When I was little I used to love to ride along with my dad when he had things to do. It made me feel important and very grown up. On one of these trips I remember we drove out to the local grain and feed store. I took it all in. I loved seeing the stacks of grain and soil in big bags and of course, all the tools — post hole diggers, shovels, wheelbarrows. Mostly the men stood around swapping stories and not really getting much done. One of them would lean on the counter and maybe even smack the worn, smooth, wooden surface to emphasize a point saying, “I tell ya, I seen it just like I’m seeing you now — clear as day!” My dad didn’t engage much or try to argue. He stood quiet and tall with his arms folded in front of him and I remember feeling very proud of him. He’d just take care of his business and look folks in the eye. If he did say anything it was courteous and sometimes clever. He’d wink at me and we’d be on our way. It was around that time that I formed a deep and abiding affection for pick-up trucks, especially those that showed some age. They were simple, a little noisy, and always dependable. My dad would sometimes drive me out along the desert road in one of the drab old green ones from work. On the license plates it said, “Texas Truck,” and that’s what I figured they were — wide old things with a big stick shift and a wide bench seat.
In those days too there was a cycle of low budget science fiction movies we’d see on television. These movies always seemed to feature massive insects or an invasion of alien spaceships. Many of the scenarios were set in the desert where giant ants or massive hairy tarantulas menaced the townspeople and visitors from the great beyond chose the sandy dunes for landing sites. Since we lived near one of those same kinds of desert, these stories seemed to belong to us somehow. I’d stare out the car window at the wide sky, searching for the elusive, glistening vessel from another world that would change my destiny in untold ways. Old trucks, the desert, and cheap sci-fi. It was a dreamy time and left indelible impressions on my imagination. Years later, I wrote this song as an homage to those very visual days.
Feed Store
Down to the feed store, get me some grain.
Then back in the truck.
Time to fix my roof for the rain
and get back in the truck.
Something circling up in the air
but it’s gone.
Seen something shine through the trees
but it’s gone.
Early April Clarence Tremaine got carried away.
Dogs were barking, howling insane.
Folks stared up all day.
Then September Clarence was there at the door.
Shifting and scratching, walked along home like before.
Down at the feed store something’s been changed
Since Virgil’s been gone.
They’re talking crazy, stare at you strange.
I’m trying to hold on.
Cross the valley soon as I can
in the rain.
Get to the highway
And over the dam in the rain.
elizabethlevett 
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