March 2013

All the years growing up on the family farm with my three brothers, I was second in command.  My much older brother, Stan (by 14 months) , relinquished his title of oldest to me whenever it came to house cleaning or babysitting the younger brothers. There fore I assumed the role of first born and from that moment on my brothers referred to me as “Sargent General Sir”. It wasn’t a term of endearment. They were plenty angry at me when I hounded them to help clean the farmhouse before our mom returned from her routine Saturday hairdresser’s appointment.  Back in the day, she would tease all her hair straight out, and then take strands thin and about 3 inches wide, spiral them up on the top of her head, and secure them in place with hairpins, and then she would spray hairspray for 5 minutes to hold them in place. And hold they did….. forever.

Our Dad had a strange affection towards his farm machinery that, as a young person, I didn’t get. I took in his trait, but never took a moment to understand the “bond” he shared with sheet metal.  We were raised on John Deere Tractors and Ford pickup trucks. If there were any other kinds of makes or models out there, we surely didn’t know about them, and they surely weren’t welcome on the farm.  And Dad would call his truck and tractors pet names, like “Old Bessie” or “old Girl” or “Julie” it was just something he would spit out when he was talking and never miss a breath.

Alas, fast forward 32 years. I bought a 200-acre farm from Farmer Burt, and He believed in farming the old way. He slowly converted me to Dodge trucks, and Since He was an Oliver and White fan, it slowly became my choice of tractors also. Burt never owned a tractor with a cab. We did once, in 1995 but of course we sold it or traded it or some such thing. I didn’t care. I love the open stations. Love the sun beating down on me, the smell of dirt and diesel in the hair, I prefer mud over makeup….seriously it a nature thing I guess.

The years have gone quickly by, and suddenly, when I have field work to do, I wait and wait for the sun to come out completely, or the wind to die down. Then I have a small window of work opportunity before the sun moves out and the cool sets in and within a few hours my knees and joints are locked up tight from the cold.  We decided its time to find an affordable cab tractor.

On Monday before Easter, we found one. Much nicer than any we had looked at. By Tuesday, I finally got a hold of a salesman, and by late Tuesday afternoon, it was ours. The salesman asked if I was going to drive down to Ohio and look at it. I said, “Nope, I can feel it. It’s supposed to have a Cass County Home.  Just bring her home”.

They set up delivery for Good Friday.  They were 90 miles away and called that morning to say they would be here sometime in the afternoon.  I had some of the grandchildren that day.   It was almost 3:30 p.m. and suddenly I could feel it. I am completely serious. I knew it was in the neighborhood. I grabbed my camera and stood by the glass door and within 20 seconds the white semi crept through the pines . I started snapping pictures.

So, she is here. She is 36 years old and I am so beyond tickled with her. I can hardly believe how fortunate I am to have such a nice tractor. Not just because its a cab tractor but because its a WHITE FIELD BOSS and it so immaculate!!!!   When I think of all the nasty, rusted, worn-out tractors we entertained the idea of buying this winter, I just shiver. I was willing to make anything work to have a cab. Oh we could sand it and paint it I had said, it will do…ANYTHING will be better than nothing right.

HERE’S THE MEANT TO BE PART OF THIS STORY……I  LOVE THIS WHITE TRACTOR. From the moment I saw it on the trailer my heart flipped.   I believe clear down to the bottom of my feet that Burt commandeered this tractor from Heaven and helped navigate it right here to HIS FARM/OUR FARM.

See, how I refer to it as a her. Isn’t it the strangest thing how we pick up some of our parents’ traits, and some 53 years later, I cannot explain why. What I can explain is that when I am near the tractor, I say odd things like :

“Sorry you are sitting in the rain old girl”

“Sorry, I haven’t been able to take you for a run today old girl”

“Man she’s a nice tractor isn’t she”

“Man, we hit the lottery with her”

Unbeknownst to me,  our four-year-old granddaughter noticed that a tear or two had fallen from my face when the tractor was unloaded and sitting in the front drive. She looked at me and said “Omie, why are you crying, you don’t like your new tractor”. I said  “Oh Honey, these are happy tears, but we don’t have to tell anyone the Omie cried a little ok..”

Emma agreed, but, per standard operating procedures, she couldn’t wait to blurt it out to her mom that afternoon. “Mom, Mom, Omie cried when the man brought her tractor, but it was just a little bit. ”   Her little Brother Logan, a boy of few words, because he is that much like his Daddy. He rode in the tractor and never moved his facial expressions much. Acted like he has been in this tractor forever, but when I stop it, he says ” Why did you stop Omie, lets go again”…

And my favorite tale of the new tractor……..Yesterday I walked past the tractor carrying 5 gallon buckets of feed in my hands I muttered   “Old Julie, you are such a nice tractor.”… and Logan who was following behind me slows and rubs his hand over the top of the front time a few times and say “This is a nice tractor”  “Omie’s New Tractor is nice”. Then he picks up his 1 gallon bucket of feed and continues to on.  You just can’t write stuff this precious.