In the early 60s when I first moved here there was a very colorful old fellow who wore an ankle length bearskin coat winter and summer who roamed the streets and alleys. He pushed a shopping cart and dug in the dumpsters and trash cans for boxes which he then pushed home to his little shack for firewood. Sometimes the boxes would be so tall on the cart that he couldn't see over it. My first husband always gave me the business for scrounging around for boxes. "You're as bad as Charlie Teeters!"
O.K. I have to admit it. I have to come out of the closet (or dumpster) sometime. I am an addict, a box addict. I love to get in the car and drive down the alleys looking for the perfect box. Rascal loves to go "boxing" with me. This town isn't very large, mostly one alley on one side of Main Street and one on the other and then we do have a couple other secret spots. You just never know when you're going to need a good box. Diane