Or something similar... |
I can only write
this story because the Statute of Limitations has expired.
Growing up on the
ranch provided many opportunities to drive the tractor around the field. And
around and around and around and around and . . .
You get the
picture.
This can be very
boring.
However, if one is
on the right tractor . . .
One hot day, I was
given the opportunity to drive our big Case.
At the time I was
about 16 years old and I liked driving it because it made a very big vroom
sound.
I don't remember
the horse power. Let’s just say it had lots of ponies in its motor.
I also liked it
because it had a comfortable seat that moved up and down as you drove across
the bumpy field, air conditioning, and a radio.
Things not found
on other tractors on the ranch.
On a nice hot day,
the air conditioning was greatly appreciated and I always liked having a radio.
It helped relieve the monotony/boredom.
Now here is where
the statute of limitations comes in.
I was instructed
by Mom to keep the air conditioning at a reasonable level. She told me that if
I had the air conditioning at its maximum level, it was unhealthy. I would say
“Sure, Mom” then wait for her to leave and turn the air conditioning as cold as
I could get it.
The second thing I
was told to do was keep the radio at a moderate level. Then I could hear
mechanical noises in a timely manner and shut down and repair equipment. If one didn’t detect these things early there was the
potential of having a catastrophic failure.
In other words fix/replace a small part or fix/replace lots of parts. Again
my reply was “Sure, Dad” then wait for Dad to leave the field and turn up the
radio.
I was
operating the big Case tractor on a beautiful hot summer day.
The birds were
singing.
Well I guess
they were singing.
Who can hear
birds over the roar of the tractor and the ‘moderate’ radio.
The air was
fresh and clear.
I think.
It was
definitely cold in the cab of the tractor.
I was pulling
a big cultivator around the field.
Then it
happened.
The cultivator
snagged a rock that was just under the soil surface.
In a few short
seconds I was staring in horror at an expensive cultivator rolled into a ball
around a rock the size of a cow.
I should
mention here that I was not concerned about the cultivator. But about the explanation
that I was going to give Dad.
My mind
immediately started putting my account of the situation together.
Phrases like:
“I was
regularly looking at the gages of the tractor and all was fine.”
“I was
constantly surveying the soil surface for rocks and other nasty potentially
machine-breaking items.”
“Oh, no! The
radio was not blasting loudly, I don’t think I could hardly hear it.”
Then a miracle
happened.
The big ball
of metal, rock, and soil disentangled themselves and the cultivator popped back
into its original shape.
The entire
episode lasted a few short seconds.
I breathed a
sigh of relief and stopped the tractor. I felt that I had better look the
cultivator over and make sure everything was in place before I continued my trek
around the field.
It was then I learned
why Mom told me to keep the air conditioning at a moderate level.
I threw open
the tractor cab door and was immediately hit with a blast of hot outside air.
I felt a
little dizzy but continued down the ladder to the ground.
As I was
moving down, a massive amount of hot air from the very powerful motor hit me. My
ears started to ring and my head started to spin. My legs turned to spaghetti
and I stumbled to the ground.
Luckily, this
moved me away from the hot air spewing from the motor.
My head
cleared and I was able to move/stumble away from the tractor.
I looked at
the cultivator and determined that it was all right.
I breathed
another sigh of relief.
The engineer
that designed said cultivator had foreseen my encounter and put in the trip
mechanisms to protect it.
I was suddenly
grateful for engineers.
Once I had
finished with the cultivator, I carefully avoided the blast of hot air as I
climbed back on the tractor.
Then I turned
down the radio and air conditioning.
And vowed to
listen more to Mom and Dad.
Every Sunday, I am featuring stories from little brother Blair, now an Engineering Professor in New Mexico. Who also lived on the ranch with me.
And whose memories are almost as good . . .
almost...
ReplyDeleteYeah. Dad saw this. Uh-oh . . .
DeleteWHY won't we listen to mom and dad? :) Glad everything worked out okay..
ReplyDeleteTeenagers are just naturally smarter than their parents. Bwahahahaha!
DeleteYou were a lucky kid that day ... yeah, there was always a pretty good reason for "the rules"! Now, if our kids were only as smart as we are now, they would listen to us ... or maybe it's THEIR kids that are at that stage now ... hmm.
ReplyDeleteThere's always some stage that's smarter than us. Right now, I think EVERY stage is smarter! :)
DeleteI have wondered about when the "Statute of Limitations" on stories I could tell actually expires. I think it must be evaluated on a case to case basis! This story helps validate my warnings to my children to not blast the radio when they are driving!
ReplyDeleteSee? You are a true Mom!
DeleteI was a mail carrier for many years before I got sick and people would sometimes complain about my stereo oops...sorry!
ReplyDeleteA carrier of tunes! Perfect!
DeleteYou were naughty Diane! Isn't it funny how much smarter our parents get after we get older?
ReplyDeleteI was amazed at how much Dad learned in the five years between my 16th and 21st birthdays . . .
Delete