By J. R. Roth
Her truck took the sharp turns of the mountain road with ease.
One last drive, she thought, blinking away the tears.
Grandpa bought the Chevy new in ’48. In ’72, Pa had the farm’s logo stenciled on its door. In 1995, it passed to her for her eighteenth birthday.
Tariffs destroyed the markets, then laborers disappeared. No harvest meant no money for bills or livestock feed. Now, she’s lost everything.
Reflected in reverse off the windshield from the letter on the dashboard: ‘Farm Foreclosure.’
Thank God Pa already passed.
She closed her eyes and pressed her boot down on the accelerator.
Wow, this short story really punches you in the gut! Superb writing. Tells so much in so few words.