Classic Car Harvest

I just sold a friend's 1995 Mazda Miata in these last few weeks of topless driving here in the Northeast. The new owner will have a revvy little roadster to enjoy fall leaf peeping, to make mundane trips to the store pretty awesome, and to feel one with the outdoors.

While posting this car on the Web for my friend, it occurred to me that the window for selling a little roadster is fast closing. Cars like the little Miata tend to fetch more money in those first days of spring. Fueled by sun, wind, nostalgia, and a healthy dose of testosterone, they are practically an alternative energy vehicle.

Like my A124, this M Edition Miata hails from 1995 
The seasonality of it all got me thinking that we are farmers of a sort. People line up to buy and enjoy our mechanical harvest come spring in much the same way people attend those first outdoor farmers markets of the year. They are eager to enjoy the bounty of the season with their entire being and with every one of their senses at full-throttle.

Come winter though, the consumer hunkers down and hibernates, while the farmer conscientiously plans the upcoming season for growth and the harvesting of his bounty. He purchases those weekend playthings in the off-season, sometimes completely covered in a layer of snow that can make them seem utterly useless or even absurd.

But on a sunny day like today this little Miata is the furthest thing from useless. It's charming in its Merlot paint with its 15" BBS alloy wheels. It's a fun way to break out of the Mercedes world, if only for a couple days. And since it sold to the first person who saw it, people obviously agree. People like fun cars. The Miata is loud, light, and doesn't even have a clock. I'm guessing the original radio had one on its dial, but who needs a clock when you're having this much fun?

It's not for me, but I understand its appeal. It's a fun little roadster along the lines of an MG or Lotus Elan. So fun that it got me thinking about putting an SLK in the garage. So fun, in fact, the prospective buyers clogged up my e-mail account.

"I'd like to have one of these when I grow up." That's what I heard my 10-year old son say yesterday evening as I took him on the 15-mile drive home from his school.

Sounds to me like there's another generation of farmer in our midst.