Rusting proof of mechanical incompetence no more

By Mychal Wilmes
wilmes@agrinews.com

Date Modified: 06/17/2010 9:16 AM

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The WD-45 had become an albatross around my neck — rusting proof of mechanical incompetence.

The tractor, which is hooked to a two-wheel cart made from a truck's frame, has been idle for two years. The engine was turned over last June. Although it was getting spark, it didn't start because the carburetor was clogged. A shade-tree mechanic with limited skills who messes with a carburetor is only asking for more complicated trouble.

The tractor, which is on loan from a brother who doesn't need for it, has taken on a junker's look. Its back tires are deflated and cracking. Paint — original or otherwise — has faded with time.

Its sorry condition inspired friends to suggest that it was time to get it rolling again. The project's ultimate success, they said, would put a new bounce in my step and restore pride.

I promised to have it running again by Sam's graduation party. It wouldn't be easy. Marv, who owns a repair shop, brought his portable air compressor in return for a promised free breakfast uptown. The battery was recharged. The final step — and by far the most complex — was the carburetor. Since I knew better than to attempt repair, volunteers were needed. It's hard to find them with field spraying and grain-hauling season in full swing.

In these parts the most effective way to get mechanic help is to call for an emergency shop party. It is the responsibility of the host to provide free beer, the quality of which takes a backseat to the price. Four volunteers showed up at 7 p.m. for a project that might take two hours. Minor complications ruined the schedule. Because the battery wouldn't hold a charge, an alternative one was removed from a volunteer's car with his permission. It spun the engine easily, but the WD-45 wouldn't start.

Richie, who is the carburetor man and lead volunteer mechanic, dissembled it and took it to a friend's house for pressure washing to remove the gonk.

The carburetor restored, the tractor started right up accompanied by loud cheers and demands that I take it for a drive.

There is indeed something special about an antique tractor driven by an old man. It made me feel young again and rekindled memories of Dad checking corn and cultivating fields with a four-row mounted unit.

I parked the tractor right beneath Sam's bedroom window. The battery was put back to the car. The tractor will remain parked where it is until another battery is found, which means it will have a central place at the party.

Kathy didn't think the tractor belongs there. I protested, arguing that the tractor is a central part of Sam's heritage. It is a weak argument, given that the only horsepowered things he's driven is a car and riding lawnmower. Still, he is the son of a farmer's son.

All things being equal, there are times when I would rather be milking cows and baling hay than staring at a computer screen. Things don't always work out as they should — than again, maybe they do.

Sam should experience driving the tractor down the road in high gear with the wind in his face. I doubt that he will be farmer, but one never knows. Sam says he might want to be a journalist. I suggest that he pursue other options, which is advice many a farmer's son or daughter have received through the decades. You probably heard much the same thing. Poor prices and greater opportunities cost us generations of farmers..

Dad experienced farming's zenith, when families could be raised with 20 milk cows, a few head of pigs and 340 acres. Although he didn't have much money, the bills were small in comparison.

Hard work earned its own rewards. That's the message Sam has received — that hard work pays. It's a lesson learned on the steel seat of a WD-45.