One of the things I loved to do with Dad when I was a little girl, was ride along with him as he dragged our gravel road. He'd hook up the metal-framed, metal-toothed implement to the back of the '51 Chevy, I'd jump in the front seat to ride shotgun with him, and off we'd go! Slow at first, but then I'd yell, "Faster, Dad...faster!" I had the window rolled down and I'd always put my hand out to catch the foxtails as they whipped past, slapping on my fingertips. Dad had told me that first time about trying it, and I fell in love with that feeling of freedom. I'd lean out to feel the wind against my face, to drink in the S P E E D (which in actuality was not very fast, but it felt fast...)
