We hadn’t been living here a week when I spotted the line of old farm tractors. Some of them had “For Sale” signs on them. Everyone has a weakness and mine is for old machinery. I love it. In another community, they’d probably already have been consigned to the junkyard, crushed for the metal content.
“Wow,” I said to Garry. “Wouldn’t that be cool? Kids could climb on it. We could build a garden around it.” And then, we went home.
A month later, on our tenth anniversary in September, a flatbed trailer backed down our driveway. It delivered my 1924 Fordson Tractor. We gave it a Model-A Ford steering wheel, an old license plate — though with its seized engine, it wasn’t going anywhere under its own power — and a new seat. After Owen built the garden with the rocks repurposed from the wall in the woods which repurposed from them just being big rocks in a field that was not full of trees, the tractor moved next to the garden wall. It has a new life as garden decor. A Japanese maple tree is growing directly in front of it and there’s no way to extract the tractor, so as long as we are here to protect it, the tractor will have a home on our land.
Some people have asked us why we have that piece of junk in the garden. What can I tell them? How many women are lucky enough to have a husband who’d buy his wife an antique tractor for their 10th anniversary? What a guy!