GRANDPA’S TRACTOR

It was a day in late spring or early summer, with piles of manure to move, and my Kioti tractor wouldn’t crank. As I lifted the hood and prepared to deal with the battery, I recalled my grandfather, Herman, and his ability to keep machines going. When he grew up, farmers had to fix their own broken equipment. Whether he was plowing, discing, or planting, Grandpa had a way with cultivating hay, asparagus, and mint. He also raised hogs and dairy and beef cows. Grandma had her chickens and her garden, from which we ate fresh, canned, and frozen veggies.

Back when my grandparents met, Grandma Ida’s father was a circuitriding preacher whose parish was among German immigrants on the rich wheat farms southwest of Spokane Falls, Washington. Grandpa came from rather plain folk, and was considered a bit rough for a preacher’s daughter, but their courting was allowed to go on.

Everyone stuck together in those days as a matter