Time and Farm Implements

There's PK tooling along our country road en route to our adjacent rental property, where it's time to mow the spring-tall grass.  He couldn't be happier.

PK is central to my life (spouse), and tractor (s) have been semi-central to his. Not that I haven't played into his life, or that our two incredible sons have slipped by unnoticed. But owning and operating a tractor has been part of his MO for the decades we've inhabited our 3.5 acres in southern Oregon. We've been on the same land since 1974, the year he bought the Massey Ferguson. 

A couple weeks ago, PK purchased a brand-spanking new tractor, a Mahindra. This after an entire winter a couple years ago rebuilding the classic Massey Ferguson and months of agonizing about spending the big bucks for a new tractor after the classic developed insurmountable, at least for our budget and his patience, problems.

Paul on the Massey Ferguson, spraying sulphur in a long-ago spring.

He bought the Massey Ferguson used, very used, and he went straight to work mowing apple orchard grass, hauling a spray rig to kill coddling moth, nipping fungus in the bud, and moving the harvested fruit. He also had a demanding full-time day job, of course. I remember many winter and spring days when, after working eight hours, he'd spend another three or four hours pruning apple trees. He used the tractor to haul the brush and to spray for various reasons. How did I not know this behavior was unusual? Extraordinary? I guess I thought it was normal for a guy to work that hard.

In those days, we had 300 fruit trees. Now we have about 30. Our garden, however, has assumed a large, some might say ominous, presence.

I didn't recognize the Massey Ferguson as a sign of life passing-too-damn quickly until I took photos to help sell it.  But as the shiny new unit was delivered and the Massey Ferguson ingloriously left the premises, I took a dive into the past.

Young Paul and toddler Quinn loading apples onto our old (and long gone) flatbed truck.
This was probably 1979 or 1980.

We were young—in our 20s—when the Massey Ferguson came to live with us. Guess what? It is better to be young than to have a young tractor. PK longed to be farmer then, but he needed to make a living. He really did. Now, as a retiree and with the help of the Mahindra, he can be a gentleman farmer and not have to worry about money or beating himself up using a failing farm implement. But the time for him to really be a farmer has passed. Is that what he wanted? Would I have liked being a rancher's or farmer's wife? It's too late. We'll never know.

We've arrived, somehow, where all those forks in the road have led, finally, to reality central. We are now where we were headed in the 1970s—and it is exactly where we physically landed decades ago.

If you are in your 20s or early 30s, beware. Every choice you make will reverberate in ways that you can't imagine. Even in your dreams. Because it isn't real to you that years will mysteriously become decades, and a singular event will occur and you'll know that a turning point is at hand, even though . you may only recognize this later. Too much later to change the course. Thinking Why didn't I do this or that? is pretty much useless.

Suddenly, you are there and a new tractor is in the driveway and your husband is so damn happy mowing the spring grass and front-end loading compost and planning to dive into the neighbor's horse manure that he can hardly stand it. You are both in your sixties. It is unbelievable. And what you are doing now is not building a life, but beginning to turn it into compost to pass along to the next generation. Life is good. You got lucky.

Does anybody want the land-based life that we have built? It isn't half bad, and there's still plenty of time to let the compost work. The new tractor? It will be here long, long after we're gone.