On Startling & Being Startled

Small grain harvesting was now finished. The smell of the golden straw filled the air. Goldenrod weeds were releasing their pollen and stuffing noses. The spring-hatched pheasants were now off on their own, searching for seeds dropped by the combines.

This was a time of transition. The focus shifts from the waves of oats, barley, rye and wheat to the stately and fragrant corn. But in August, the corn is not yet ready to harvest. By the end of August, a little later, some of the corn would be cut up into silage and stored as food to be fed to the cattle in the thick of winter.

And silage time meant State Fair time. We always would take off a day from harvest to travel 40 miles to the State Fair- That was an exciting time- ­carnival rides, cotton candy, juicy barbecue pork sandwiches that always dripped on the front of my shirt- and seeing the new machinery- the green John Deeres were my favorite. It was so fun to climb up to the driver's seat and just throb to the power that was under the green cowling. Pop-Pop-­Pop.... What a big plow this one could pull.

But that would come later. Now is the time to plow under the straw stubble. This field that yielded oats just a few weeks ago is scheduled to be planted to corn next spring, And getting the field plowed now in the fall meant less work to be done in the spring, Plus, the loose soil will absorb more of that much needed moisture during the winter and spring. Getting good crops where the average rainfall was 27 inches per year was always a gamble. So now was a good time to get some plowing done.

My brother David and I had been plowing all morning, going round and round an 80 acre piece- monotonous", but the smell of the freshly turned soil was exhilarating. I loved to take off my shoes and socks and bury my feet and legs halfway up to my knees in the rich black dirt. I felt so connected with Mother Earth. Out of the soil I have been born. What comes out of the soil nourishes me. I will return back to the soil someday. I am soil- And the soil is me. Angle worms and all.

It was now time to turn off the tractor and go to my Uncle and Aunt's place for noon dinner. I was hungry. And my brother and I needed a break, a change of pace from the monotonous ever shrinking square spirals we had been making. So I drove the Model A Ford pickup to eat.

After eating and sitting back a few minutes, it was time to return to the field. I drove the pickup over by the overhead red fuel tank to fill up a five gallon can in the back of the pickup. This would provide fuel for the tractors for the afternoon's work.

After filling the can, I started the Model A and we headed back toward the field, I had to drive through a couple of gates and then along the edge of a quarter mile shelterbelt.

I turned through one gate and then the other to enter the shelter belt. Oops, the throttle was set a bit high so the pickup didn't slow down to idle at the slow speed I was accustomed to. So ZIP I went through the gates, turning rapidly first right and then left. And now we are off for the quarter mile trip along the elm trees.

Model A Fords are fun to drive. Turning the steering wheel clockwise and counterclockwise made the pickup respond as rapidly and faithfully as when I neck-reined a horse.

Also, the Ford had an ignition lever so I could advance or retard the spark to the engine. I had learned sometime ago, as the blown-out muffler gave evidence, that I could turn off the ignition, push down on the accelerator, retard the spark and then turn back on the ignition so that a huge backfire would occur. And it was especially fun to do along the shelterbelt because the trees would echo much of the explosive sound back to me. What a great way to startle the crafty black crows sitting up there in the trees. BOOM! BOOM! KAPOW! It was really going great, the crows are squawking and on their way. Wish I could do this when I am going around those boring spirals!

When we arrived in the field, David glanced back through the rear window and then shouted "DARRELL (that's what I was called while growing up), THE FUEL CAN IS ON FIRE! There's a fire in the back of the pickup.” So I quickly stopped the pickup and told David, "I'll get the can out and you drive the pickup away from here so it is safe!".  He said "OK" and I hopped out and leaped to the back of the pickup and grabbed the can, and jumped down to the ground. I ran a few steps with the can, dropped it, and ran about 25 feet away from the can and lay down on the soft soil. The flame kept coming and the smoke was going up like from a bonfire.

Then, all of a sudden, a huge ball of flame and a mushroom cloud of black smoke. The can blew up. And then, as rapidly, there was no more flame, only the big cloud that was rising in the sky, pointing its finger down at me.

Neighbors driving along a road at the edge of the field, a quarter of a mile away, stopped to look. What was this? We waved at them- All is okay- (Just don't ask.)

So David and I asked ourselves- How did this happen? Oh, yes, it was pretty clear. The can tipped over as I drove rapidly through the gates, turning sharply right and left.

And then, with fuel leaking through an incompletely closed lid, the dripping fuel was ignited when the crows were being startled. And my brother and I were in for a bigger startle. Now back to get another can of fuel. And no backfiring this time..... 

Written by JD Thompson 

Nov 20, 2001