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
