Read by Matilda Longbottom

 
“You need a tractor!”

Pam, the X-ray tech at my clinic, sounds like a farmer evangelist whenever she brings up tractors. Her excitement matches my own enthusiasm for the nineteen acres of countryside I recently snagged. Every time I ponder aloud about taming the three-acre weed wonderland that threatens to take over my would-be front yard, Pam’s response is always the same: “You need a tractor!”

But do I really? I mean, sure, I’ve dreamed of keeping the land tidy, planting wildflowers, and maybe even starting a sizable garden. I had my eyes on tillers and contemplated hiring someone with a Bush Hog. Yet, Pam insists a tractor is the solution. As I perused the ads in my hobbyist farming magazine, the prices for those candy-colored machines made my wallet shudder.

However, Pam has a plan. She mentions Quentin’s stepdad, Bubba. Quentin, her hubby, is the hog-farm maestro.

Off I go to Clinton, where I encounter containerized Chinese tractors, Jin-Ma, in bright red. Bubba, Pam’s stepfather-in-law, is the magician behind the scenes. He transforms the wooden crates into functional tractors at a fraction of the cost of those glossy magazine models.

Before I know it, I’ve signed up for a 26-horsepower, four-wheel-drive tractor. With the ‘savings’, I splurge on all the vital accessories—a tiller, plow, cultivator, box blade, canopy, and of course, a generic Bush Hog. I resist the urge for the pricey finishing mower and front loader, but who knows, I might cave in later.

A couple of weeks later, Bubba rolls into my driveway with a shiny red tractor and all the trimmings. He gives me a crash course on tractor operations, complete with a somewhat dubious Chinese manual. Armed with newfound knowledge, I dive into tractor ownership with gusto.

The first few mows are exhilarating. Watching the weeds vanish under the Bush Hog is oddly satisfying. Critters scramble for new hiding spots, and I can’t help but feel a tad guilty, but hey, gotta keep the chaos in check!

One evening, as I mow near the pond, I’m treated to a mesmerizing sight of grasshoppers dancing in the sunset, creating a golden spectacle that leaves me breathless.

However, my enthusiasm wanes a bit when I swap the Bush Hog for the tiller. Wrestling with it feels like a full-body workout, and my small, arthritic hands protest. Then comes the conundrum of reattaching the Bush Hog, which now feels off-kilter, reminiscent of a drunken sailor. With Bubba MIA and the Chinese manual offering no solace, I resort to online tutorials that lead me nowhere.

Fast-forward to a scorching Summer evening, and I’m back on the tractor, trying to tackle the unruly grass. But my peace is shattered when a swarm of angry yellow jackets attacks, turning my serene mowing session into a frantic escape scene. With stings on my limbs and panic setting in, I hit the brakes, abandon ship, and sprint to safety.

After nursing my wounds with ice and Benadryl, I contemplate my relationship with the tractor. Dopey from meds and buzzing from soda, I ponder the cosmic significance of those displaced bunnies and wonder if selling the tractor might be my next move.

But hey, despite the bumps and stings, at least I’ve got some hilarious tales to tell at the next clinic gathering! ❖

About the Author: Debbie Morris is a writer with a passion for turning life’s mishaps into humorous anecdotes. When she’s not dodging yellow jackets or wrestling with tractors, you’ll find her penning quirky stories or exploring the great outdoors.