Living out a reputation as a machinery menace

Jan 17, 2024

"Whatever you do, don't kill the tractor,’’ he said.

The warning meant it would weigh heavy on my mind and made it more likely the tractor would stall in the middle of a distant field. The Super M, which was started on gasoline and then switched to diesel, was otherwise sturdy.

However, it didn't have neither a crank nor chargeable battery. That's why it was parked on an incline steep enough so the tractor could roll and be slammed into gear.

The M's owner could afford a new battery and he wasn't necessarily a tightwad. He said he was too busy for a trip to town. Despite taking care, the M stalled in the middle of the field, which meant a long walk.

"I told you not to kill it,’’ he said.

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To read more of Mychal Wilmes' Farm Boy Memories, click here.

A neighbor pulled into the yard while the lecture continued and soon enough joined in the conversation. He told the tractor's owner that he ought to spend some money because the dollar bills in his pocket were getting moldy.

A few others in the township and county had well-earned reputations for pinching pennies. Their reputations were based on truth with a salt-block worth of exaggeration.

Speaking of reputations, I earned one as machinery menace. Cultivator shoes and even shanks gone missing in the field, a sheared U-bolt led to the collapse of the Oliver 880's front end; and a too often bent and broken mixer-mill auger after a misguided backup to the feed room.

The make and model didn't matter at all.

Sometimes, I wasn't even operating the tractor when a breakdown happened. The farmer who rented a couple acres from me hadn't made a full round with his sprayer when the tractor's hydraulics quit working. His combine, which had worked fine through almost all the harvest, suffered a costly breakdown on my property.

A friend brought over big bales of cornstalks for my cattle. As unlucky fate would have, his tractor hit a low-hanging electric line that ran from the main pole to the shed. The accident busted a new muffler that he had just purchased and the tractor's manifold.

He got sweet revenge that summer when he asked if I minded stacking hay behind his baler. The field, which had been in alfalfa for a long time, was filled with pocket gopher mounds. He did not appreciate my opinion that he could make more money from the field by trapping the gophers and turning their front paws in for $2 per head.

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The field was 2 miles away from the farmstead, which meant the baler and load, which was five rows high, would be pulled down a tarred highway.

"There's no way this load is going to make it to the yard,’’ he said. Although it was an ugly load, I was so convinced that it would make it to the barn I road on top of the wagon.

The load made it to the yard, but the right front collapsed before the wagon made it to the elevator.

A few other incidences garnered a reputation that was impossible to shake.

The awful reputation was so fixed in my brothers’ minds that they wouldn't let me operate their new Allis Chalmers 190XT. The tractor was their first new one, which made it a big deal. The dealer took them to the factory in West Allis, Wisconsin, gave them A-C hats and a few pens.

They gave me a pen, which leaked in my pocket during high school social studies class. The tractor didn't work out so good, and my brother, who still farms, switched his allegiance to John Deere green.

My first tractor purchase was a Ford 8N, which was acquired for $500 from a dealer because I needed it to rake hay. The tractor never broke down, but a relative borrowed it and the Ford never made its way back home.

He might well have needed it more than I did.

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Mychal Wilmes is the retired managing editor of Agri News. He lives in West Concord, Minnesota, with his wife, Kathy.

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