THE Tractor Story

I am back once again in the full swing of school.  I look forward to this semester, as it is my final one of undergrad.  I want to share a short story that happened today that will lead into the main story for today’s writing.  

I got to school a little early, or actually quite early, as I always do.  I was waiting for my afternoon class to start on a bench in the hallway when a guy I had classes with before stopped to talk.  We talked about school, what we looked forward to, and what we didn’t look forward to.  He asked me what I did on break, and I answered that I was able to spend quite a bit of time with both of my grandmas.  He is a little older, and thus wiser than most others in college, and he promptly asked if I was writing any of what we did down.  I was happy to say that I was writing it down in a journal on my laptop.  He advised me that I would be happy to look back at those one day to relive what I was so fortunate to have.  He told of his daughter writing stories down that his parents had told, which made me think, “Why only write the day’s events when there are other stories to tell?”  So I’ll attempt to share one of my favorite and humorous stories I know.  

My grandparents lived on a farm in Gainesville, Missouri most of the time while I was growing up.  It was the highlight of the month when we set a trip to go down to the farm.  Living in the city, that was where I was exposed to agriculture and country living.  How those trips helped shape me and made me want to pursue agriculture as a career is unclear, but I couldn’t be more thankful for those times.  As my grandpa got older, he started showing signs of dementia, thus resulting in having to sell some of the farm and move closer to town.  They settled on Sparta, Missouri, about 30 minutes away from my house.  There they had their garden, tractor, and a front porch, although it would never be “home” to them.  My job was to mow the yard, and still is.  One day, my mom and grandma had gone to get groceries and run some errands.  During that time, I was going to mow the yard.  I started out mowing the front, with my grandpa swinging on the porch swing.  He’d watch me go around and around, until he had had enough sitting and watching.  I remembering mowing the backyard and watching him come out the back door and head towards the barn.  I knew exactly what he was going for - the tractor.  I wasn’t sure what he was planning to do, but I kept on mowing and decided that I would head over and check on him in a few minutes.  I finally saw the tractor emerge out of the barn with a brushhog mower on the back.   That means he detached the plow that was on the tractor, and hooked up the brushhog all by himself.  He saw me mowing and just felt the need to do the same.  He smiled his classic ear-to-ear grin and headed to the hay field.  After I finished mowing, I sat on the mower next to the field to watch him.  

It was at this point that he decided it would be a good idea to have me learn to run the tractor. After several failed prompts to have me take over I finally gave in and got on the tractor ready to go.  Only at this point, his dementia was progressing and he was unable to tell me the basics of his old tractor.  So he slammed it in gear, the tractor lurched, nearly knocking him down and running him over.  I was off and running with no idea what to do.  My first taste of farming was rather scary, because he was unable to tell me how to stop the tractor, and in the heat of the moment, my mind seemed to freeze and steering was the only action I could think to do.  I decided to quit worrying and just ride along, because going straight was not my problem.  Once I had enough fun for my liking, I decided to try to get the thing to stop.  I drove where my grandpa was watching and got the courage to start pressing pedals.  I got lucky and pressed the clutch, which stopped the tractor and turned off the brushhog as well.  Phew.  

That was several years ago, and it is still one of my favorite stories to tell.  I believe that is the story that cemented “Oliver Wendell Douglas” as my nickname.  Now I enjoy hopping on the old tractor and taking it for a little spin (now that I know how to drive it).  I hope to always remember him standing on the side of the hay field, watching me mow the yard and hay field.  Every time I’d make a turn and just glance up, he’d always be watching, making sure that everything was going okay.  Still today I find myself mowing or driving the tractor glancing up at where he sat on the porch or by the field.  I can still see him, overalls and ball cap on, standing there just watching.  If he were still here today, I feel like that’s right where he would want to be.  I feel nothing but support, almost more, because I know that he is watching and standing right beside me, grinning and eager to put some seeds in the ground.