The Root of all Evil

The Little Boy, a Tractor and the Root


 
I grew, like a wild weed, my Mom would say. My Dad noticed I was getting big enough to learn how to drive the tractor. My legs were long enough to reach the pedals, so Daddy taught me how to use the clutch, brakes and steer the tractor. It came time to harvest the potatoes at Grandma Bill's house, so Dad connected a plow to the tractor to dig the rows up to reveal the potatoes growing in the ground. The plow was a middle buster, which pushes the dirt to the left and right,  splitting the middle of the row to reveal the potatoes. It was a very old plow that Granddaddy had used in the fields pulled by a mule. Dad had attached it to the tractor with a short chain and would walk behind it to keep it at the right depth.

There happened to be a sweet gum tree at the end of the row that little Russell used to play under in the dirt. It was huge and as big around as I was tall. It took a little maneuvering to get the tractor into the row and get ready to pull the plow. Dad said, let out the clutch slowly and drive down the row. The tractor took off and the plow dug into the dirt, then suddenly, the tractor stopped moving forward as the plow caught a root under the row, and the front wheels came off the ground. The tractor was about to tip over backwards! I quickly pressed the clutch, although it seemed like everything was in slow motion and the wheels came down with a thud! I threw it out of gear and jumped off as my heart was beating 100 miles per hour. Daddy wrestled the plow off the root it was stuck on and told me to get back on the tractor so we could finish digging the potatoes.

Scared, with adrenaline still rushing through my veins, I blurted out "I ain't getting back on that gosh damn thing ever again!" Dad was speechless! He too was scared at what could have happened, and relieved it didn't happen, and totally shocked his little boy just said a cuss word. Fortunately, he was too relieved to be mad and he assured me it was OK and to get back on the tractor. We finished plowing the row and went down the next one. Then we had to grapple in the dirt and put the potatoes in bushel baskets.

Dad never said or did anything about what I said, but he did relay the story to anyone that would listen. I think he was just as scared as I was when the root grabbed the plow and nearly flipped the tractor over.