JOHN DEERE TRACTOR

My closest call with death came in what I believe was the summer of 1945.  Dad had bought a new John Deere tractor, of which he was very proud.  It was green and tall and fast. 

1945 John Deer tractor

One day I drove it up the hill on the road to Weston to pick up our mail at the intersection beyond the canal flume.  Then I drove it up the road to our neighbor’s, Wash Thompson.  I can’t recall why I went there, but after a few minutes I decided to head for home. 

From their barn there was a long straight driveway to the Weston road, where you had to turn right or left on to the road.  I put the tractor in high gear, probably to show off to the Thompsons.  As I approached the road, the tractor was probably going 20 miles per hour.  I didn’t think to slow down, partly due the fact that the mail, which was on the seat under my right thigh, was jostling loose.  I reached down to secure the mail just as the tractor was entering the roadway.  Since I needed to go left toward home, I quickly pulled the steering wheel left and more quickly let it go to reach back across to grab it on the right side and pull it across left again to make the turn.  But as those will know who have driven tractors, they are engineered to very quickly return the front wheels to straight ahead.  So I was rapidly heading for the barrow pit on the opposite side of the road.

Then a flash came to my mind that I could touch the wheel brake on the left to slow the left rear wheel, thus swinging the tractor to the left.  By the time my foot hit the brake the tractor was almost across the road.  The only problem was that in my quick reaction, I hit the right wheel brake, not the left one.

The next thing I knew I was on my back in the barrow pit, with the tractor upside down on top of me.  Actually the tractor seat was across my groin, pinning me to the ground.  The tractor was still running and the huge rear wheels were turning. The left wheel was on top of my right leg pulling it forward. 

The engine finally killed, about the time that the Thompsons came running up to see if they could help.  After extracting me from under the tractor, they pulled the tractor upright.  The tall exhaust pipe that had risen upright from the top of the tractor engine had been clearly bent over.  This exhaust pipe was bent upright; and the engine started.   So I drove off home with much dread over ruining the appearance of Dad’s new cherished John Deere tractor. 

I can’t recall what Dad said when I got home, but it seems that he was very kind to me and didn’t punish me for my foolishness in ruining his prized tractor.

I have pondered many times this impossible survival of what should have been severe injury or death.  The incredible speed of the tractor flipping over so fast that I was not aware of it, and slamming into the barrow pit, so that I as not bruised except for where the seat arm pinned me to the ground is astounding to me.    I can only assume that angels protected me.