A few years ago, I drove my 1951 Chevy pickup to a landscaping and gravel yard to get a load of garden soil. I was met by the owner, an old-timer, whose head was bandaged in white gauze, his left arm hanging from a sling. Seems he had fallen off the roof of a greenhouse while patching a leak. He waved off the injuries, crawled into his front loader, and filled my pickup bed with rich, black soi...
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