Miss Betsy could occasionally be seen tooling around Fort Stockton, always by herself, usually with a smile on her face in a rusty old Chevy Greenbrier just like this one. Her husband had purchased it as a project decades ago. She kept it after his departure, mostly as a reminder of things he had promised to finish, but never did.

Early on she’d only drive it to the local nursery, Grant’s Plants, or over to the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store when she needed to pick something up. Lately, though you’d see her pull the Corvair van into the Piggly Wiggly for grocery runs. Never had to worry about a runaway cart banging into the side of it like she did when she drove the Grand Marquis.

It raised a few eyebrows when she started driving it to Sunday services at the Second Baptist Church. But most said, “More power to her. She can do as she damn well pleases. After all, she put up with that old bastard for years.” Folks around town never cared much for her husband, Karl, when he was still here. Kind of an angry old cuss.

Don’t think anyone’s ever seen her get the Greenbrier up over 35 miles an hour. Probably no reason to. Even as old as the Corvair is, the engine purrs so smooth you can hear the sweet sound of Miss Betsy’s lips as she whistles her way through town.

A few weeks back, about the beginning of spring, she backed the Greenbrier into Grant’s Plants and filled the whole backend up with vegetables for her garden. Grant helped load up about three dozen lettuce plants and what looked like enough sweet peas for about four rows. Some spinach and beets ended up on the passenger seat and front floorboard so she could fit in all the tomato plants in the back and not have to make two trips. They were the Beefsteak variety and she planted enough to supply her neighbors all with enough homemade ketchup through Thanksgiving.

Everyone was always amazed at the bounty of her garden. It looked like a lot, even in the back of the Corvair, but in her garden the plants grew with a vengeance. Almost a jungle of vegetables. Her zucchinis and cucumbers were always twice as big as anyone else’s, and her sugar beets would make people ask for seconds who don’t even normally like beets.

She’d just blush and look away when people would compliment her produce, trying to deflect credit. She was humble, just like her Greenbrier van. And she knew it was really Karl that made the difference in her garden.

After all, that’s where she had buried him a couple years back when she just couldn’t take any more.