Old Blue

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

Time had gotten away from us and once again, we missed the window to bring in that last cutting of hay. The first two weeks of August we spent getting ready for and setting up at the Antique Machinery Show. Our tractors, old cars and live steam model trains all required our loving attention before, during, and after the show, and oh what a wonderful show it was.

We had barely finished dusting everything off and stowing it back away, when we realized that it was time to get our Straight Creek world ready for two weeks of family visits. I thoroughly cleaned the little cabin and our log home. I did laundry and made the guest beds. Greg tidied up the shops and barns and mowed the entire farm, and then the creek valley was filled with laughter, long walks, and never-ending talks. August was a wonderful month indeed, but our hay fields lay languishing.

When the last car filled with waving family drove off up the creek valley road, we knew it was high time to get back to farming. We sighed as we exchanged that "I know what you're thinking" look. Earlier in the summer, we had baled enough hay to feed our critters throughout the winter. Perhaps, rather than spend a week cutting, tedding, raking and bailing, we could spend just one day bush-hogging both fields. Our decision was easy.

We readied Old Blue, attaching the bush-hog to the three-point hitch. We checked the radiator's fluid level, and poured five gallons of gas into the tank, and then Greg asked if I would rather mow or bush-hog. We knew that both tasks would take the better part of the day, but my choice was clear. I could think of nothing better to do than spend the day with Old Blue.

Our first two passes around the outer edges of the upper field were uneventful. A breeze blew the tops of the overgrown hay, bending it this way and then that, much as waves might wash over the ocean. The Johnson grass towered over me, even seated atop Old Blue, so I stood up from the tractor seat to get a better view of what lay ahead.

I stretched and stood tall, my shoulders back. My mother would have been proud. My feet were planted securely on Old Blue's deck. My hands fell before me and rested easily on the steering wheel. I breathed in the magical scent of hay with a just a wisp of oil. I felt exhilarated, and for some reason I remained standing, as up and then back down the field we went.

After several standing passes, it occurred to me that Old Blue and I were no longer bush-hogging an overgrown hay field. We had become something far different than a tractor and a tractor driver. We had become a chariot and a charioteer.

I imagined that my long-sleeved sun shirt was now a flowing gown and that my broad-brimmed hat had turned into a garland of flowers. We weren't chugging through towering grass, but were rather running along the beach of some exotic shore. The wind blew against my face. I could almost taste the salt air. I even felt the ocean spray splash on my cheeks, but when I looked up, I saw a cloud passing by overhead and I realized a light rain was falling. I stood, not wanting to sit back down, as we galloped on.

Just as the sun slipped behind the creek valley hill, we came to the end of our task. I raised the bush-hog on the three-point hitch. I turned off the PTO, and Old Blue and I headed back down the valley road to the barn. I was tired, but I almost wished that our day would last forever.

I surely love my beautiful red show tractors. They bring smiles to me, as well as to many who pass by, but I also love Old Blue. The old tractor sports faded paint, greasy joints, dents and spots of rust here and there, but Old Blue and I share something special. We work hard together, and we share each other's dreams.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.