A random photo of a dilapidated, rusty grain truck reminded me of how frugal my father and his elder brother are in their agricultural partnership.

I think almost everyone came back then. My best memory of the farm era comes from the 1950s. People of my parents' generation experienced the Great Depression. It was not over a long time ago. The memory is still clear. Frugality was not so much a virtue at the time as a way of life. Old trucks are just one example.

If you are driving on a small road and see it spread out among the weeds, you may not look at it again. My cousin Leo remembers that this was an International two-ton car. In its time, it dragged a lot of wheat from our fields to Shanard's Elevator in Reliance. Its days passed decades ago, and now it rusts alone.

The truck box is missing. Maybe the wooden slats have residual value. I can't tell from the photo, but I don't doubt that the gourd was also taken away. It might still be useful to someone. The story is that there is no crane when the truck comes. My father and uncle bought a crane and used another grain truck as a guide to install this thing by themselves. It raises the front of the box so that the grain can slide into the grate on the floor of the elevator building. As far as I know, self-installed cranes are always effective.

Even in the international heyday, the red paint on the cab has faded. The red is still visible in the spots, but it is mixed with some yellow, maybe some blue and a lot of rust. The paint on abandoned trucks and cars seems to peel off much faster than frequently used vehicles. I think it's like vacant houses in the countryside are more likely to collapse than houses that still provide shelter for families or elderly couples. You might say that the house and the car do not feel love. I am not sure if I agree.

Back when I drove a food truck for my father, International was a new car at harvest. As far as I can remember, we have a blue Ford. Cousin Leo said that it was a one-ton truck, and I think he was right. I have a good memory of certain things, but he is a historian for most of the past on the farm that any of us needs to know. Ford loaded about 150 or 160 bushels of wheat, and no seeds spilled from the sides. The holdings of "New" International have nearly doubled. Imagine a teenager who is accustomed to driving an old Ford suddenly slips and falls behind the wheel of a two-ton monster. Why, even the glove box is bigger, which means I can put more books in it so I can use it while waiting for another box of food.

For my father and uncle — and most farm families I knew in the 1950s — new doesn’t really mean a lot of dealers. I don’t remember when we bought a new car, not for farm work or for personal use. One or two people in the county buy new things from time to time. When they drove by, the rest of us looked at them from the corner of our eyes.

Before buying a second-hand combine harvester, truck, or tractor, Dad and Uncle Frank drove to every dealer within 100 miles. I often hear one of them say: "This is enough to meet our needs." That was the case at the time. Good enough, okay, good enough. It seems easier to discuss used cars. In addition, the new half of the value bounced back on ruts and snow and rough profile lines in farmland.

I have seen from the news that the demand for all kinds of new and used cars has been suppressed. If Dad and Uncle Frank were still alive, they would only shake their heads, change the international oil, and start harvesting wheat again.