The old John Deere sat poised at the top of the hill behind our home like a faithful hunting dog. It spent most days staring longingly toward the house, hoping against hope that the back porch screen would creak open and out pop one of its humans, striding forth with agriculture intentions.
The 1948 Model B was not equipped with a starter. You didn’t start it from the driver’s seat—nothing as simple as that. Instead, like a cowboy, you untied the horse by opening the petcocks on either side of the enormous two cylinder engine. Like cinching the saddle, you’d spin the huge flywheel and hope the engine would come to life. When the engine fired, you flipped the petcocks shut and swung up into the saddle in a series of athletic moves, hoping to release the choke and catch the throttle before it died. Those of you who are familiar with the two-cylinder John Deere know exactly what I’m talking about. Coordination and concentration rewarded you with the blap-blap-ba-blap-blap of one of America’s most iconic tractors.
This also explains why Dad always parked the Deere in the same spot atop the hill. Using gravity, he could simply mount up, disengage the brake, pull back on the clutch lever, wait for momentum to overpower the engine’s compression, engage the clutch and smile as the motor fired to life. Easy-peesy-nice-an’-easy.
Hillside parking, though convenient, can also prove dangerous. One afternoon we were pleasantly surprised when my older brother visited with his three daughters ranging in ages 5 to 8. As adults greeted one another in the farmhouse, the girls thought it would be fun to play on the tractor. The two younger girls stood on the rear axle, clinging to the seat back, as the oldest girl manipulated levers and made tractor noises. Somehow she managed to disengage the clutch, and the feeble brakes proved inadequate as the heavy tractor began slowly rolling downhill, taking the three-little-maids-from-school on the ride of their lives. Quickly gaining speed, the girls hung on for dear life. I can’t imagine what they thought as the barn, located a hundred feet downhill grew larger and larger, standing directly in their ill-fated path.
Meanwhile the rest of the family chatted inside, never imagining the girls’ reckless peril, until their unified screams of terror sucked us from the house. The sight of the tractor careening downhill with three little girls onboard caused us to freeze in disbelief. We watched helplessly as the tractor and its precious cargo disappeared through the side of the barn. Certain the girls were terribly injured, we raced in panic toward the cloud of dust and flying debris.
As the dust began to settle we found the girls clinging to the tractor giggling nervously—dust covered but safe and completely unharmed.
We retraced their path and determined they must have ducked at just the right time. Upon careful inspection, we discovered the tractor had impacted the barn between its upright beams, allowing the runaways to easily break through the weathered siding. They then passed through the milking parlor, miraculously missing two Guernsey cows, and smashed through the opposite side in exactly the same manner. As they exited the barn, they were caught by an old fence like a jet fighter landing on an aircraft carrier, as rotted posts gave way in just the right sequence to slowly drag our heroines to a safe stop. Had the barnyard fence failed to stop them, they were poised to drop down a much steeper decline for another 500 feet. (Celebratory tears and nervous laughter all around.)
Later we were fascinated to discover the perfect cartoon-like outline left by the tractor as it crashed through the side of the barn. “Would ya look at that!”
Jesus mentions rather off-handedly in one of the Gospels that His Heavenly Father assigns angels to children.
“Watch that you don’t treat a single one of these childlike believers arrogantly. You realize, don’t you, that their personal angels are constantly in touch with my Father in heaven?” Matthew 18:10
Not all theologians agree that this verse implies children have their own personal guardian angel. But, in our family, we believe.
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.