News

Jul 31, 2023

Operating a tractor didn't always go smoothly for this newbie driver

Today I’m going to take you back to my early life in my marriage to a farmer. To start with, Bob and I lived in a used mobile home we moved to his parent’s farm in Mokena, Illinois. That was supposed

Today I’m going to take you back to my early life in my marriage to a farmer. To start with, Bob and I lived in a used mobile home we moved to his parent’s farm in Mokena, Illinois. That was supposed to be a short-term solution as they were hoping to find another farm to move to soon. Instead of months, we lived there from December 1973 until January 1978 when we moved to Seymour, Wisconsin.

When we married, I had to learn how to drive a tractor so I could help with farming, especially haying. I had grown up in the country, but never drove anything large like a tractor. When we were dating, I would sit on the tractor fender next to Bob. I wasn’t working or learning. It was a way to be close to my love.

I had to learn what to wear when I was working in the field. None of the tractors had cabs. To keep my fair skin from burning, I wore jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, gloves, and a large-brimmed hat. (My sister thought that shorts were more appropriate, but she was wrong. Bob knew best about working under a hot sun.)

The first time Bob put me behind the wheel I was scared to death, but my new husband had faith in my driving skills.

Bob would be on the hayrack, stacking, trusting me to drive the tractor while also working the hay baler, and pulling him across the field of raked hay.

I wanted to please my new husband, so I took the wheel, pushed down the clutch, and moved the tractor forward. Okay, the first time I popped the clutch and Bob almost fell off the wagon. (Our machinery was old, even back in the 70s.)

Over the roar of the tractor, I saw Bob’s mouth moving. He wasn’t yelling at me. I think he was trying to instruct me about starting out, and how to ease the clutch up.

I did better the next time, but every time we started forward Bob braced himself for any possibilities.

Years later, I popped the clutch again—I’m a slow learner. That time Bob was prepared but the hay wagon wasn’t. With the weight of twenty bales on the back where he had been stacking, the flatbed slowly tipped backward. Bob ended up lying against that hay. He was unhurt. Thank goodness.

I stopped immediately. The bed only came halfway off. It was easy to get the bed back in place. Of course, we needed to unhook the tractor and baler to do that.

After getting the bed up, I had to back the tractor and baler so I could attach it to the wagon again—in all my farming life, I never did this bit of tractor driving very well.

Bob would be directing me from ground level telling me which way to turn the steering wheel. He had the pin in his hand so he could get everything fastened together and we could get back to work.

Multiple times I backed, but the baler always seemed to turn the wrong way.

Bob patiently told me to pull ahead and try again. He never swore at me. My husband saved nasty words for obstinate machinery he worked on alone, he never directed them at people. If I heard blue words fly from the machine shed, I knew he needed a hand. I’d join him next to the tractor or combine. Bob would relax and we’d work together—my hands could always fit into places his large hands wouldn’t or I’d hold tiny nuts and bolts. We made a good team.

We were a partnership, but I was more his extra pair of hands. I learned from him, but never enough to be a ‘real’ farmer. We never had tractors with all the bells and whistles that are out there today. Bob used his welding skills to keep our old machines going.

Now you have a snippet of the beginning of my life with my farmer husband. More long-ago stories will follow.

Susan Manzke, Sunnybook Farm, N8646 Miller Rd, Seymour, WI 54165; [email protected]; [email protected]; www.susanmanzke.net/blog.