It may have not been the most embarrassing moment in my life, but it was certainly in the top 10. I was only about 10 years old, and on the farm, I had “graduated” from driving the entry-level tractor — pulling a “one-way” plow in long lazy circles out in the field.
This one certain summer Dad had put me on the bigger tractor — an International Harvester 1206 diesel — armed with a sweep plow. With a sweep plow, the driver and rig go back and forth, row after row between the fence lines … back and forth, back and forth … but for the novice farmhand it is a little tricky at the end of each row.
To operate the sweep plow, at the end of the row, the driver has to pull back on a control lever beside the seat, so that the tractor’s hydraulics lift the wide plow out of the dirt and into the air. At the same time, the operator has to turn the steering wheel sharply, while simultaneously hitting a turning brake with the foot. There are two brake pedals for right and left. In effect, you stop only one of the wheels, while the others roll, making the tractor turn on a dime. For a kid, at first, it is a bit of a challenge.
Now … factor into this equation that at the end of the row, there is usually a barbed wire fence separating one family farm from another. So, the driver has to get close to the fence to plow as much as possible, and not leave too big of an unplowed area at the end of the row. (The goal is to keep the unplowed area narrow, so you can whip that out later, in a couple of laps around the field.)
BUT … if the farmkid gets too close to the fence … well you can guess what happens.
So, it was summer … I was fresh on this type of plow/tractor combination, but doing okay. Driving along, maybe a bit on the edge of my seat with a little nervousness, but plowing away …
… When … I see the neighboring farmer’s pickup truck heading my way in their field. If memory serves, I think they had cattle on their side of the fence and were probably feeding the herd some bales of hay.
Anywho … they were about 40 yards away as my dust cloud approached the fence we shared.
Dang it! To this day, I hate it when people watch me while I learn a new task. Yes … I freeze up a little until I have built up my comfort level.
So … as stated, I am already nervous in my first Dirty Gig — tractor driver. Then an audience shows up!
“I can do this. I can do this,” I told myself.
The other farmer, his son, a “hired hand,” and several other farm kids were watching from the truck.
I threw back the control arm and raised the sweeps out of the ground. If you have never seen this, there are several sweeps mounted across the width of the plow, behind the tractor on a “tool bar.” Sweeps are V-shaped, almost like the tip of a knife or an arrowhead … except they may be 30 to 60 inches wide or whatever. They stab into the ground, and then they glide horizontal to the ground, a few inches below the surface, upending the weeds at the roots. After a few hours of plowing back and forth, the friction of the ground “polishes” the steel sweep blades. They acquire an almost mirrored, stainless steel look, and they get sharp. (Ha … I have a four-inch scar on one wrist that attests to their potential surgical precision … I digress …)
So, like I was saying, I pulled the sweeps out of the ground, turned the steering wheel with the other hand, and hit one of the brakes to turn the tractor.
“#&*@#$%!”
I choked. I got too close to the fence, trying to be as efficient as possible and not look like a newbie. I was such a newbie. As the dust cloud cleared, and the tractor turned on a dime, the sweeps and their tool bar swung around and yes … with more surgical precision, the plow shattered the five-feet-tall cedar fence post that was holding up three strands of barbed wire.
I was horrified. So embarrassed.
To make matters worse … I didn’t know what to do. My dad had told me to work fast and get the field plowed. Yet, I had just committed this heinous act. I mean … you don’t mess with a cattleman’s fence in Texas. And of course, the neighbors all had a front-row seat for the de-fencing.
To my credit … it was a clean hit. The post shattered so quickly, the wires went untouched. That would have been really bad to also tangle and drag the wires … ripping out lots of posts. It was bad, but it could have been worse.
I waved to the other farmer and farm kids to gesture … “Sorry guys!” Ha … they may have thought I was saying, “Take that …”
The embarrassment! … I will never forget it but I doubt the witnesses even remember it … Admittedly, I wasn’t a very good farmhand and there was probably no worse thing you could say about a farmboy. I knew it and there were witnesses. Also, I will never forget their faces. I had seen all of them drive tractors, even the younger kids that lived on the neighbors’ farm. They were better at it, hands down. They were laughing and smiling and just waved. Those kids always were happy and had big, big smiles on their faces.
Later in the day, I told my dad about it when he came to relieve me for lunch. He was mad. He promised that I would be digging a post hole as soon as I finished the plowing in a few days.
Ha … the next day, I saw the neighbor kids at the edge of our field, parked, post hole diggers in hand … fixing my mistake.
Yes … insult to injury. Now I had created more work for them, in addition to being humiliated. I was still plowing, further up the fence line. They just waved … smiling, always smiling.
I am reminded of and tell this story for a couple of reasons. One of the witnesses that day is still a friend on Facebook. However, the other guy, one of the smiling kids is the real reason I wanted to tell the story. He needs your prayers.
Calvin and I had different interests and were in different grades, so I can’t say we were ever best friends … but we rode the school bus together as kids and knew each other through high school. I haven’t seen him since I left Vega, Texas. I now know he has moved on … and recently was severely injured.
I am told the doctors at Dallas’ Parkland Memorial Hospital — who specialize in burn injuries — say they have never seen anyone burned as badly as Calvin who even survived the initial event, much less the horrible recovery process.
He is alive, after an explosion, on a job where he was welding … welding on or near oil tanks or pipelines. I didn’t know there is a worse classification than third-degree burns, but I have been told Calvin has fourth-degree burns over most of his body.
This morning there was an update on Facebook that says Calvin ate ice chips this week, after weeks of taking nothing other than fluids and nourishment from an I.V. The threat of infection is ever-present. He is nowhere near “out of the woods.”
But he is a fighter … one of the hardest-working, positive, happy, energetic kids I ever knew … And apparently still the same today … tenacious, positive … a fighter. But he needs your help.
Please, please lift up a prayer for Calvin and his family.
