Value is in the memories

“Do you remember when Grandma almost tipped the tractor over?” one of my brothers asked awhile back when we were walking through endless rows of tractors.

Of course, I remember. Mom and Grandma had intended to do some work in the back hayfield. Grandpa had already passed away and it was left to the two women to keep the farm going. Mom and I had walked back there a few days before and discovered that someone had been camping and had left their tattered blanket behind, along with the remnants of a small fire.

The day started badly and so did the tractor. It took a crank to start it. Mom would crank and Grandma would do whatever it took to get the old engine to turn over. It was always stressful to get the thing going when it would rather sit in the barn and rust quietly by itself.

Mom and I walked and Grandma rode the reluctant orange beast. We crossed the creek easily enough. Near the edge of the field Grandma got off the path and into a concealed ditch. She finally got it out of the ditch only to find herself on a steep hillside. The tractor was in grave danger of tipping over backwards. She was also in danger from the thorn trees that dotted that area of the farm.

Many bad words and a lot of rocking the tractor back and forth finally coaxed the machine back to somewhat level ground.

The only problem is that neither of my brothers had even been born then. They only remember the story because we have told it so many times. By the time they were born Grandma’s tractor days were over.

Now my brother, Michael, drools whenever he sees an old orange tractor. He has brought a few of them home and he and his wife have spent many hours cleaning them up and sometimes he actually gets them to run again.

The farm was sold a long time ago to one of my Uncle Norman’s friends. Michael said he stopped by a few weeks ago. Everything has changed. The outbuildings are long gone. The barn that Michael accidentally burned down had been replaced. The creek is overgrown and doesn’t look at all like it did when we were young. Even the bridge is different. No longer does it boast nice blue railings perfect for kicking stones into the water. Flimsy metal guardrails are the only things keeping traffic on the narrow gravel road.

There are other stories that family members think they remember but only because they have heard them so often. Several years ago we had a family reunion. More than once I heard the tale of when Grandma pulled the tail off a cow.

The cow, a docile creature, was gravely ill. The vet said it had to get back on its feet or it was going to die. The vet told Grandma to twist its tail up and try to get it to stand while he tried to hoist up the front half. Unfortunately, the cow was too far gone and when Grandma did as she was told, the tail came off. For the record, she was distraught when this happened. Needless to say, the cow didn’t live. Also, I heard this story secondhand. I was deemed too young to witness the event and had been banned from the barn while all this was going on.

I wonder how many family stories are brought to mind when someone sees a tractor like the ones they remember. The reminiscing is not confined to tractors. Many of the booths at the annual Tri-State show compel one or the other of us to say, “we had one of those when I was little.”

The items themselves hold little value. Their true worth is measured in the tales that begin “do you remember when …” and are told by people who have heard the tales so many times that they really do remember when.