Mrs. Tractor Operator

On Saturday I had tractor lessons!

My husband needed to rake and bale hay while his brother set up irrigation in another field. Well, you can't rake and bale at the same time (different machines) and it had to be done, so he set me up on a tractor, gave me a few directions, rode around several passes with me until I started getting a little cocky in my new-found tractor skills, and then he left me!

My mock confidence plummeted. Oh, I was a nervous wreck. The tractor was huge and there must've been 30 buttons, levers, switches, clutches, brakes, throttles, gauges, pulleys, knobs, warnings, and ejector seats on that thing. No airbags or seatbelts.

My husband believed I could do it or he wouldn't have left me. Well, I prayed Hail Mary's from the top of the row to the end and then I had to do the hard part -- turn around and go up the next row. Turning is hard!

"Padre Pio, help! Get down here and turn this thing for me! NOW!!"

What do you know? It wasn't actually that bad. I was burning up fuel and moving at approximately .025 miles per hour (I saw a few snails go around me), but I was doing it! Thanks, Padre.

I had a great routine going when reality set in: my face and arms were getting sunburned, the glare was really bright, and it was all really loud.

Just when I started getting grumpy, my husband reappeared with a hat, sunglasses, long sleeve shirt and a noise reduction headphone radio, so I could be a "proper farmer."

What a darling, and what a difference!

The part that really opened my eyes, though, was that when I got home, all I wanted was someone to smile at me and have a clean house and hot meal ready. Wow.

Excuse me... I've got to go rake the back 40.