The Guy Felt The Same Dread As Myself.

 They came to take Dad’s demo tractor back this morning, so naturally, I went out into the yard to watch the sad little procession like a mourner at a mechanical funeral.

After the truck disappeared down the lane, Dad wandered over, hands in his pockets, wearing the look of a man who’d just sent his prize racehorse back to the stables.

“What do you think then?” he asked.

“About what?” I replied, already suspicious.

“Which one is it to be?”

There was no doubt in my mind. “The Massey Ferguson,” I declared with the authority of someone who’d done absolutely none of the research.

“I think you’re right. It’s a nice colour red, isn’t it?” he said.

I narrowed my eyes. This was classic Dad. He had that glint in his eye — the same one he gets before offering you a “taste” of a chili that turns out to be one step removed from pepper spray.

Sure enough, before I could retaliate with a well-aimed jab to the arm, he added, “I didn’t like to say anything to Nigel, but I thought the blue and green ones clashed awfully with that nail varnish you wear.”

That earned him a proper punch. None of that playful nonsense.

“You’d better come with me after breakfast, then,” he said, rubbing his arm. “See if we can find one to your liking.”

I told him — quite rightly — that it was his tractor, so it should be to his liking. But in the end, we struck a deal: we’d both have to be happy with the purchase. Though how I ended up with joint custody of a 9 tons or 20,000 pounds hunk of agricultural steel, I’m still not sure.

Now, despite Dad’s fashion critique, it was obvious colour wasn’t really the deciding factor. That became crystal clear at the dealer’s, where the sales manager launched into what I can only describe as a dissertation on horsepower, hydraulics, and the baffling array of bells, whistles, and baffling acronyms that now come as standard on modern tractors.

Even within the Massey Ferguson S Series range, there are five options — from the 5S to the 9S — and then each of those has about five different models. It’s like choosing between ice cream flavours, if ice cream came with a 300-page operator’s manual and cost more than a luxury car.

Dad was after something around the 200-horsepower mark, so the 8S series was the obvious choice. That’s what we’d had on demo — and, I must admit, it did look rather magnificent rumbling across the field like some red-armoured warhorse.

I won’t bore you with all the options available — not unless you’ve got a few days to spare and a whiteboard handy. Truth be told, I’d probably get half of it wrong anyway. But some of the more basic choices included a front linkage (so you can run implements on both ends — the tractor’s, not yours), a front loader (which we didn’t need), satnav (because even tractors hate getting lost these days), and various external service controls for managing implements.

Anyway, after what felt like a high-stakes poker game disguised as agricultural commerce, the deal was struck. It was oddly fascinating to watch Dad in full-on “serious business mode” — all steely eyes and tight-lipped nodding. For a moment, I genuinely thought we were about to walk out empty-handed. He stood up, thanked the dealer, and made for the door with the kind of drama normally reserved for Oscar speeches.

My heart sank.

But clearly, the sales guy felt the same dread as myself — because the moment we left the sales office, he was on the phone faster than you can say "limited-time offer." Dad told me quietly not to rush out while slowing things down with a viewing of some Massey Ferguson merchandise displayed on one of the shelves. Next thing we knew, he returned with a revised deal, which must have taken some creative accounting or perhaps the sacrifice of a small goat.

Even then, judging by Dad’s expression, you’d think he’d just been asked to trade in a kidney.

The tractor we settled on isn’t actually at the dealership we visited, but it’s being brought over this coming week. Once it’s been checked and polished up like a show pony, it’ll be delivered to the farm — just in time for seeding, which is good now that the rain’s finally arrived as we need to get crackin'.

So, the Massey Ferguson 8S is on its way. Red, powerful, and blessedly nail-varnish-compatible.

Ken & His Big Chopper.

 For once, I actually knew what I was doing when I got up this morning. Uncle Ken had called Dad in a panic last night because the contractors were coming to cut his maize. He’d known about this for several days, but instead of checking whether he had help lined up earlier in the week, he decided to leave it until Sunday afternoon. By then, of course, it turned out the usual help were all busy. One guy said he might be able to come later in the afternoon — if everything went well at the job he was already on. That’s when Uncle Ken thought of Dad to help get him out of his mess.

So it was that this morning, I found myself pulling into Ken’s yard at 6:45am with my tractor. The contractor — also called Ken — was already there with his big chopper, getting it ready to do some serious work. I found it very impressive. I say that because the machine was nearly the size of a combine. I was immediately directed to one of two high-sided trailers parked in the yard. These belonged to the contractor, and, just like that time with Lou at Mr. Luckyman’s, Ken the contractor was a bit sceptical about whether I’d be able to attach one to my tractor. I like to think he was just being kind and trying to be helpful, but it felt like he was quietly assessing me.

The rest of the day was full-on. I spent it running back and forth between field and farm, delivering loads of chopped maize. It wasn’t like carting grain, where you often find yourself standing around doing nothing. This was non-stop. I even had to eat my lunch while driving, which wasn’t ideal — I ended up with crumbs all over the cab.

To be honest, I actually enjoyed it. Unlike a combine, a forage harvester doesn’t store the crop. Instead, it chops it up and blows it straight up a spout into the trailer. That means the tractor and trailer have to drive alongside the harvester, on the move the entire time. It was a bit tricky at first, matching the harvester’s speed and keeping the right distance, but once I got the hang of it, it felt pretty natural. It really just depends on how the harvester’s being driven — once you understand that, it’s easy enough to keep pace.

When we’d finally finished and I was unhooking the trailer and getting ready to head home, Ken the contractor came over. He was full of praise. He admitted he’d been a bit worried when he saw me pull into the yard, but he said he was genuinely impressed at how quickly I picked it all up. Apparently, by the end of the day, I was more than keeping up with his main carting guy. He even gave me his phone number and said that if I was ever at a loose end, I should give him a ring — he could probably find me a bit of something to do.

I took it as an open invitation to come and have another play with his big chopper sometime — though I doubt I’ll take him up on it. I’m pretty sure Mum and Dad can keep me busy enough as it is.

A Cleaning Day.

 Monday 9th September 2025.

This morning I helped mum do some housework. After lunch Eric got the steam cleaner working for me and we cleaned down the baler. After washing it down we had a cup of tea while it dried. Then we painted some to the shiny bits with old oil to stop them going rusty before putting it away for the Winter.

The Bitch Within.

 Saturday 6th September 2025

I was a few minutes late arriving at the stables this morning, on account of being lost in thought and dawdling. I couldn't help but notice how autumn-like the mornings are becoming. As I strolled along the narrow asphalt lane, I looked out across the fields. The only remnants left of those wonderful harvest days were two straw stacks in the far distance. Apparently, they've been purchased by a neighbouring farmer and are awaiting collection.

My dalliance along the way meant I was last to arrive at the stables, so I missed Charlotte—in fact, I missed everyone. I collected some empty hay nets and took them to the hay shed, where I found Peter and Elizabeth. It always amuses me how these two have become one. While at the stables, they are never to be parted; Charlotte tells me they're the same when they're together at home, too.

Talking of Charlotte, I caught up with her for a few minutes during lunch break. She was bursting with news about Nigel! They went on their promised date Friday evening, which I have to confess I was a little surprised about, as I thought his interest now lay with Kimberly. I fear I was a bit of a bitch. I tried not to be—I made the right sort of noises and showed a certain amount of interest. I fear, though, that my true feelings showed through all the lovely sentiments. It was not my best moment as a supposed friend. I've suspected for some time that perhaps I'm not a friend at all, and that's just an acceptable mask.

When I left, Rob was waiting in his garden for me. I've told him before not to hang around—he has my number. I think he just likes to potter around until I show up. He didn't really want anything in particular, other than to tell me he'd seen Norman. He was in his car and not his bike, so it would seem he's fully recovered.

So, that was Saturday. Nothing overly exciting, but sometimes that can be good.

You Make Us Laugh.

Friday 5th September 2025

This morning, before breakfast I had a bit of fun with my dad. His new demo tractor was parked up the yard with the plough on, where we left it last night. So before helping mum I went out to my tractor, I couldn't help but notice there was a chill to the air, the first I'd felt in a long time. On reaching my tractor I climbed the steps to the cab where after entering I took off the name plate from behind the sun visor and took it down to the demo tractor where I placed it so that it could be seen through the windscreen. Eric spotted me as I was climbing back out of the cab and instantly saw the fun in it. This was okay as I told him to make sure dad spotted it before coming in to breakfast.

"You're a right un you are and no mistake." He said with a chuckle in his voice.

I went back inside and helped mum with the breakfast, hardly able to contain my anticipation.

Eventually I could hear there was a fair old ruckus before dad and Eric even got to the kitchen door, "Where is the little bugger?" dad said with humour in his pretend anger as he entered the kitchen.

"For goodness sake George, do we have to hear that language!" mum said scolding him.

"Come here." Dad said on laying eyes on me.

He got hold of me and gave me one of his bear hugs. "You do make us laugh!" He said before giving me a little kiss on the forehead.

"Ay, the place would be a dull place without you that's for sure." Added Eric, which made me feel nice.

Ploughing a Furrow To My Ancestors.

 Thursday 4th September 2025. ancestors 

This morning I leant during breakfast that I was to be spending the day with dad on the new demo tractor learning to use the plough. I was a bit nervous at first, but I think it was out of excitement rather than any sort of fear. The morning got off to an even better start when I beat Eric in the bi weekly bin race. Eric tried his usual cheating business by blocking my exit from the kitchen with his chair. But even though it worked and he got to the bins first, I think William had put a body the garden bin which Eric takes, because it weighed a ton. It took Eric several attempts to get it on to it wheels, by which time I was half way down the path.

The first thing we did when getting to the field was to mark out the headlands. This involves setting the plough in such away as to just leave the back furrow turning over a shallow groove in the earth. This line has to follow parallel to the field edge and is there as a guide to where to plough to before lifting the plough out of work. The point of the headlands is that it's where you turn the tractor around in order to make the next run down the field. At no point must you run on the earth that has been turned over by the plough. Once the headlands were marked out we then set to with ploughing proper.

The field we were in is in two parts, so after lunch dad drove over to the second part of the field and said for me to swap seats with him as he wanted to see me have a go. I was a bit nervous at first, the job was new to me as was the tractor.

I need not worry though as my dad's voice was a familiar, calm presence in the cab of his new Massey Ferguson 8S. "See, it's just like drawing a straight line," he said, his hand resting on my arm as I gripped the steering wheel. The engine rumbled beneath us, like a steady heartbeat. The air smelled of fresh of turned earth, which seemed to become fluid as it came in to contact with the mole boards of the plough.

The tractor, sleek and powerful in its new paint, had arrived just after the

 harvest. It was a serious piece of machinery, a big step up from the old one I was used to.

With a deep breath, I eased the tractor forward. The ground ahead was a perfect, flat canvas of wheat stubble. My dad talked me through it, his instructions simple and clear: "Find a point on the horizon, keep your eye on it, and don't let the front of the tractor drift." I focused on a lone oak tree at the far end of the field.

It was possible to just set the satnav, the line would have been perfect without me even having to touch anything. But dad said that before I used anything like that he wanted me to learn how to do it the proper way. The way that had been passed down through the generations. It was my connection to the family. I may not have been born of them, but things such as this made me apart of them. 

The first line was shaky, a little crooked at the start as I got the feel of it. I felt a surge of panic, but my dad's hand on my arm was a steady anchor. "You're doing great," he said quietly. "Just correct it slowly. Small movements."

I adjusted, and the furrows behind us began to smooth out, each one a rich, dark wave of soil. It wasn't just about driving; it was about feeling the land, listening to the machine, and moving in a rhythm with the field. It was a dance between man, machine, and earth. It is this feeling that draws me to work on the tractor. I noticed when I first drove a tractor by myself, when I was applying the fertiliser, how you can actually feel the earth that you run on change from one place to the next. The tractor somehow has an ability to communicate this with you.

Hours passed. The sun came and went as did showers of rain, and the field transformed, stripe by stripe. What was once a flat expanse was now a textured landscape of deep brown and black, ready for a new season. My dad watched from the side of the cab, his face a mixture of pride and quiet satisfaction. He didn't have to say anything at all after a while. The perfectly ploughed field, stretching to the horizon, said it all. it was very satisfying for both of us. I had learned to draw a furrow, and in doing so, I had learned a little more about my dad's world, and my place in it.

As we were leaving we saw a rainbow coloured light seemingly emanating from the top of one of the wind turbines. It was quite amazing and a wonderful end to a day with my dad learning a new skill. 

Ploughing a Furrow To My Ancestors.

My Choice.

 After looking over some of the tourist information items in our room, dad asked at breakfast what I would like to do. I told him that I truly wasn't bothered. He insisted that I choose with it being my birthday treat. I hesitated trying to think and make up my mind. The truth is that I would have been happy to visit the local sewage works had we gone as a family.

He took the opportunity during my brief hesitation to name a few of the attractions we had looked at and talked about. Then one he mentioned, Chatsworth House and gardens, I remembered mum had shown a keen interest in. But I thought that dad wouldn't be very interested in going there. I sort of thought myself in to having the deciding vote on the matter. I thought that after all her harvest hardships mum deserved a nice day out so I said that a visit to Chatsworth would be nice.

So that is where we spent most of today. Touring the inside of the house during the morning before having a bit of lunch in the old stables restaurant. This afternoon was spent walking round the grounds which were massive. Mum got very inspired so I think William is in for a hard time of it next time he comes. Even dad seemed to enjoy certain aspects of it.