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Dad loved taking a Sunday afternoon drive to see the country. In the 1980s, when he lived in the New Mexico quarter of the four-corners, he found his perfect job – delivering fuel to gas stations across the western landscape. On Mom’s days off, she frequently accompanied him on a run. Below is in an edited excerpt she wrote of an early Sunday delivery to a gas station on the Navajo Indian reservation. She refers to my dad as The Trucker.

At 6 a.m., while The Trucker gets the truck loaded and paper work completed at the Plateau Refinery, I walk up the road, enjoy the birds singing, ...