There was a place most marvelous. It had everything rusty, crusty, textural and it made my heart beat faster to gaze upon it. My son was the one that discovered it for us. Gradually we brought others to our secret place. Only those whose blood ran rust were invited, they being the only ones who could see the magic. This place had been built up over time, 30 years or more we were told once by the little man. Accumulation of years…ahhhhhh. When my son lived in the nearby town for college, he would ride around in the desert on his motor bike for relaxation. One day he rode up over a hill and it unfolded before him. Our Junkyard. Well, not really ours but we thought of it with a certain personal belonging. We mostly took photographs and wandered its magical acreage. One day we met the little man. He said his father had owned gravel and construction businesses over the years and used this area for castoff equipment, and oh, would we like to buy it?
I could hear my husband’s voice in my head. Sadly, I declined but asked if he minded if we continued to visit. He replied we were welcome to for so long as it lasted but he was obliged to clear all of it off the land. Mind you, there was so much stuff! We were complacent and thought it would be there for years still to come. If only. It did last for a bit longer but soon the bulldozers came and all was razed to the ground. We scavenged bits and pieces and we still have many photos. Since I know many of you have the bug as we do, I’m sharing some of the magic with you today. I wish I could take you all there to wander among the metal and rust and enjoy the beauty that was – Our Junkyard.
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