Kids Don't Build Boats

Almost Teamwork

Our single-plow tractor was a mutt made up of parts from other vehicles. Its basic body and engine was a 1926 Chevrolet. The four-cylinder engine powered the rear bus wheels through two transmissions. The two transmissions really slowed the tractor down, but the huge bus wheels and tires gave it traction. With snow chains on the tires, the tractor could pull almost anything. It had no muffler, so it was very loud.

The plow was lifted up and down by a winch and cable, which was powered by the tractor engine. The cable traveled from the winch to the back of the tractor through a four-foot tower with a pulley in it. The only floor on the tractor was under and in front of the driver’s seat. It was very practical but butt ugly. This was a poor man’s tractor; nevertheless, twice a year it did what we needed it to do and very inexpensively.

My dad plowed our garden with it yearly. One year, my grandmother asked him to plow her garden. My grandfather usually plowed their garden with horses, but he had fallen off my uncle’s roof while helping him build his house and wasn’t fit enough to handle horses.

Dad decided to plow their garden on Saturday, but the winch that lifted the plow didn’t work. So he asked me to help him by lifting the plow at the end of each furrow. I was complimented that he wanted me to help. We would finally be a team on a project. I was delighted!

As a temporary solution until he could get the winch repaired, he had rigged up a hanging chain and hook to keep the plow suspended in the air. The plow was hitched to a steel bar that ran across the back of the tractor. I was to stand and ride on that bar while holding onto the tower in the center of it.

Dad drove the slow tractor down to my grandmother’s and I unhooked the plow from the chain. He plowed the first furrow. At the end of the furrow, he backed up a little to loosen the plow. I stepped down off the bar and lifted the plow about three feet in the air and hooked it to the hanging chain. And then I climbed back up on the bar and stood behind him; so he could see to back down the furrow.

We had developed a good routine and then the rain started. It wasn’t heavy rain, but it was steady. The tractor wheels started slipping, so we attached snow chains to the bus tires and continued the process. We were about half done. When we came to the end of the furrow, I lifted the wet plow and hooked it up and jumped on the back bar of the tractor. But, unfortunately, I slipped and fell into the furrow. Before I could get up, the tractor was slowly being backed over me. I could see up through the tractor frame. Since Dad hadn’t seen me fall, he assumed that I was safely behind him and, therefore, was focused on shifting and backing up. I screamed, but with no muffler on the tractor he couldn’t hear me.

My feet were buried in the muddy furrow under the left, rear wheel of the tractor. The snow chain on the tractor wheel was headed toward my knees, and I screamed again. I couldn’t hear myself scream and wondered if I was in a dream. I hated those tires and twisted and turned under the tractor trying to avoid getting directly run over. I couldn’t feel a thing as the rear wheel was slowly burying my upper legs and a portion of my body in the mud. I kept screaming up into the frame of the tractor and finally our eyes met. Thank God there was almost no floor on the tractor. Suddenly, I felt hopeful.

His eyes were wide open with shock and disbelief. He stopped the tractor. He shifted again, but it was still in reverse and it backed up. He immediately stopped it. He looked down at me with those I’m sorry, I’m really sorry eyes. I said nothing and waited. He finally shifted into forward and drove off me.

He carefully lifted me out of the mud and carried me to my grandmother’s car. I was a wet and muddy mess. He ran in for the keys and then drove us to the nearest doctor’s office on Main Street, just a few miles away.