Our Dad, had a strange affection towards his farm machinery that as a young person I didn’t understand . 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 was any other kind of make or model out there, we didn’t know about, and it surely wasn’t welcome on the farm. 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 missed a breath. Example: Old Julie did well, she kept on plowing without a hiccup. Or if he would trade in a tractor, he would be drinking coffee at the table and say, “I feel bad letting the old girl go, she’s been a good tractor.
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 tractor and White tractor 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, the wind in my 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. I decided its time to find an affordable cab tractor, taking my time to search. I was in no real hurry.
On Monday before Easter, I found one. Much nicer that any we had looked at. By Tuesday I finally got ahold of a salesman and by late Tuesday afternoon it was mine. The sales man ask if I was going to drive down to Ohio and look at it. I said “Nope, I can feel it. Its suppose to sit in a Cass County Barn. 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 was babysitting a few 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.
She is here. She is 36 years old and I am so beyond tickled with her. I cannot imagine 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, wore 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, I tried to sell myself a bill of goods with lines like…. I could sand it and paint it I had said, it will do…ANYTHING will be better than not having a cab on a cold Michigan day.
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 work boots 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 grand daughter noticed 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 momma 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. Rode in the tractor and never moved his facial expressions much. Acted like he has been in this tractor forever, but when I stopped, he simply said ” Why did you stop Omie, lets go again”…
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 tire a few times and says “This is a nice tractor” “Omie’s New Tractor is nice”. Then he picks up his 1 gallon bucket of feed and continues to follow me. You just cant write “GOOD STUFF” like this.
My Dad, called me the other day, we chatted for a few moments and suddenly in his true Dad (I inherited fashion) he said “Hey did you get a new horse, I thought a saw a new one sitting in the yard when I drove by yesterday.
I said …Yes, I did. And Dad….it so clean, and sharp, and guess what…. it has a 8 track player ..and it works. We both laughed. I am such an old spirit. I bought some 8 tracks off ebay and Marty , Merle , Dolly, Reba, George and Johnny plowed with me all Spring, and helped pick corn that fall. Heaven.