Weekend wind banished the last of the leaves from the trees and brought us fully into Stick Season. During this worst of all possible seasons, I appreciate looking back to the pictures I took when the world was a bit more vibrant. On the second day of this summer, the sunset hid behind the big leaves of the trees—the leaves that now coat my lawn.
Down the tiny alleys, side streets, and driveways of Berkeley are all kinds of odd old garages. My favorite details of these structures usually come down to scale; the driveway tracks and garage measurements were clearly built to be just large enough for the cars of the period. As American vehicles have grown larger, they now appear comically mismatched with anything but a vintage car in the scene.
For this vintage Ford pickup to survive so long in the northeast, it would have to have been a carefully-tended-to garage-kept apple of someone’s eye. Rust is too cruel a monster otherwise. On the streets of Berkeley, by comparison, older vehicles seem to still be around simply because there has been no reason for them to ever stop being around. Though I suspect this is indeed a well-loved truck, nothing about its existence so formally requires that as the equivalent vehicle would in my new neck of the woods.