Even the year it was -40 degrees everyone in town went to school on the bus. There was a layer of ice on the inside of every window. It never occurred to our mothers to drove us to school in a heated car.
That is the year I bough a winter coat with an inside lining of knitted fabric. It was built for the Arctic. I still have that coat. It weighs ten pounds and is an attractive Army green.
Carl Spafford--a grandfather--was our bus driver. When we got too noisy he pulled over to the side of the road and waited.
Once I was sitting with my feet on the top of the wheel-well when Carl ran over a boulder. It hit my wheel-well and punched the sheet metal up about two inches. My feet stung for a long time but I didn't even bother telling Mom about it. After all, if she didn't drive us to school in -40 degree weather why would she worry about my arches being driven through the top of my feet?
These buses look very lonely. What is their destiny? If they are lucky they will be purchased by an interesting man like my Dad and be used to drive the grandkids around. Who knows?