I cannot even clearly remember the first time I drove the Ford tractor. I know I was young enough to startle my mother when she saw me cruising Grandpa’s acreage from atop that rusty seat. However, the memories I have over the years are so numerous I can barely keep them straight.
My sister and I spent a lot…A LOT…of time at my grandparents’ house. Because of that, we helped Grandpa with all kinds out outdoor work. I lucked out with the tractor privileges because I am the oldest (most experienced, most talented, all-around most wonderful…right?) grandchild.
When my Grandpa Leroy died, I inherited that beloved Ford 8N. John and I hauled it home to the ranch where we used it for some mowing, but it mostly sat around in need of some repairs. Last summer, my uncles offered to give it a quick tune-up and a bomb-can paint job as long as we’d haul it to Minneapolis. We gladly agreed. Little did I know the surprise I was in for.
Last Friday, as I walked into my uncles’ auto body shop, I had no idea what to expect. They wouldn’t send me full pictures, because they wanted to keep it a surprise. As soon as I stepped into the shop, the paint booth doors were pushed open and out rolled my completely restored and fully painted tractor! It was amazing! My Grandpa Leroy would be so proud.
See you on the parade circuit!
The Displaced City Girl