I share a past with some old machines that seem more like friends than a careful placement of gears and other metal parts. I suspect my relationship with them is based on the memories created during our collaborative experience. You will never forget your first car. It was cold and raining this past week and I fell back into memories of my Mercury Montego. It was blue with a white vinyl top. My parents helped me purchase the car and we picked it up on a similarly chilly, wet day. I remember how clean it was, and the paper floor mats, this presentation really set me into the moment of what had just happened. I think the first place we drove it was to Grandma Nelson’s place. Teenage experiences are so condensed over a few short years, they’re just blur. I was transported to some of those experiences in that car; every drive smacked of independence and it tasted good.
I am an International Harvester/Farmall guy. I haven’t owned one of these red tractors for a few years, but I am still a devoted fan. I think this started with my first experience driving a tractor. My dad let me pull the manure spreader behind our Farmall 300 around the straw pile. I drove clockwise for hours until I had the courage to turn the unit around and see what my route looked like counterclockwise. I loved the levers and side gear case which would have been used to power a threshing machine. I looked forward to every little turn or opportunity to adjust my speed with the throttle handle on the steering wheel bracket.
My first taste of adult life was in an International Harvester 856 diesel. This was a beautiful tractor, and surviving examples are still quite stunning. The dealership had delivered a 6 bottom trailing plow with their tilt bed truck. The driver needed someone to pull the plow off the bed and I was the only one around. He tilted the bed, then backed our 856 up the deck until he could connect it to the plow. I then jumped up into the tractor cab and followed his directions to slowly draw the plow off the truck bed. I was a little scared, but I followed the truck driver’s directions, and all went well. Dad never asked how the plow arrived, but it was a big day for me.
All the nostalgia and symbols of our past are mixed up with a slurry of love, fear, excitement and individual first experiences. The first taste of independence was a powerful emotion for me, and it really never diminished with repetition. The feeling of accomplishment or having the trust of another is something of which I never tire. Many of my experiences were shared with another person, however all of them were shared with and facilitated by a favorite old vehicle. The tractor or car provided the means for me to explore my own maturity, my own freedom and my world.preciate small acts today.
All of those little things you do cause ripples over time. The longer the time, the more profound the effect. You get these opportunities to perform tiny gestures fairly often, but they don’t seem worthwhile because of their size. However, with time they can gain a much longer shadow and ripple out beyond any actions seemingly important today but without the required age to show their true consequence.
