Tractors aren’t toys, though they’re sometimes treated as such. When you’re young they make work more exciting. Though danger is always present.
I was 6 years old when I drove my first tractor. Mom needed a babysitter. Our teenage boy neighbor agreed to watch me while helping his older brother harvest hay.
Mom dropped me off at the edge of the field. Her idea was I would ride on the hay wagon, but the crew was short on help and needed a tractor driver.
Ray lifted me up on the seat of their grandpa’s old Farmall. The brothers put the faded red machine in low gear, and set the throttle on slow. My legs were too short to reach the pedals.
I steered zigzag through the hay bales while the big guys loaded the wagon. Only ran over a few bales. It was scary and exciting perched up there with the workers.
When I was 12 and my legs were longer, I got my first paying job for Ray’s brother in a hay field. A John Deere ran away with me pulling a load of hay. I remember speeding like a roller coaster down a small hill. It was the only time I saw that farmer scared.
He yelled at me to push in the brake. I thought he said to take it out of gear. Luckily the tractor rolled to a stop and I didn’t lose a bale.
In my early to mid-teens, I worked for another farmer driving his John Deeres A and B. I loved those old Johnny poppers with hand clutches. Hauling hay to the barn was pure fun.
I fantasized about driving one of those tractors through town. In my imagination I’d pause at the stoplight before turning east on Main Street.
My hair would be blowing in the wind, and shoppers on the sidewalk would pause to watch me growl by. A few years later that daydream sort of came true when I went to work for the village.
One of my jobs was using a newer John Deere tractor with wide set front tires to groom the baseball diamond. My boss said to drive the back streets from the village garage to the park.
However, I drove the tractor through town twice without permission. It was to say goodbye to a downstate girlfriend who was leaving for home soon.
When I pulled into her uncle’s driveway, she came out of the house to greet me. I turned the engine off and climbed down for some romantic small talk.
I was proud and already lonesome. “Hope I see you soon,” I said to this smiling blonde damsel, and drove back through town to work.
Tractors have been involved in some of the best and worst experiences of my life. This month’s poem features a near death and unbelievable moment.
I built the Stone Circle using two of my in-laws John Deere orchard tractors. It was tedious work, but not boring like plowing or discing. I was creating art with a tractor, and that’s rare.
The danger involved was to not tip over backwards from the weight of the boulder being carried less than an inch off the ground. And you steered with your brakes because your front tires were barely touching.
By the way, Stone Circle began its 41st season last night. I recited this poem for the first time.