Driving a 1952 John Deere Tractor
I was winterizing the jet ski when Dad came out of the garage. “What happened to your trailer?” he asked, pointing to the wheel crank. The handle was bent.
“I jackknifed two years ago when I backed it up for the first time,” I sheepishly explained. “I left the back door up on the truck and I couldn’t see the end of the trailer when I was backing up.”
He threw his head back and laughed. Because you see, I have a history of “accidents” with motorized toys. I once broke off the handle in the back of the snowmobile while whipping Joe on a sled in the middle of the lake. A couple of years ago, I backed the ATV out of the shed and forgot about the snow plow attached in front. The plow caught the door frame and I pulled the entire front of the shed off the foundation. Fortunately, Dad didn’t lecture me too much as we pounded the shed frame back into place. Another time, I was pulling the pontoon out of the barn with the ATV and forgot to put it in four-wheel drive and I snapped off the hitch.
“Let me go get some wrenches and I’ll fix the crank for you.”
In two minutes, he had the handle straightened out and the crank working again. He went back in the house as I continued to winterize the jet ski. I ran the anti-freeze through, fogged the engine and shut it off. I went in the garage to look for a socket wrench and after a few minutes, I found the size I needed to remove the battery cables. I went back in for an adjustable wrench to remove the battery from the housing. If there’s one thing you should know about my Dad, he has every tool imaginable. However, finding what you need when you need it is a challenge:
I went through every drawer, but I couldn’t find the adjustable wrench in the size that I needed. So off I went into the house. “Where’s the small, adjustable wrench?” I asked.
Without missing a beat, he said, “Second drawer.”
It took a bit of digging, but sure enough, I found the wrench buried deep in the second drawer. I finished up with the jet ski and drove it up to the barn to put it away. The neighbors had put their boats away earlier and I slid the jet ski in the empty slot in the back. I noticed that Dad’s tractor was sitting outside. The neighbors had dragged it out of the barn but there was no way to put it back without starting it.
“Hey Dad, the tractor is sitting outside,” I explained when I arrived back at the house. “I think it’s time for you to teach me how to drive it.” Dad raised one eyebrow, but he agreed to teach me the next day.
Dad received this 1952 tractor as a gift from Tom Pursley, a local builder who built my parent’s house. The tractor was one of the first two-cycle diesel engines with a gas pulling motor. The pulling motor stopped working, so the only way to get the tractor started was to tow it until it kicked into gear. I hooked the strap up to the hitch and hopped into the truck. “Put it in low,” Dad reminded me. “Tow me toward the road and when it kicks in, you can take the strap off.”
I moved the truck forward and tightened the strap and then gave it some gas. Nothing. I tried again, and the wheels spun. The tractor stayed in place. I backed up a bit, gave it some more gas. The strap tugged the truck back.
Turns out, Dad left the brake engaged on the tractor. Score one for me! At least it wasn’t me messing up this time! I pulled ahead and the tractor rolled forward. We hit the road and the tractor started. But I celebrated too soon. I had moved the truck to the side and put it in park and jumped out to release the strap just as Dad let the clutch out too fast. The wheel ran over the strap. The strap was too tight to remove. Dad ended up putting the tractor in reverse to release the tension and I unhooked the strap.
I parked the truck and hopped on to the tractor for my lesson. It turned out to be pretty simple to run a tractor. Put it in gear, release the clutch and off you go. Pull the clutch along with the brakes and you can stop the thing. I had fun driving it around with Dad hanging on. I think I’m ready to chop some corn down in a field.
Well, kind of ready. I let Dad put it back in the barn.
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that is sitting on my desk. I sigh as I look outside at the cold wind rustling through the dried stems of the tall grass and then back at the warm sun gleaming on the lake. Another photo appears–Lauren and her friend are jumping out of the pontoon. The photo fades away and the three beautiful purple Columbine flowers show up on the screen. Instantly, I’m transported back into Colorado and I remember the path along where the Columbine peeked out from a flower bed.
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