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I stood around looking at the tractor it was just sitting there, covered with tarps, I wondered a great many things about this tractor and I looked around the shop area, where we kept the tractor parts and supplies, there was a layer of dust present, that just seemed sad in some strange way.

I pulled the dusty tarps from that thing that had been such a big part of our lives growing up and it blew dust everywhere, there was a slight smell of dirt in the air but also something else.

There was the smell of the past, the sunshine and the rain the clouds and yes, pain, it was hard to look at after years of sitting under the tarps, time had taken advantage as it most always does for everything even us, we tend to think when were young that we will live forever, it usually takes finding this out the hard way, like facing a particularly bad enemy and knowing that in the end you will not win.

This is a story that spans many decades of farm life, following a family through the second world war, and beyond, it tells a story that is both familiar and strange at the same time, it is a story that many farm families, of that generation can tell, but more importantly, it tells the story of what it is really like to be an American.

When we were young, summer was a time to dream about, a time when you could go fishing or camp out.

There was always something special about farm living…

After living in the city for so many years, when I finally returned, to the life I knew as a child, the first thing I noticed, was fresh the air was the second thing I noticed was the silence…

Growing crops in the south was always a hard thing, but that year, often there were times when it seemed like we might not have enough to eat, there were days, when we did not eat as much because we had friends and relatives, that also had no food at all, so we shared what we had, this way everyone got to eat, thought often it meant that no one was full that night.

Life often is not what we think it will be when we are growing up, we hardly ever consider that life moves so fast that one day we would wake up and find that we are getting old, we find that ourselves, taking care of our parents, something we never thought about when we were young.

In times of War, there are almost always a shortage of one thing or another, and no matter, what you do, you always end up running out of something you need.

Hot, yes, it was hot that year, hotter than it had been in many years.

You know the saying its hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk?

Well you could cook dinner as well that summer it was really hot and When it gets hot and there is not much rain, grass does not grow as
much as you might want it to grow more importantly it does not grow as much as you might need it to grow, grass is not hay.

When it gets hot you just can imagine how bad it can get.

It was hot that year, hotter than any of us remember, even the hay in the fields, was dry before we could cut it and hay is important because when you have to buy it in the winter, it gets expensive.

I had just finished breakfast, one of those fresh country breakfasts, that you just can’t get in the city, you may tell yourself its good, and it may be but nothing beats fresh eggs, farm cured bacon, or sausage, or both.

Old fashioned gravy, fresh cooked biscuits, hot from the stove, let me tell you that you just cannot over do breakfast, not when work starts as soon as the sun goes up and hardly ever stops until the sun goes down.

In the 1930s mechanical things were all the rage, but years later, no one could have ever imagined, an old antique tractor making such a difference in the lives of our family.

It was a thing of dirt and grease and iron, yet it was much more than that, providing stability in a time where nothing seemed to be dependable.

The banks just want you land, and your equipment, may their heartless black souls rot.

For years, it was left in the old barn as newer equipment was purchased and used, but this little tractor would one day allow things to happen that no one every thought possible.

This is a story about a tractor And how it changed our lives, in many ways, it was just a tractor, but in all the ways that really counted it was much more than that.

When times are hard human nature pulls together to form one of the strongest bonds you can imagine, it is not as some may think, the farm that pulls you together, it is the family and the land under your feet, that really matters.

It really seemed like it all happened just yesterday, but in reality, the dust of ten years had settled on that old tarp.
In those days, it was always about the rain, how much of it, we got, how much we needed, and how much we could pray down from the sky,

The story behind, so many things, and so many times, when we thought the end of our way of life was just around the next corner, but it wasn’t, we survived, because we were willing to do the hard work that others were not willing to do.

In so many ways, life on a farm is an adventure to a young boy, it is a discovering journey, finding out about the things that life has to offer, a little boy often will learn about these things, when youth in a city setting may never understand them.

It began its life before I began mine, so it was old when I was young, I never thought there would come a day when I would own it, and it would be mine, that day came faster than I ever thought possible.

It was an 8 N ford tractor manufactured in 1949 and it smoked every time it was started up, but it did its job day after day never complaining it remained a thing of iron and grease, working and moving around the farm every day it was almost a part of the family, when I was a kid I remember how it looked, so tall and big, a machine that could intimidate a boy of just 8 but how quickly we grow up, and find that swimming in the blue hole, was more fun than the farm every was.

Everything was there even the attachments, a bush hog, box blade, even a double plow and a bucket too. Every thing you would need to make a road and more.

I remember seeing my dad running that same tractor, cutting grass or spreading gravel, it was something he enjoyed doing working with tools and the power of that old ford tractor.

It was years later, when I saw that old tractor again, and things were not the same as the last time I saw it, a tarp covered, it and it started, smoking as usual, the clutch was worn, and probably needed replacing.

I took stock of the tractor and held the keys in my hand, wondering about so many things that remained unanswered.

There was a sadness about the old thing, a sort of unused dust had settled around the controls, a mild amount of rust was present on the seat and the steering wheel was old and had some cracks in it.

Later I found a new steering wheel, it way just lying, on top of a table in the garage, it was one of the things that he meant to get around to doing but never did, when I saw it I quietly thought to myself that I would fix this tractor and make it whole again and I didnt care what the cost was I would do it.

yes, and why not, it was after all one of the things that makes us uniquely, American, tradition.

Tradition is important to farming families, all over the world, it is something more than just a theory or a thought, it is a will to survive, a need to fulfill promises made, and the best things that we are, we must preserve, so it was more than just a tractor, it was a way of life, that old tractor, was about to be brought back to life.

The story is one that is an ongoing thing it is almost alive, as I tell it, I realize all the things that are really important as life so quickly moves around us, there are some that find a way to see beyond the next work day, they find an escape, from the trap that is an ever revolving merry go round.

The music turns and turns, and where it stops no body knows…

One thing remains, the iron and the fields, they always remain…