You may have noticed the old tractor in the middle of our garden. When we were trying to sell the house years ago, a couple of potential buyers commented that they’d have to have it towed away.
I put a mental black mark next to their names because I love that tractor. If you don’t appreciate the tractor, you won’t like my house (they didn’t)
It’s a rusty 1928 Fordson. It was common farm equipment in its day. I loved it the moment I saw it, sitting on a lawn up the road a piece. I wanted it. I knew it didn’t run and never would, but for me, it was the perfect garden accessory.
Some people put flamingos in their garden (yes, I have a flamingo too). Deer. Ducks. Squirrels. I have some of them buried in weeds and flowers and I can only find the flamingo who is at least taller than the flowers and weeds. Around Halloween, anything goes and for Christmas — well — we’ve all seen the lengths to which some people will go.
One family just up the road from here has a crèche, a wishing well, several gnomes and a lighthouse almost large enough to use as a real lighthouse, except it is made of hollow and rather cheesy plastic. I believe they also have several types of small animals tucked between other statuary and geegaws. It’s a very busy garden and half the size of ours. Only careful landscaping has allowed them to fit quite so much bric-à-brac in such a small space.
This stuff’s not cheap. If you’ve ever gone and priced garden statuary, a nicely done piece — cement not plastic — can cost you as much as remodeling your kitchen. Well, almost as much. Okay, about half the price.
The tractor wasn’t cheap either. It was (is) a real tractor, not some phony doodad. Someone farmed using that piece of machinery. It was, in its day, a serious investment. So I don’t understand why someone would think a fake lighthouse looks cool while yearning for a bigger bogus wishing well, but find our antique tractor odd. Maybe they’d like it better if we’d bought it at Walmart?
Garry bought it for me as a tenth-anniversary gift. Now that is a husband who gets his wife. He knew to whom he is married.
Nineteen years later, I love my tractor more than ever. It has stood the test of time. In another 9-1/2 years, it will have its hundredth birthday. In its second life, we have planted around it and vines have grown over it. It is as much a part of the garden as the earth on which it stands.
Love me, love my tractor.