Warm Fuzzy Twisted Steel

Cars in a Junkyard.  The analogy is frequently made between a vehicular scrapyard and a cemetery.  For those whose veins course with a hemoglobin-petroleum mixture, this comparison is in some ways accurate, in other ways flawed.  In the cemetery there is no hope, no chance, no dream.  The contents are permanently placed, never again to see the light of day.  Never again to serve an earthly purpose. 

To the enthusiast, the junkyard is a veritable field of dreams.  Walking amongst the rotting bodies, the mechanical dreamer sees possibility, potential, and hope.  Specimens beyond salvation in their entirety might donate organs, experiencing reincarnation in a Frankensteinian way.  Others from this purgatory may be rescued intact.  To the automotive visionary, it is possible the near-condemned will again take form, breathe air, shudder back to life.

If, as you read this, you understand what is being said, then you are one of us.  Those to whom these ideas are foreign will soon stop reading, turn away and move on. 

Non-believers view junkyards as eyesores, man-made blights upon the surface of the earth.  To these, the automotive bone-yard serves a necessary evil: Disposal of items no longer useful.  They contribute to its existence, yet despise it.  Even many who proclaim themselves automobile enthusiasts do not feel the love of these hallowed places.

That's just it.  To the true believer junkyards are hallowed ground.  Hallowed, because the shattered, bent, broken, twisted, rusting, left-to die inhabitants are dear friends.  As horses to cavalry men, these mounts have served faithfully through situations of all sorts.  More than a means to an end or a tool for a job, our cars are part of us.  We have experienced life together. 

Our cars are friends, family, loved ones.  They have fulfilled their utilitarian tasks such as transportation to places of toil, shopping, and unpleasant commitments.  In sweet contrast to their mundane chores, our car-friends have delivered us safely to vacation destinations, been escorts for romantic excursions, and companions at happy events.  All the while waiting dutifully to be again called upon, regardless of time, weather, or mission. 

These actions and sentiments are the reason we love junkyards.  Not only may we go there in search of treasure, but we also go there in reverence.  As bits, pieces, and parts are scoured for and removed, we reminisce.  A Beetle evokes memories of my parents, a Camaro brings back warm summer nights with a cousin.  That favorite college professor drove a Honda like this.  My brother has a BMW just like that one, I wonder if he ever got those headlight covers he needs?  There's a Maroon Cougar like she was driving when..........it still hurts when I see one.

While occasional visits are necessary, even healing, it is difficult to imagine gaining pleasure from time in a cemetery.  To members of our fraternity, time in junkyards is enjoyable, exciting, even spiritual.  While there we can be productive, creative, nostalgic, and foresighted.  And happy.