The first real job I had on the farm was driving the tractor for my husband while he baled hay. His tractor was a little different from the old Farmall I had previously driven and used to haul apples from the orchard, which my first husband and I owned. I would have been the one stacking bales on the wagon, but we realized right away that I don’t have good balance or what farmers call having my “legs under me.” He didn’t want me falling into the baler, so he assigned me a different job. Confidently, I trudged through the tall, dry grass and climbed onto the ol’ white Case. My problems started right away when I tried to watch both where I was going and not run over bales, while also monitoring the work behind me to ensure the bales were being stacked as they came off the baler. Ooops! The back tires extend farther out than the front, so the front tires cleared the bales, but the rear tires and wagon did not. Down he went off the back of the wagon, and up he came, fighting mad!!
Now, the anger didn’t bother me nearly as much as the language, and luckily I managed to stay calm long enough to shut down the tractor after bringing it to a successful stop. There was no defending myself, so I left all the cursing and head-shaking in the middle of the field and began walking the two miles home. Back then, we didn’t have cell phones, so I’m not sure what he did for help later that day. The field was along a highway, and I had to walk past my in-laws’ house on my way to our home. I vividly remember my mother-in-law (bless her heart) standing helplessly in her yard with her hands on her hips and a very wise, knowing look on her face. I ignored her and continued my trek.
A Cozy Corner With Linda 