In the early spring of April 1965, Ron and his wife found themselves at the hospital, their faces illuminated with joy despite a night without sleep. Their hearts beamed as they welcomed a newborn son, whom they lovingly named Bradley, into the world. Despite the exhaustion from the sleepless night Ron just had, duty called him back to his dad’s farm that morning to finish up some chores. While his wife and newborn son rested Ron made his way to the farm, ready to tackle the tasks that awaited him.
This morning he needed to finish the plowing and then start harrowing, so with the sun casting long shadows across the fields, he climbed onto the tractor, determined to complete the day’s work. As the tractor plowed through the earth, turning soil, he transitioned to the harrow. Its teeth dug into the ground, and in the remnants of last year’s hay, clumps formed, threatening to impede progress. Slowing the tractor to a crawl, he hopped off to clear the harrow, an everyday chore on the farm.
As he removed the clumps of roots entangled in the harrow, he went to hop back onto the tractor. As he climbed up, his foot slipped, and he frantically reached for the steering wheel to steady himself. Instead of grabbing the steering wheel, his hand accidentally latched onto the throttle, sending the tractor into a sudden burst of speed. He tumbled off the tractor, landing directly in its trajectory. Lying prone on the ground, the tractor rolled over his chest, but the forgiving softness of the soil prevented him from being entirely crushed.
As he removed the clumps of roots entangled in the harrow, he went to hop back onto the tractor. As he climbed up, his foot slipped, and he frantically reached for the steering wheel to steady himself. Instead of grabbing the steering wheel, his hand accidentally latched onto the throttle, sending the tractor into a sudden burst of speed. He tumbled off the tractor, landing directly in its trajectory. Lying prone on the ground, the tractor rolled over his chest, but the forgiving softness of the soil prevented him from being entirely crushed.
With a collective gasp and a guttural sound escaping him, he lay there, unbelievably intact. The harrow, oblivious to the drama, approached, its teeth skimming his body without tearing his clothes. Bruised but alive, he marveled again at the softness of the plowed earth that spared him from the full force of the harrow’s blades.
As the tractor continued going, he stood up and realized that he would have to stop it. Fear gripped him at the thought of mounting the tractor again, but the alternative—a runaway tractor wreaking havoc at the field’s edge—was equally daunting. Summoning courage, he pursued the retreating machine on unsteady legs.
Aware that he couldn’t match its speed for too long, he reached for the throttle, an impulsive move that mercifully cut the engine. In the stillness that followed, he thought to himself, “I’ll never get on a tractor again”. But then he thought—the tractor need not conquer him. Determination surged, and he decided not to let fear keep him from doing the work he knew needed to be done.
The imprint of his body on the soil served as a reminder—a testament to survival, resilience, and the unwavering spirit of a farmer who refused to be conquered by his own machinery. The day, marked by a near-tragic incident, ended with a farmer standing amidst plowed fields, reclaiming control over both the land and the tractor that had momentarily rebelled against him.
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