A Day on the Farm

As I mentioned, I am moving to the Birthplace of Speed this weekend. Today a drove a load my junk over to put into a storage unit for a month or so while I sort through what to keep and what to get rid of.

As I was driving, I got to thinking about this blog and where I want it to go. Ed doesn't want me to use swear words, even like this, sh**, so to keep him off my back, I will try to refrain from their use. Well, I came up with no answer to where this blog is going, so I got to thinking about my posts, thus far.

With the exception of the one where I figured out how to blog, all of them have been about cars. Is this the direction I want this blog to go? I don't know, we just have to keep looking at the numbers and see which way to go.

Since I didn't want to do another post on cars, I thought I would post this one about a tractor and a truck.

In the early 70's, my family had gone through a pretty terrifying ordeal and my Dad

decided we needed a big shakeup in our lives to get away from those memories. My Dad was the editor of a Roman Catholic newspaper for the Diocese that covers the bottom third of the State of Missouri. He travelled alot and sometimes we got lucky enough to go with him. Mom complained about us missing school and his response was "Never let schoolwork get in the way of education". A motto I agreed with then, and still do. But, I digress.

His recently transferred boss had offered him the same job in the Kansas City, Kansas diocese. My Dad went to his new boss and struck up a conversation about the possibility of this move. The Bishop asked Dad, "What do you really want to do?" My Dad responded, "I want to buy a farm." The Bishop picks up a Sales Contract off his desk for a 173 farm the diocese was selling in Halltown, Missouri. "How about this?"

We moved to Halltown within a month.

Now when I say we, of the ten kids in my family, the three oldest boys, Bob, Jim and Tom, were already off saving the good ole USA, Mary the oldest of my 3 older sisters moved out there but as she was a senior, she continued to commute to St. Agnes with my Dad until she graduated. She promptly moved back to Springfield. That left Mom, Dad, Carol, Jane, and the four little kids, me, Ed, Ellen and Joan.

So here we are, a bunch of city kids moving to a farm with none of us, including my Dad, having any rural experience, ever. My Dad did work in a chicken processing plant as a kid so maybe that counts.

It was like freaking Green Acres,

all the way down to the tractor wheel falling off. You were wondering where the tractor was, weren't you?

Dad found an old IH Farmall C, Tricycle front

somewhere and drug it home. It seems we Lee Boys have a penchant for that. It worked off and on, went through several starters, but it did have a glass fuel filter which I always thought was cool as could be.

One day while Dad was out mowing in the Settler's field, all the fields had names--Front, Side, no back though, Dad's--the largest, and, among others, this one, so named as it had an old farmhouse which we presumed belonged to the Settler's of the farm.....God, I digress, thankfully I have not yet had that cocktail....SO....


Dad is mowing this field and the left rear axle housing breaks and the wheel falls off the tractor. As anyone who is intelligent enough to be here knows, if you take a wheel off a tricyle, a fairly catrostrophic occurence, well, occurs. The left side of the tractor falls to the ground and Dad, while I did not see this, must have jumped clear of that or held on tight for the ride. I am his age right now when that happened to him. It is a pretty scary thought.

So I know it must have been the summer or fall, since Dad was mowing. He finally found a used axle housing at some tractor junkyard somewhere in his travels and, yes, drug it home. Now this old tractor was something like a 1954 or so, and back then, they used real American Iron.....RRRRR....think Tim Allen here...I mean to a couple kids, Ed and me, it weighed a ton.


When Dad finally brought this home, the season's had changed and it was now fall.


So much for the background, now for the story.


One miserable, cold, drizzly, nasty, windy, overcast Saturday, Dad decided Ed, I and Dad were going to fix that tractor. Now, the Settler's field was the absolute farthest field from the house and barn and that tractor was stranded in the farthest corner of that field. So Dad, Ed, and I loaded up the old Dodge Pickup, similar to the one shown here



but ours was white with painted bumpers, absolutely no frills. 3/4 ton, 6 cylinder, radio delete, no air, four on the floor. It was a beast. So we load that truck up with everything we think we will need to perform said repairs. Well, of course, we didn't have everything and I think Ed or I or the both of us must of made 5 different trips to the shed to get more tools.

We finally got the tractor jacked up from the ground, got the old axle housing off and the new one installed. The only task remaining was to slide the axle into the big assed gear (pinion?)inside of the casting of the tractor. No real rearend as cars have, the entire inside of this tractor was filled with gears and, of course, gear oil. So we had removed the PTO (power take off) from the rear of this tractor to access this pinion gear to hold it in place.

So, here it is on the cold, windy, dreary, drizzly, overcast day, 6 or 7 hours into this project in a remote field in Southwest Missouri. We are miserable. Did I mention it was nasty out?

I, being the full fledged boy I am, have my whole arm inside the back of this tractor, immersed in cold gear oil, trying to hold this pinion gear, which probably weighed more than I did and it was at the absolute extent of my reach, if I had one leg off the ground, while Ed and Dad tried to turn the axle itself to slide in that gear.

After probably 50 unsuccessful attempts, my pissed off Dad told Ed to go get Carol and Jane while bitching about premadonnas, warm house, TV, working our butts off while they pampered themselves...you get the idea, typical Bob Sr. rants. So Ed went up and got the girls and returned, why I don't know.

So now, instead of 3 miserable, wet people, there are now 5 of us miserable, wet people.

So Dad, Ed and I went back to it, me with my arm in the cold gear oil, trying unsuccessfully to hold that gear in place while Ed and Dad are trying to slide that axle in, with those two girls standing in the drizzle, all bundled up watching us.

Finally one of them, and I wish I could remember, but I know who'll take credit, said to Dad, "Why doesn't John take that big metal rod and put it in the tractor to hold that gear in place."

Anyone ever heard of leverage?

So, I picked up that bar, slide it into that tractor and held that gear in place while and Ed and Dad successfully slide that axle into that pinion gear, the first time.

Thank God for those girls.

My Dad was pissed. The girls were smart though. They jumped in that truck and blasted away, full speed ahead, with mud flying.

I have told this story several times and the response has been either, "How sad your dad reacted this way"--Laurent's parents, or "You should always listen to a woman"--everybody else.

While I didn't then, or now, fault Dad for his reactions, he was, afterall, a human being. I prefer to alway listen to a woman. Life seems to be easier that way.

And that is the story of the wheel falling off the tractor.