If machines could talk
The gaggle of old geezers who gather every day to gab, gossip, and gripe over coffee and iced tea — of which I am a member in good standing — represent a wide diversity of life experiences and varying stages of old-age health decline.
Collectively we’ve got stiff joints, wrinkles, white hair and whiskers, limps, hearing aids, artificial joints, false teeth, chronic aches and pains, and assorted other ailments and symptoms.
Career-wise, we’re all over the map and retired. Think of anything and someone in the group has probably done it at one time or another.
That diversity triggers conversations on topics that cover about everything under the sun. Pick any topic from the massive to the mundane and we’ve probably discussed it.
Well, the other day on my drive home from the geezer gathering, my aggie imagination went off the deep end and I wondered what kinds of stories old tractors, pickup trucks, machinery and tools would tell if they could gather in groups to talk like us old geezers.
It’s a fact that machines and tools of all kinds get hard use on farms and ranches. So, if they could do “machinery geezer talk” they’d have a lot of stories to tell.
So, put your imagination to work and envision a varied bunch of retired “farm iron” sitting in the shade of a big ol’ cottonwood tree, sipping diesel fuel or gasoline, spiked with oil, swapping stories and lies just like people.
Their conversation might go something like this:
• John Deere H “Johnny Popper,” 1943 model: “I got bought by a farmer who sold his team of Belgian gray mares to get the money. He liked to have worked me to death. But, I got even one day when he got mad and hit my tire with a ball peen hammer and I bounced it back into his head and knocked him out.
“Eventually, he wore me out and parked me back in the wood row and there I sat rusting, with my engine seizing up, for 50 years. I thought I’d seen the end. But, one day a young fella bought me and worked for two winters to restore me to my original glory. That’s how I look so good today. Just plain ol’ good fortune.”
• Ford F150 pickup, 1975 model: “I don’t think I’ll ever get that lucky. The guy who owns me ain’t much on maintenance. I seldom get an oil change. I never get washed because he thinks caked-on mud keeps me from rattling on the gravel roads. I’m rusted out in my wheel wells from all the salty winter roads he’s driven me on. My dash board and floor board is covered with dust and trash. My seats are covered in dog hair. I’m pretty sure I’m eventually doomed for the car crusher.”
• Farmall two-row corn planter, 1960 model: “I wuz top-of-the-line back in the day. But, it wuzn’t many years before I got outdated and retired to the junk row. After 40 years of outdoors neglect, I got lucky and wuz bought by a guy who sells sweet corn. He replaced my old plates with new ones, gave me a coat of paint, and now I get used a couple times a year to plant his sweet corn plot. The rest of my time is leisure time. I couldn’t be luckier.”
• Cattle squeeze chute, 1967 manual model: “I got treated like royalty when I wuz new. My rancher owner bragged about how efficient I wuz compared to ropin’ and draggin’. But the ranch hands hated me becuz they loved roping. So, they grumbled and griped every time they used me. But, I learned to get even with them by occasionally letting a cow critter break through the head gate and run away. Or I made sure they got their knuckles skinned up and plenty of cuts and bruises.
“But, I had to be repaired often and finally wore out my welcome. I wuz replaced by a fancy, handy-dandy hydraulic chute and tossed on the junk pile and forgotten as too old and worthless.”
So, yep. If “old iron” could talk, the conversations would take us on a trip down memory lane. Now, on to another story.
***
Mildred wuz a gossipy old biddy and self-appointed monitor of a rural church’s morals. She kept herself busy sticking her nose into other people’s business. Plus, she insinuated that she considered herself morally above the common fray.
Several church members did not approve of Mildred’s extra-curricular activities, but feared her enough to maintain their silence.
But, Mildred made a mistake, however, when she accused Hank, a retired farmer church member and an old bachelor, of being an alcoholic drunk after she saw his old pickup parked in front of the town’s only bar one afternoon.
She emphatically told Hank that everyone seeing it there would know what he was doing.
Hank, a man of few words, stared at her for a moment, then just turned and walked away. He didn’t explain, defend or deny. He said nothing.
Later that evening, Frank quietly parked his pickup in front of Mildred’s house … walked home … and left it there all night.
The next morning tongues all over the community started wagging about Mildred.
You gotta love Hank.
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True kid story: A 4-year-old loved eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every day at daycare. But, his mom told him that a new kid at daycare has a severe allergy to peanuts, so her son would have to quit taking his PBJ to school.
The kid replied: “Well, why doesn’t he stay home?” His mom explained why. Then her son belligerently replied, “Well, I’m not going then!”
***
Words of wisdom for the week: “The human brain runs on less power than a 60-watt-light bulb. Now I know why so many folks are considered dimwits.” Have a good ‘un.
