The view from my tractor

Although it did not start out as “my” tractor, it has become mine by default after Rob’s death. This is his baby, and always will be.

He taught me to drive this girl when we first were married. And while I did not do much tractor driving for 12 years, it has paid off that he did teach me. I was the step’n’fetch on the ground. He is much better at the driving part than I am. He had the strength and size to manage it better than I ever will. This girl has no power steering, no power brakes, and it takes quite a bit to make her go where you want her to go. When you add a bale of hay to the front, I am basically driving it blind as it’s tough to see over and around that hay. So far, with the luck of the Gods, i’ve not destroyed anything while driving her.

Rob found this tractor after many years of searching for just the right one. It had to be a 1953 Farmall Super M with the Farmhand loader.

Why this particular one you ask?

When Rob was a child growing up in Illinois, one of his fondest memories is being put on a 1953 Farmall Super M and being turned loose in the field to disc or harrow the dirt. His grandfather would get it set up and just let him go. He recalls doing this chore when he was 8 years old. Yes, 8, and on a big for the time tractor, to run around the field for his grandpa. Granted, Rob was a rather tall child for 8. He said he didn’t have to shift or do any kind of pedal work, just steer that tractor around the field for hours until the gas ran out. He loved it!!

He adored telling me his story, and I prob heard it about 20, or more, times in our 13 years together.

So, when he was on his tractor search, it had to be the one from his childhood.

As stated, this tractor is from 1953. It’s manufacture date is 4 months younger than Rob is. It’s a real workhorse. As Rob was fond of saying, she has her working clothes on. She’s not the prettiest tractor around, but to Rob, she is beautiful. She has dents and dings, chipped paint, scrapes, oil leaks, hydraulic leaks, and a torn seat cover. She has cobbled together parts, bail twine, zip ties, and duct tape holding her together. She also has a wonderful newly built hay head, which was the last thing Rob designed and built in his lifetime.

She has open weeping wounds, and scars. She is also beautiful for them

They say scars show that you have lived a life. That they tell your story.

I know that we all have wounds and scars. Some visible, some not seen. Some talked about, and some kept hidden in our hearts and souls.

I feel a kinship to this tractor, with open weeping wounds and scars to match hers.

Whenever I get up on that seat, the same one Rob sat on so many times, to do farm chores, I get to reminisce about him. I think about the countless bales of hay moved, corral’s scraped, snow moved, buckets of dirt spread, and all the other associated things you would use a tractor for. I think about the time I dropped the back end of a dump truck into a newly opened sink hole in the garden, and Rob using this gal to drag the truck out, and me not hitting the brakes fast enough to avoid hitting the blade on the tractor. Rob laughed his ass off at that one, and never failed to remind me of it on a regular basis. I remember standing on the axel housing next to him, with his big strong arm around my waist as we drove around the property getting to our next job.

I miss the feel of his strong arm around me, holding me close so that I don’t fall and get another scar.

Rob’s passing has left open weeping wounds in my heart and soul. Wounds that have not formed any scars yet. I don’t know if there will ever be scars. I do know, that much like Rob’s tractor, every day I leak some more. Oil and tears, hydraulic fluid and life’s blood. I can replace the oil and hydraulic fluid. I haven’t been able to figure out how to replace the tears and blood.

I think that time does not heal all wounds. I think time softens the edges some, but that some wounds will always remain open.

This did not go where I anticipated it would.