Philosopher
New User
He's out standing in his field.
I have a dear friend, Herb, who turned 91 this past Tuesday. He's an amazing fellow, active, clever, wise, and kind. He carries more rich lore on his shoulders than I could casually share here, but please trust me. His stories are astonishing. Someday I should try to take a shot at sharing some of them.
For years he's been trying to get his old 1954 Ford 700 tractor running. A handful of folks have helped give it a swing, but the tractor sits. It's important to him. He has deep agrarian roots, and as he's shared about his old tractor it always felt like a metaphor. It represents prosperity, freedom, the ability to work the earth in a way the world seems to be slowly forgetting or stopped caring about. That old tractor was a tool that meant independence and rebellion against a consumerism obsessed world gone mad; growing food for one's family and neighbors is a radical act of love.
Anyway, I took a little time off work, and after a week of some very hot afternoons I had gone through every system and got it running last night.
Yesterday we had a bit of a surprise thunderstorm start to roll in as I was tightening the last few bolts. I called Herb and asked if he could come out to the shed and show me how to get it started. Old tractors have a special ritual, of course.
So Herb walked me through his startup ritual under a blackening sky with the first pitter pattering of a storm on the sheet metal roof. He turned the key I had just wired up and mashed the start button, releasing 6 volts of gentle motivation through her sleeping frame. I held my breath as the old girl slowly -SLOWLY- started chug chug chugging until an inspiration of combustion awoke somewhere deep in her bowels and the old girl remembered what she was made for.
It was a lovely moment. When an old machine first sparks to life after sitting dormant for a long time something magical happens. It's palpable, joyful, redemptive. Time slows down and all you can do is share the moment and exist. And maybe remember to breathe.
So happy Birthday Herb. I love you.
You owe me a breakfast taco and a cup of coffee, and maybe another of those stories of yours.
I have a dear friend, Herb, who turned 91 this past Tuesday. He's an amazing fellow, active, clever, wise, and kind. He carries more rich lore on his shoulders than I could casually share here, but please trust me. His stories are astonishing. Someday I should try to take a shot at sharing some of them.
For years he's been trying to get his old 1954 Ford 700 tractor running. A handful of folks have helped give it a swing, but the tractor sits. It's important to him. He has deep agrarian roots, and as he's shared about his old tractor it always felt like a metaphor. It represents prosperity, freedom, the ability to work the earth in a way the world seems to be slowly forgetting or stopped caring about. That old tractor was a tool that meant independence and rebellion against a consumerism obsessed world gone mad; growing food for one's family and neighbors is a radical act of love.
Anyway, I took a little time off work, and after a week of some very hot afternoons I had gone through every system and got it running last night.
Yesterday we had a bit of a surprise thunderstorm start to roll in as I was tightening the last few bolts. I called Herb and asked if he could come out to the shed and show me how to get it started. Old tractors have a special ritual, of course.
So Herb walked me through his startup ritual under a blackening sky with the first pitter pattering of a storm on the sheet metal roof. He turned the key I had just wired up and mashed the start button, releasing 6 volts of gentle motivation through her sleeping frame. I held my breath as the old girl slowly -SLOWLY- started chug chug chugging until an inspiration of combustion awoke somewhere deep in her bowels and the old girl remembered what she was made for.
It was a lovely moment. When an old machine first sparks to life after sitting dormant for a long time something magical happens. It's palpable, joyful, redemptive. Time slows down and all you can do is share the moment and exist. And maybe remember to breathe.
So happy Birthday Herb. I love you.
You owe me a breakfast taco and a cup of coffee, and maybe another of those stories of yours.
