Probably not a good idea to tailgate me while I pilot around the backroads of New England.
One of my ongoing series involves vintage tractors. Those amazingly durable old workhorses of the farm.
Farmers work these machines hard and unlike a suburban commuter with a Taurus babied in the garage, these old tractors are often left out exposed to the elements.
Dirty and oily, caked with mud.
The farmers count on these powerful farm machines to till a field, cut hay, bale hay and haul it the barn. They pull plows, cutters, wagons. They drive down country roads with the lights flashing at 10 miles an hour.
Farmers know how to keep these vital cogs in the machine going year after year, far longer than when the family sedan bites the dust.
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Yesterday – A Poem About An Old Tractor
By Charles A. McLennan (Grandy)
Old tractor dismembered and shrouded in dust
Her body disfigured by horrible rust;
Her day is long over, her plowing all done,
No more will she flash in the sun.
The spark plugs are gone; there’s no fire inside.
Her pistons long idle, her spirit has died;
She rusts in dishonor, not even a grave
In reward for the service she gave.
In a field back of nowhere, abandoned, alone;
Been robbed of the seat that was used as a throne.
No one to sing to the song of the gears;
Everything’s gone with the years . . .
In her prime she could plow fifteen acres a day.
The binder in fall was considered as play.
With full tanks she’d boldly strike out, at the dawn;
Be there until last light had gone.
One way or harrows, she didn’t much care;
The belt pull of harvest when fall’s in the air;
Her real work, revealing what lay below ground
Each new year when spring rolled around.
In a field back of nowhere, abandoned, alone;
Been robbed of the seat that was used as a throne.
No one to sing to the song of the gears;
Everything’s gone with the years . . .
Yesterday’s gone, must keep with the times.
Not much call today for a pitchfork with tines.
Computerized cows let themselves out to graze…
Tomorrow there’ll be a new craze.