My grandfather had a 1948 John Deere Model A. Back in 1986, as a new 17 year old driver, it seemed unstoppable to me as it plodded along through the woods and redefined my idea of what a road was. Before riding as a passenger on that tractor, precariously perched over the left wheel, roads were wide stretches of smooth asphalt. Worst case: dusty, washed out clay and gravel paths. Grinding our way through the forest to harvest some trees, I learned that a "road" simply meant that no tree was in the way.
Since I managed to drive our family several hundred miles to get there, he was comfortable enough to let me drive the tractor. It was all levers and pedals and required both my feet and three of my arms to keep it moving. It was nothing like the 1974 Ford station wagon we used to get to my grandparents' home that summer. Driving back to the house, we - ok, I - stalled it out a few times but it always started right up again. The perspective afforded by the height of its seat and slow but confident pace really stuck with me. Instead of zipping down the highway relying on giant billboards and road signs for direction, the tractor let us look around as the scenery rolled slowly by. He'd tell me, "There's my deer stand." "That's where I shot a ground hog from 150 yards." "There's what's left of a moose. . ."
I have my own tractor now. It's a Kioti CK20HST and practically drives itself. And I'm ok with that. I appreciate having one less lever or pedal to concern myself with. But every now and then, I'll put it in low, throttle up and lock the 'accelerator' in place and cruise down the road towards home at a slower pace. And even though my grandfather died years ago, I tell him, "That's where I cleared a new garden." "That's where trapped the neighbor's cat." "That's where I . . ."