Dark towering clouds rumbled and flashed in the distance while our field lay littered with fresh hay bales. The pressure was on – the harvest had to be inside before the rain hit. Each small bale, weighing maybe 50 to 60 pounds, had to be loaded one by one onto a wagon then moved high into the haymow using our corn elevator. My parents discussed their options out of earshot, making a decision that was exciting and terrifying all at once. The baby of the family would drive the John Deere B tractor pulling the hay wagon while Dad stacked the load, Mom threw bales onto the wagon from the right side and my sister Pat from the left.

My precious family

Roadhouse family, 1960’s – Walter, Eleanor, Patricia, Susan

I had clocked many hours of steering perched on a knee. I even had an understanding of how to watch the inner wagon wheels when turning. But this was a solo run! They had chosen the John Deere B since no foot pedal use would be required from my short legs – the clutch was hand operated. The old skeleton of a tractor was also easy to jump on from the rear, just in case.

I stepped up onto the drawbar with my right foot using the seatback as a handhold, then bounced for momentum to jump up onto the left rear axle. Sliding sideways onto the flat metal floor I perched on the edge of the slightly padded seat behind the solid vertical steering wheel. I never noticed how wide the cushion was or how many pedals and odd levers bristled around the driver. My hands clenched the steering wheel as I watched and listened to their instructions while the engine idled with a unique popping backfire noise.

Cockpit of the John Deere B

Cockpit of the John Deere B

John Deere B Tractor

The old tractor was set to run in first gear, the gas lever pulled forward to dead slow so all I really had to do was steer and of course stop and start. That was the tricky part. This involved a long metal rod – the clutch – located by my right hand that stretched up from the floor. When it was pulled all the way back the tractor was out of gear and would roll to a stop; if it was pushed ahead, the gear engaged and the tractor began to move. The trick was how you pushed or pulled it. A quick push would start with a jerk, bouncing the tractor and wagon until the forward momentum evened out. So the driver had to gradually move the handle ahead for a smooth start then make sure the rod locked into place. When stopping there was always a jolt but the driver could minimize the roughness with practise. With Dad balancing on the wagon stacking bales, the smoothness of the driver was important. A quick stop or start could make him lose his balance and fall off the wagon, especially when the wagon was almost full with only a foot or two to manoeuver. This was explained to me, repeatedly.

Usually slow, methodical and extremely safety conscious, my Dad stood on the back of the tractor leaning over my shoulder. He started the B rolling and hopped back up on the wagon. I seemed to be moving at breakneck speed but was actually crawling along so slowly that Mom and Pat walked faster. This was pretty easy; I was pleased with myself. My gaze wandered to the end of the field where I would have to turn the procession and head back. A tangle of bales lay there blocking any path that the tractor could take. My grip tightened on the wheel, my head swivelled trying to plan a route, a smile frozen on my face. Mom and Pat would have to run ahead and move the bales before I got there. I motioned to the bales. They nodded and continued what they were doing. I motioned with alarm and they just nodded. Why didn’t they move them? What should I do? I was convinced I would run over the bales in the next 5 seconds. They were finally walking ahead to move them but I decided they were too late and pulled the clutch, at the same time spinning in my seat to check on Dad. The sudden forward lurch made him stumble with his bale but he didn’t fall. To explain my quick stop, I motioned to the tangle ahead and I received a baleful stare (pun intended).

Finished mowing hay bales, side view, 1969

Wagon empty, bales stored, time to pose for a picture – 1970’s.

The bales were quickly rearranged and Mom climbed up to instruct me, “Next time, warn him first.”

I nodded and tried to melt into the seat cushion. Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? With everyone focusing on me I very slowly started the B rolling, my face reddening as it still jolted into motion. Off we went. When a tangle of bales blocked my path again I warned Dad before I pulled the clutch. He readied himself and nodded. Each time I stopped and started it seemed a tiny bit smoother. I sat up a little taller and straighter. On our second load Dad adjusted the gas lever for a faster speed so instead of creeping along I almost kept up with Mom and Pat.

The sheer terror, the thrill and the pride I experienced on my solo run remains one of my vivid memories. My family needed me and I helped in a way that I never had before. The hay wasn’t rained on and I didn’t make Dad fall off the wagon. The baby was growing up.

*     *     *     *     *

The old John Deere B

The old John Deere B tractor today

Our old John Deere B Tractor today

The old B still runs today thanks to the magic touch of my cousin Kevin. The sound of that engine brings back many childhood memories. If you would like to listen to the sound of an old B engine, click on the following link: http://www.retiredtractors.com/poland/sounds.html

 

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