Brewer Chronicles - The Tractor

My earliest memories of my Dad were sitting between his legs on a tractor. He not only taught me how to steer it, but I learned so much about how it was operated by watching him skillfully maneuver it. I felt so safe with his assuring arms around me. Even though he didn't verbalize his love for me until just before he passed, he conveyed his love in many ways.

We progressed to a B John Deere, and soon (around 8) I was trusted to solo with a disk and harrow for hours at a time. By 10, I was capable of nearly anything (it took me until 12 to be able to back a wagon loaded with corn up a hill into a barn gangway). I think I spent half of my non-school hours on a tractor.

I still have large (most of them with scars) knuckles from wrestling with equipment and buildings. I even lost the last part of my pinky when it was mashed removing a 3-point plow. More important, I learned to respect and appreciate the equipment. So many times, I heard Dad say "Oil doesn't cost anything, but it will break you up if you don't use it freely". I swear that he caressed the plow shares when he put grease on them at the end of their season.

I thank God that He gave me a father that gave me so much. Sadly, a father would be jailed for raising a child that way today. What a gift to be raised during that period.