Page 43 - October Banner 2018_Neat

Published by www.EPlusPromotes.com www.TheCatoctinBanner.com The Catoctin Banner Newspaper October 2018 Page 43

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My Tractor and Me
by Francis Smith
By Linda E Calhoun
God’s Mirror
Spring; fresh from a much-needed rain.
Trees; exposing their beauty.
Birds; in song of jubilant voice. In the luster of the sun
Again; but always excitement it brings.
Rising o’er the blue-tint-hill
One look at this field while driving by and people might comment, “Oh, it’s And in the mighty quiet
just an old pile of junk! Why do they leave it there? It’s such an eye sore.” Of the forest when it’s still;
Only to ones who cannot imagine what this tractor has witnessed. In the rambling of the ripples
It was shiny red straight from the factory. The farmer had saved for years to Of the woodland-hidden-stream
buy it and was quite relieved to let his work horses live their life out in peace; And the tempo of the surf
grazing in the morning sun, lying under a black walnut tree, for shade plus a ‘Neath the pale-moon’s-beam;
creek close by, for that much needed drink. ‘Midst the ocean’s thunder
Once the tractor was delivered and all things working, the farmer just sat on And the lightning’s crash,
it for a minute then off he went; past the barn, the pig pens, the chicken coops As the storm-clouds blunder
onto wide open And their wild strengths clash—
fields ready to Then it is, O Lord,
be worked.
He tilled In Thy wondrous choice
the ground, Thy Beauty I behold
removed all In Thy Beauty’s Voice!
the rocks then
planted hay,
wheat, oats,
and corn in
different fields.
In no time at all
he had finished
the task that
used to take him weeks to accomplish but now only a few days.
A good investment he said to himself at the end of the day. Yes indeed, a
good investment.
With everything, the years passed by in rapid course.
I see a middle age man, with rolled up sleeves, lifting his son who was
around four, onto the tractor for the very first time. The boy was ecstatic to
finally get to ride the tractor.
The father put it in low and told the boy to hang on tight and don’t let go.
Down by the creek they went and the boy squealed with delight as he saw
the first butterfly of spring.
Dad just nodded his head and smiled.
Over the years, the son grew tall and strong. It was his time of age to help
his father plant the crops.
The tractor never failed the father nor the son for it just kept right on
working.
The father used to tell the son, ’you have to keep the working parts oiled,
oil for the engine, grease for the tire axles and this baby will outlive us both.
And you know? It did.
The constant cranking of the engine, the pistons going up and down, the
smell of steam if one didn’t keep the radiator full of water, with an occasional
backfire would make all who drove it laugh!
So, you see, it’s not a pile of junk left in a field to rust away. Its ‘horse
power’ put out to pasture in the only way a farmer could pay tribute to his
tractor.
Hours, days, years and centuries it worked hard from dawn to dusk with no
complaints.
It is time said the great, great grandson ~ it’s time for it to rest.

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