And the wheels on the tractor go...

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I have to say, it’s the one thing I’ve been squeamish about since the second day here on the farm. They failed to mention in the job description: handling machinery. Intimidating, rusty, unreliable, putt-putt gas-guzzling machinery.

I certainly wasn’t up first this time. I let some chic about 30 lbs lighter and 13 years younger get up on that beast. I let one more volunteer go, then mustered up the courage. And up until the moment I was in that torn leather seat, was thinking No Way. Nuh-Uh.

Then, feeling the brakes jump a bit under my foot and rear while I lifted the bucket up off the ground, a teensy bit of testosterone pumped into my blood. Power. Invincibility.

There’s an entire sequence, which I used as a soothing repetitive preoccupation of my nervous brain: key, safety kill key, raise bucket, gas a little, clutch, brake, neutral, a little more gas, into 2nd, then the slow release of clutch and simultaneously brake (rolling backwards in a tractor = not funny).

So, I’ve passed. Next week, I’ll be hitching up that tractor to a hay-wagon and driving groups of kids through the garden path, talking about buying local and farming organic. Letting them know that Burger King’s “New! Light Red Tomatoes” don’t hold a candle to the crazy yellow, orange, red and black heirloom tomatoes we have here.

I moved another type of tractor this morning. But more on that in a future ChickenSpeak Farm Vocabulary Blog.

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Photos

It's all fun and games until...
Joking lightly to ease the tension, me and fellow volunteers poke fun at our inaptitude.

Amateur
Riding shotgun to encourage Jeremy. Somehow being up on the back of that thing was not as encouraging for me.

Teacher's Pet
Or rather: Facilitator's Fancy. My star student, a visiting civilian, Julien Basch.