by Rusty W. Mitchum
Did I ever tell you about my dad and me gettin’ a new tractor? Well here, let me tell you about it. By the way, the tractor was not really new; it was just new to us.
You see, my dad had a farm out in the New Harmony/Mt. Sylvan area where he raised cattle. This is where I live today. My dad was always on the lookout for tractors. He had this thing about tractors. My mom said it was a sickness, but her bein’ female and all, she just didn’t understand about men and their toys. Show me a man who doesn’t like tractors, and I’ll show you a man who probably stays home durin’ the day, so he can watch Oprah on TV.
Anywho, back then we lived about twenty miles from the farm, but we’d make the trip everyday to feed the cows and keep an eye on things. Daddy had been seein’ an old tractor sittin’ out in a pasture with grass grown up around it for a while, and decided to stop to see if it was for sell. It was an ol’ Farmall Cub tractor, which is small but just right for use in a garden.
The tractor belonged to Thielemans here in New Harmony. Mr. Leon Thieleman has gone on to be with the Lord since then, but his wife Miss Birdie is still around and she’s one of my sweeties. You see, I like to hug women, and Miss Birdie is one of the best huggers around. Anywho, back to the tractor.
While Daddy and Mr. Thieleman negotiated, I talked to the Thieleman boys who were about my age. They were showin’ me a mudpuppy they had found in the creek when I heard my dad holler.
“Rusty! Come on and help me get this tractor loaded!”
“Yes Sir!” I yelled back and ran over there to help.
That tractor had been sittin’ up for quiet awhile and the motor was frozen up. We didn’t have a winch or come-alongs or nothin’, but we did have an ol’ fence stretcher. Daddy kicked the tractor out of gear and we loaded it onto his flatbed trailer by using that fence stretcher. Daddy would work the stretcher and I’d scotch the wheels when he’d reach the end of the stretcher. It took awhile, but we finally got it loaded.
“It don’t run?” I asked as we were headin’ home.
“Not yet,” my dad said, knowin’ he could fix it.
Well, we got home and I headed off to find my cousin Coy to play with while Daddy fussed over that tractor. He looked like a little kid with a new toy. Even my mom was exited about the tractor, because she knew that this tractor would be used to maintain her vegetable garden. We always kept a pretty big garden back then.
Daddy pulled the sparkplugs, poured kerosene into the cylinders, and let it sit over night. Early the next morning he shook me out of bed.
“Come on Boy,” he said. “We’ve got to get this tractor runnin’.” Back then kids didn’t get to sleep late, like they do now-a-days. I think it was a law or somethin’ that said that kids had to get up early and do stuff your parents told you to with out whinin’ and such. It’s a wonder we all didn’t turn out to be mass murders and such, as mistreated as we were.
“Yes Sir,” I said as I wiped the eye boogers out of my eyes.
Daddy had already chained a long chain to the front of the tractor and to the back bumper of the International Scout pickup that he drove back then. My job was to drive the Scout and pull the tractor that would be driven by my dad. No, I didn’t have a driver’s license. Heck, it’d be another five or six years until I got one of those, but I knew how to drive. Daddy had taught my sister Teri and me how to drive several years before. We lived out in the country, so we didn’t worry too much about getting’ caught by the law.
Anywho, I climbed behind the wheel of the Scout and watched for Daddy’s signal. When he gave me the high sign, I lowered my self down in the seat, so I could reach the clutch and put the Scout in gear. Slowly, I let the clutch out, so I could take the slack out of the tow chain.
“Keep her in first!” yelled my dad, lettin’ me know what gear to leave it in. He had told me before we started that if the tractor hadn’t started by the time we reached the end of the road we lived on, to be sure and stop, so we could turn around and head back up. Parents think just because you’re a kid you’re naturally stupid or somethin’.
Well, I’d pull him and he’d pop the clutch on that ol’ tractor and it’d turn over, but wouldn’t start. I bet I pulled him up and down that road four or five times and that tractor hadn’t said a thing. I was ready to quit, but I knew my dad would never give up. We had just turned around at the top of the road and started back down when my dad hollered, “Speed it up a little!”
“Yes Sir!” I yelled back and I slid down in the seat, pushed in the clutch, and shifted into second gear and sped up. All of a sudden, I heard an explosion. I looked in the rearview mirror and I saw a cloud of blue smoke engulf the tractor. Out from the smoke, I saw wasp nests, dirt dauber nests, spiders, and no telling what else flyin’ off of that tractor.
Daddy had told me when the tractor cranked to stop pullin’ him, but I didn’t know the tractor had cranked, so I kept pullin’. I kept lookin’ into the mirror, but I wasn’t seein’ much but a cloud of smoke and debris. Then the tractor and my dad appeared. Dad had a death grip on the steerin’ wheel, and his teeth was set in what I thought was a grin, but I found out latter, that they call that a grimace.
Well, when I saw them, I thought he was fixin’ to run over me, so I gave the Scout some more gas. By now Daddy was standin’ up on the brakes of the tractor and smokin’ those tires pretty good. I was watchin’ in fascination through the rearview mirror at my dad. Then I saw his eyes get real big, like he’d seen a ghost or somethin’. I looked down from the mirror and I saw what he saw, the end of the road. I slammed on the brakes, and the tires dug into the oil-topped road. The Scout stopped. The tractor, on the other hand, kept right on comin’. I braced for what I figured would be a neck poppin’ whiplash, but Daddy turned the wheels just in time to miss the back end of the Scout. As he passed me on my left, he had the most pitiful look on his face. It was the same look that those guys in the movies have when the old Padre’ is leadin’ them to the electric chair. I guess he thought that he was fixin’ to end up in the creek at the end of the road. But he didn’t have to worry. You see he was still chained to the Scout. Come to think of it, that may be the reason he had that look on his face.
When he hit the end of that chain, the backend of the Scout lurched, but held fast. The tractor did a one-eighty and came to an abrupt stop. Although Daddy’s hands were still gripped to the steerin’ wheel, his body was hanging off the back of the tractor (which by the way, was still runnin’. Luckily, he had knocked it out of gear when he was flailin’ around.)
I jumped out of the Scout and ran up to my dad.
“Wow!” I said. “We did it! We got it cranked!” Daddy didn’t say anything. “You okay?” I asked. He nodded.
After I got his fingers pried off of the steerin’ wheel, he walked around a little ‘til his legs quit shakin’. We unhooked the tractor and headed back to the house. Daddy didn’t say much for a few days. He did develop a funny twitch in his face though, but he finally got over it.
That tractor stayed with us for a number of years and worked a many a garden. But until the day we finally sold it, every time my dad would climb on it, he’d break out in a cold sweat. And you know, he never asked me to pull another tractor for him. Go figure.
