I've known Bob Shotwell for all of my life. Was one of the always present figures that could be found lurking around my grandfathers farm when we were kids. Bob came off like one of the characters from a John Steinbeck novel. He wasn't long for words or conversation but as a child when Bob spoke it was pure pearls of wisdom that came out of his mouth. He could make a snowy trip over Schooley's Mountain in his 1960 White Mercury Comet seem like a death defying voyage over the Khyber pass. I remember one frozen morning my brother and I were watching Bob trying to hook up the plow to the tractor. The shackle he was working with was frozen solid, so bob did what he needed to do, he popped the whole thing in his mouth to warm it up. Always one for timing it was then that I asked Bob if it was cold where he lived? So bob spat out the shackle and simply muttered "dam ba$tard was 40 below at my house". That was 39 years ago and I remember it like yesterday. Bob was the only person I know who could pull off using a piece of rope as a belt and make it work.
