Since I can't sleep due to someone banging cymbals and the fact that I'm flat out restless tonight, I figured I would finally get started on the promised Facebook post about the Old Case Tractor. For the sake of my thought process, I'm going to write this as if I am the Old Case Tractor. Just a reminder: I'm not a writer or a poet, I just wanted to write my thoughts. (This means to not expect meter or rhyme)
Since the day I came to be I've been sitting in this yard full of other tractors. It's rather boring just sitting here, but the days go by rather quickly when I listen to the stories that other tractors have to tell. Most of them have experience, about 100 hours or so, of farming, moving earth, and who else knows! They tell me the joy of working outside in the blazing sun. They say it's hard work, I'll wear out belts, brakes, and other such parts, but these experienced tractors also tell me that there's no better feeling when the day is done.
Day after day passes in this yard full of tractors, when suddenly a whisper goes through. A wise farmer is coming for a new tractor! The experienced ones sigh with remorse, knowing that with their hours they're no longer "new". They've heard of this farmer, that he's kind and hard-working, and everyone hopes that they'll be the lucky tractor to go home with this man. Every tractor waits with bated breath as he comes into the yard, takes a quick glance, and (I can't believe it) he comes straight to me. He looks over my engine, my backhoe attachment, and smiles. "Yes," he says "this is the tractor I need." He goes back inside, puts $2000 dollars on the table, and drives me to his home farm.
It's just like the experienced farmers said! The days are long and hard, I don't just work in the summer but in the winter as well. Hot, cold, sleet, shine, the days are great with this farmer, his kids, and I. It's a joy to watch the kids grow older, and I love when they get to learn how to drive, move the earth, and work the land with me. It seems though that after awhile though the kids move away and they rarely come back. I start getting used less and less. Until one day I'm parked.
They say my rusty spots come from the rain, but they really come from my tears. They say my tires are sun rot, but it's just because I've lost hope. I've lost hope that I'll ever be useful, I've been parked here at least 20 years. The closest I've come to hope is when the Wise Farmer's granddaughter accidentally flipped the ignition switch for a few seconds while playing in the 'junkyard'. Maybe I'm just too old. Maybe I was never good enough. Maybe the Wise Farmer never really needed me.
I mope as the bigger and newer tractors drive by. "Why," I lament "why could I not be one of them?" I sit in this graveyard of tractors once thriving, but now broken. "But I'm not broken! Why can't I be seen? Wise Farmer, where are you now?"I cry at the heavens, feeling unheard.
Slowly the Wise Farmer pulls up to the other Case 590, the one without backhoe attachments. I look over cautiously, is it really him? He turns around and I see his face, still the same gentle face albeit a few more wrinkles. He smiles and turns to his grandson, "This is the first tractor I ever bought new. A great racing tractor, I'll bet that old sweetheart will outrun most of those new tractors we have now. Let's see what condition that Case is in." Sweet music to my ears! Is he really coming my direction? Is this really happening. Once again I feel like that young tractor sitting in the yard, the same excited feeling deep down in my carburetor, I nearly fly when the Wise Farmer comes to me. He checks my engine, my tires, and then my PTO hydraulics. My near flight suddenly crashes down when I realize that I'm leaking oil. I cry, "Please, I know that I'm leaking, but please fix me. I want to go to work so badly. I'll go through whatever I need to!"
The Wise Farmer speaks up, "That's not hard to fix." He turns to his grandson and says, "I'll race you to the shop." Oh how my heart smiles again! I'll be able to work in the Wise Farmer's fields yet again.
Lo and behold, the shop was not what I expected. I don't understand what's going on. The Wise Farmer's grandson-in-law chopped off my backhoe attachments with the oxy-acetelyne torch. What good am I without my backhoe attachments? Maybe the Wise Farmer is just using me for spare parts! NO! I wanted to work! I have so much I can do! Please don't just chop me apart! The heat is torture and it's ripping me apart! As my metal cools down, so do I. But all I can do is cry. There are no words. Just the raw emotion of feeling useless, beat up, and now broken.
I wake the next day to feeling the Wise Farmer's hand on my hood. I look up with tear stained headlights. He smiles and says, "You've been a good tractor, reliable and true. I know that the loads you use to carry might be a little much for you now." His grin grows wider and he says, " But between you and me, I can't keep up either. I have a job for you now where you'll teach my grand kids about work, how the dew feels when it's coming off the hay, and how important it is to look deeper than the surface because you, my little friend, are more than what you seem."
His simple words send my little carburetor into flight! All that I've been through now makes some sense and I get to teach the kids once again. The Wise Farmer hooks me up to a new-fangled contraption called a fluffer and sends me on my way with his granddaughter on my back. The same granddaughter that accidentally flipped my ignition switch 20 years ago. After she finishes the field, she gets off, looks at my rusty old paint, and smiles. "Thank you," she says, "thank you for reminding me that I'm worth more than what I seem."
I smile and feel that my work isn't done.
