So I bought a tractor …
So I bought a tractor …
I admit it. I buy things on impulse. I seldom go through a grocery checkout without picking up a Kit Kat bar or a pack of Doublemint, and I once came home from a quick errand with milk, bread, and a new Pontiac.
Anyway, while it occasionally has led me to some silly purchases (the Pontiac was a lemon), I can’t call impulse buying it a fault. Especially not today, because I (impulsively) just bought …
I suppose this would be as good a time as any to point out that I live in the city, in a very urban neighborhood full of very urban Victorian houses with very urban small yards. It is not what you would call a tractor-friendly environment.
So on the surface, this was an extremely stupid thing for me to do.
But this is no ordinary tractor.
This was my grandfather’s Oliver Row Crop 60.
This little Oliver, built in the 1940s, represents Grandpa McKenzie’s giant step away from horse-drawn agriculture, and that makes it enormous in my eyes.
Just seeing pictures of it reminds me of my early kidhood, when going to visit Grandma and Grandpa on the farm – the farm! – was something you looked forward to all year long. Grandpa didn’t mind kids crawling onto the tractors and pretending to drive. Unless, of course, he was using them at the time which, in a sense, is how one of his tractors carried me into family legend.
It was a summer morning, and for some reason a whole bunch of McKenzies were at the farm. Somehow, I managed to be alone when Grandpa came chugging in from the field on his “big” tractor, an Oliver Row Crop 77. He gestured for me to join him and ride along.
After a spin around the barn, he stopped and let me off. “Now, don’t tell the others,” he said, “or I’ll be giving rides all day.” I promised. And then thirty seconds later went running up to my cousins, shouting “Grandpa gave me a ride on the tractor!”
All of which explains, to me anyway, why I had to buy this tractor when it became available. I didn’t want it to pass out of the family, and maybe by restoring it I could make things up to Grandpa a little bit, and of course be the envy of my neighborhood.
So it’s an impulse buy. So what? It has meaning. Although I still don’t know where I’m going to keep it. Or what I am going to do with this nagging notion that I’d also like a 77.