Flash Fiction by David

A long-retired farmer found his first “gift from the heavens,” as he calls it, when it fell from orbit and landed in his field. Since then, he has recovered several more pieces of space junk on his back forty. He’s out in the barn most evenings, welding and hammering, building a spacecraft. Harold plans to have the first working farm in orbit. Every few weeks his grandson goes to the junkyard, finds an interesting piece of scrap metal, stencils “SpaceX” or “NASA” on it, and leaves it in the field. Only the first one was real, but grandpa died happy.