See, there is just too much dadgum rusty metal, wire, rakes, nuts, bolts, chains and OLD TRUCKS in the country. And when you live on a 100 year old farm like ours, you can be sure there are plenty of nicely agedpieces to choose from.
I’ve come to appreciate the varying hues, character, and stages that a little weather and age will impart to a miscellaneous hunk of metal. So much so that if I spot some anywhere. Even at the cemetery (sorry Jules), I swipe it. Don’t get worked up. It was laying alongside a ditch, and no, there were no birth and death dates on it. Anywhere. okay?
So while you’re deciding whether or not I’m still your friend. Check out my address.
Rusty wire numbers, check. Old rusty battery cover, check check.