Nostalgia

I think I must have poured a spoonful of nostalgia into my coffee this morning instead of chocolate syrup because I've been thinking about my mom's red Radio Flyer.  I say it's hers because I don't remember playing with it much, but I do remember using it every time we went on a shopping excursion to the end of our street to visit Lopresti's Market.

Yep, we'd be all shined and polished, and off we would go, Radio Flyer in tow. 

Now, for you young whipper-snappers who don't know what a Radio Flyer is, it is a wagon, bright red in color, and along the sides of it were the words Radio Flyer.  The words had streaks running through it giving the allusion of speed.  It was large enough to hold two kids, if the kid in back could figure out what to do with their legs.

As I mentioned, we didn't play with it much, but when we did I recall we could get up quite a bit of speed going down a hill, but we had to be careful because the only steering mechanism was the handle and if we turned too quickly left or right the wagon would tip over and driver and passenger ended up with skid marks on their arms and legs, and bits of gravel in their elbows. 

Looking back, I can see the Flyer was really not a toy, it was indeed a tool.  One we needed very much.  Because, without that wagon we kids would have had to tote those heavy bags of groceries from Lopresti's all the way home.  Thank you Radio Flyer.

I don't remember ever taking care of the Flyer, but I seem to recall it was always clean and carefully stored away in the garage always ready to fulfill its duty.  It was a member of the family.

Jump decades ahead.

After we moved to the Pacific Northwest in the 70's, my husband and I bought our youngest daughter a Radio Flyer for Christmas.  It was the same size as the one us siblings had growing up.  I think the first year our kids used it, but over time it came to sit in the garage, under a bench.  It sat, and sat, and sat. 

A couple of years later when we bought the house, I put it into action, gave it life. 

It turns out, when our house was built, it was constructed on top of a marsh, tons and tons and tons of rocks were brought in to fill in the marsh, and then tons and tons and tons of topsoil was brought in to cover up the rocks.

Being a transplant from California, I didn't know and was not told about the rocks, so when I decided we needed flower gardens I had no idea it was going to be such a chore.  Because, every time I stomped the shovel into the soil it would hit a rock that I would dig it out put it into my Radio Flyer.  When the wagon was full I would put the rocks in a pile hoping I would eventually have enough to outline the edges of my gardens.

Boy, did I have rocks.  Some were boulders so big I had to end over end them just to get them out of the way.  It would have been nice if someone had told me about the marsh and rocks, before all my labors, but by the time a neighbor did, my gardens were complete, and the Radio Flyer had been returned to the garage. 

However, my wagon was never idle for long, for years it toted biannual yard debris, sand and dirt.  It held logs from the cords of wood we bought for our wood burning stove and...those damnable rocks...every time we redesigned the landscape. 

The Radio Flyer is old now (just like me) its rubber tires have rotted away, it has rust spots, and a bad paint job, too.  Its handle is badly bent and the steering is shot to heck. Still, I can't bring myself to put it out for recycle, there is a great deal of history between us and hours and hours of labor, too.  Plus, it's not mine to dispose.  It belongs to my youngest daughter.  I hope one day she wants it.  All it really needs is a new set of tires and lots and lots of love.