Returning a Dish,

Returning a Dish, December 21, 2024

It was Christmas time in 1971. I was living in the Yellow Farmhouse on Bluff Road outside of Meckling, South Dakota. All of us in the big two-story house were hippies and about 19 years old.

One of us was on the lam from the Vietnam War military draft lottery results. The rest of us were seeking some kind of hippy paradise in the country.

Oh, it was cold that December. Low temperatures were around -27F and lots of snow. Every room in the Yellow Farmhouse had its own wood stove. I spent my days finding dead Elm trees, taking them back to the house in my green 1950 Chevy pickup, and turning them into firewood.

One evening, I was invited to a hippy couple’s farm about 12 miles away. It was a pleasant evening. The hippy chick there was very friendly and gave me a plate of cookies. It was a nice blue and white porcelain plate. I took it home and ate the cookies.

Well, as young men do, I got to hankering for some female company. One evening I decided to drive back to the girl’s farm and return the dish.

It was already twilight and about 10F with some snow coming down, but I was determined. I fired up the old Chevy and drove out onto the snow covered roads.

I drove around for an hour, but couldn’t find the farm. By now the snow was falling fast and the wind was picking up. Looked like a blizzard was on the way.

There wasn’t another vehicle on the road. I figured out how to get back to the Yellow Farmhouse and drove home very slowly so as not to skid off the road.

Oddly enough, it was calm and peaceful in the cab. I had the golden glow of the dash lights. The wipers were keeping the snow off of the windshield. The truck had good tires.

Ahead I could see the Yellow Farmhouse with the lamp lights going in the rooms. I pulled into the driveway and put the truck in the garage. I covered the hood with a thick quilt to keep the engine and battery warm.

I never did return the dish.

TJM