Finding and photographing well aged, rusty pickup trucks is a passion and hobby of mine. Hoping you enjoy them as much as I did taking each pic.
In the summer of 1965, while living in San Bernardino, CA, I found a 1934 Dodge PU in a farmer's field. It had see through fenders, cab top, and pickup bed. The wooden slats in the bed were termite eaten and weathered. The tires had long ago seen their better days. The rims were wire spoked. The '34 had suicide doors, and a hood hinged in the middle, and lifted from both sides toward the hinge. I
asked the farmer if he'd sell it, he replied; 'Yes, under one condition. I've never seen it run, it has to leave the property under it's own power.'
Every time I had time, I'd go to the field and work on my truck, replacing or repairing parts as needed. It was a labor of love. By Sept., '65 I managed to get it started and drove it to Lompoc, CA, a distance of over 200 miles. I wasn't liked as I traveled on the Hwy. I was the slowest vehicle in the slowest lane, barely going much over 50mph. For a reason I can't remember today, I sold my '34, a mistake I deeply regret to this day. Ever since then, I've searched out what I refer to as rusty buckets...mostly trucks found surrounded by weeds or old collections of junk or by old barns or homes. Here's a small sample of some of my pics of these relics. I hope you enjoy looking at them as much as I enjoyed taking their pictures, and going on little expeditions to find them. Admittedly, some (few) art pics that were sent to me that others took because they knew my love for these old buckets. To them, I say, thank you! I do enlarge and display a few of these in my den and in my backyard, mounted on the garage wall, under the eaves, facing East. I printed these on stretched canvas, in black and white. These prints are 32" x 46" in size. In over 10 years they have not begun to fade or mildew. Gives a unique display on an otherwise blank slate. The pics in my office are also on stretched canvas in color, and each are 20" x 36" in size. The name Woundedduck came about when my 2nd son, Sy, was about 7years old and we joined Indian Guides so that we could do something together, just father and son. We had to choose an Indian name. He chose Little Big Man, and I chose Woundedduck. I've kept that name in my life ever since. People that know me know that it fits me just fine.
