplishments will be satisfying enough to gain passage to the everlasting kingdom of heaven. The years we live in this world are relatively short, and even though they comprise a lifetime, we will be gone far longer than we are here. The legacy we leave may be the best indicator of who we were. I’m reminded of this every time I walk through my backyard. I see a few of you wrinkling your brow, what does his back yard have to do with a legacy? Stay with me, as I try to explain. When we think of a family legacy most of us think about important people, those of royal blood, or of great wealth. But in reality, everyone leaves a record of their existence in the memories retained by others after we have departed from this life. Have you thought about what kind of memories you are leaving? My mother used to say, “In one hundred years no one will remember how I kept my house, but everyone will remember what kind of children I raised.” That’s a powerful statement, and she was right. She has been gone for a few years now, but her great grandchildren are still aware of her through stories passed down from their parents. Her old kitchen recipe books are still passed around during the holiday season to rekindle memories of my childhood. These memories include things like raking leaves, making hot s’mores (chocolate treats with marshmallow and graham crackers) around the bonfire, and riding horses through the fields after our father had harvested the crops. These same memories are triggered when I see an old truck parked in a field of tall grass or along the side of some farmer’s fence row. If those trucks could talk, the stories they would tell could hold us captive for days, weeks, even for a lifetime. Most of these trucks are a living time capsule. Their stories are told through the dents, scratches, and broken glass that shatter our modern world. I can’t help myself – even though I know this is hallowed ground, I must open the door to feel the true measure of who rode this warhorse to victory. When I look through the broken and dusty windshield of these old relics, the most striking feature I see is the steering wheel. Often times they are cracked and broken, taped together with black electrical tape, to protect the hands of some unknown driver who piloted this worthy steed through rain, snow and wind, and unseen by the very same folks 46 10-4 Magazine / October 2025 HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT
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