Uncle Sonny had two tractors. I think the small one was a John Deere Model L. (See one on Google.) When shoveling out the trenches and cleaning up the barnyard (cows invariably want to poop when being let out to pasture) filled the manure spreader, Sonny would hook it up to the little tractor and haul it up to the lots (as we called the pastures). As he went up hill the front wheels of the tractor would come up off the ground. But at last when the manure was all spread, he would invariably exclaim, "The wind blew, the shit flew, and I'm still standing!" I guess his version of Matthew 7:25: And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock. (And if you know Bungay and Balance Rock Farm, you know rocks.)
Cousin Jackie: The front wheels are not suppose to come off the ground.
Dad: I know, but the tractor was too little and the load was too heavy. He got more than anyone thought possible out of his resources.
When Aunt Julia told me about helping Grandpa Healey saw the legs off a dead horse, she thought that such family stories were too embarrassing to write down despite the fact they were told at the Saturday night penny-ante poker games around the kitchen table at the farm. But others thought someone should write them down. My view is that anyone who can deal with heavy loads of crap with such a defiant spirit deserves to be memorialized--metaphorically speaking it seems to describe a family trait. That is not shocking like a farm boy peeing on the electric fence. 😇 (I also wish someone had written down the story of how the manure got spread in the days before tractors.)
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