JANUARY 2018• COUNTRY LIFE IN BC


49 Henderson figures any idiot can drive a tractor When we left off last time,


Kenneth Henderson was spending a lot of time at home, alone, stewing about how life in the country was not all it was cracked up to be. At least, for him. The rest of the family seemed too busy to notice. Rural Redemption, part 94, continues.


won’t do! You’ve left me high and dry.”


Woodshed


Chronicles by BOB COLLINS


By mid-morning the next


day, Kenneth Henderson was home alone again. Just as the beginning of the long dash was marking exactly 10 am Pacific Standard Time on the radio, his phone rang. There was no name on the call display. “Hello.” “Hi there. Is this Ken Henderson?” “It’s Kenneth. Who’s


speaking?” “This is Grady Evans. I


figured I should give you a shout.” “Who?” “Grady.” There was an awkward


pause. “Grady Evans. You know.


You called me about pushing a pile of sawdust into a shed with the Bobcat.” The penny dropped for Kenneth and he was instantly indignant and accusatory. “You said you’d be here


three days ago. Why didn’t you come?” “Well, here’s the thing; I got


starter troubles and the parts are still a day or two away.” “So, you expect me to wait another two days?” “Well, here’s the thing about that; even if the parts do come, there’s probably a day’s work to get them in.” “So, you’re saying three


more days then?” “Well, here’s the thing see; I got called to work out of town with the dump truck for a couple of weeks so even if the parts do come, I won’t have time to put them in until I get back.” “Are you telling me no one


can repair your machine for two weeks?” “Well, I suppose I could get


my brother-in-law Larry to have a go at it but even if he fixes it I still won’t be back to run it.”


Kenneth was growing impatient. “Why can’t Larry run it?” “Well, here’s the thing about Larry; he’s a drinking man, if you know what I mean. It didn’t work out so good the last time we tried and I’m kind of gun-shy about letting him have another go, if you know what I mean.” “Well, Mister Evans, this


“I hear yah. It’s a hell of a thing and I’m awful sorry.” “What good is sorry to me?” “Tell you what. If you can hang on until I get back, I’ll knock the hauling time off the bill and eat half the hours.” “I’ll make this easy for you: You said you’d do the job. If you can’t do it, I expect you to find


someone who can and pay out of your


own pocket to have it done.” “Well, here’s the thing: right


now, I’m bending over backwards to make you happy. If that’s not working for you just say so and I’ll quit trying.” “Oh, is that so? Well, I have no intention of waiting two weeks so tell me this, Mister Evans; what do you suppose I should do about it?”


Grady Evans was laughing


out loud. “Well, if you really can’t wait


two weeks, you should probably do what I did.” “And what, pray tell, would that be?” “Buy yourself a tractor and


push your own damned sawdust.” “How would you like it if I


called my lawyer?” said Kenneth. “You might be on to something there. If your lawyer’s got a front-end loader, he might be just the ticket.”


Kenneth snapped and


started yelling profanities at Grady Evans. Twenty seconds passed before he realized Grady wasn’t there and Deborah walked into the office. “For heaven’s sake, who are


you swearing at? You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”


Deborah and the kids were off to rehearsal right after


dinner. Kenneth’s crutches were leaning against the kitchen counter when they returned. Deborah found him in the office. “Are you okay?” “Better than okay,” said Kenneth. “I see you’ve left your crutches in the kitchen. Is your ankle felling better?” It hadn’t dawned on Kenneth that he’d left them behind. His ankle was feeling much better but he wasn’t ready to say so just yet. “No, it hurts like hell but I’m sick and tired of those clumsy bloody sticks. Guess what I just did?”


Deborah cast her eyes


around the room. Nothing looked broken or out of place. Kenneth watched her impatiently. “No, not in here. On the internet. Guess what I just did on the Internet?” The possibilities were


endless. “I don’t know, Kenneth. Did


you download ABBA’s greatest hits?” “For gawd’s sake, Deborah, be serious. I bought something. Something we need around here.” “A George Foreman grill?” “No! Forget George


Foreman. I bought us a tractor!” “A tractor! A real tractor?” “Yes, a real tractor. Take a look at this.”


Kenneth made room for her to look at the computer screen. She’s a Massey Ferguson 285.” “You actually bought this


tonight? Who sold you this?” asked Deborah. “A used tractor dealership


and yes, it’s bought and paid for. They are delivering it on the weekend. What do you think?”


Deborah looked at the


shiny profile of a Massey 285. “It looks brand new.” “This isn’t the actual tractor; this is a picture of what it


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looked like when it was new.” “You didn’t buy a new one


then?” “Heavens no. According to the sales guy, they don’t make them like this anymore and we’re lucky to find one.” “Really? How old is the one


you bought?” “It’s a 1975 and I know that sounds old but I asked the guy what the mileage was and he said there was only 12,000 hours on the meter! And it’s hardly been used at all for the last 15 years! And it’s got a front-end loader, too!” “This all seems kind of


hasty. I didn’t know we needed a tractor at all.” “Neither did I until that Bobcat clown left us high and dry. This is going to be great. The salesman figures we could shove a load of sawdust into the barn in half an hour.” “Did he send a picture of the one you bought?” “No, he didn’t. He said there


were two other guys kicking the tires and if I didn’t pull the trigger right away, there was a good chance one of them would snap it up.” “How much did it cost?” “That’s the best part,” said Kenneth with a self-satisfied chuckle. “They were asking


$12,500 but I got them down to $10,000.” “Have you ever driven a


tractor?”


Kenneth closed his eyes and ran the fingers from both hands into his hair. He held his forehead in his palms as he spoke.


“Deborah, don’t be so damned negative. Every half- witted farmer in the country drives a tractor. I’m not an idiot. How hard could it possibly be?”


ttt A hundred and fifty


kilometres away, Kevin Wallace, the owner of Field and Furrow Used Farm Equipment, called his mechanic, Dave Saunders. “Dave, you’ll never guess what. I just sold the old 285!” “Really? Who’d you sell that


to?”


“Some guy with 15 acres and 10,000 bucks burning a hole in his pocket. I said we could deliver it on the weekend. Is that doable?” “Jeez, I don’t know. It’s been


a while, eh? I’ll drag it down to the shop first thing and see if I can get her fired up. But don’t hold your breath.” To be continued ...


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