I may have made another mistake yesterday, but if I did it was in a worthy cause.
The last time you were looking for a tractor, I imagine you went through the same thing I did. So tiresome. John Deere? Kubota? Buy new or used? Did you get the sticker shock I did, comparing even the higher end Sears lawn tractors with real solid agricultural machines?
Stop at one of those houses along the side of the road and make an inquiry to the person inside the little bungalow up the narrow lane?
I have been meaning to actually stop and check out one of those machines, have been for years. Now that I am a man of reduced means but lofty objectives, I thought one of the first places to impose fiscal discipline was on mowing the fields, a ritual that needs to be accomplished at least three or four times a season.
That and the lawn in front of the little farm-house.
Anyway, it has been a rainy and cool season and the grass has loved it. To keep it beat down and the place looking reasonable, Frank-the-Pasture-Guy was making a pretty good season off me, and the imperative of cutting that cost would go a long way to getting through the summer.
I was alarmed when I saw his number come up on my cell phone last week- I had just sent him a depressingly large check and wondered if there was some other expensive disaster with which he needed to acquaint me.
It wasn’t a disaster, at least not yet. He told me he had taken on another couple properties to manage, and some of them had big hills on them. His current tractor was not optimized to handle the incline- and does not have a roll cage to protect him should the machine run out of control and turn over and crush him.
Accordingly, he needed to sell his old mower and upgrade. “Would you be interested in buying the Turf Tiger? He named a price that was in line with what Sears would charge for an anemic lawn-tractor, and I made the decision on the spot.
“I have needed another powerful, dangerous machine to operate since I got rid of the Harley,” I said. “I’ll take it.”
Frank came by Sunday morning to deliver the orange beast. I had not known the brand- it is a proud 2003 SCAG TFF Turf Tiger. I had never seen it close up- I had only seen Frank scoot the porch by on it, using the opposable control levers with easy mastery, turning the 60-inch blade deck to trim the yard precisely to 3-1/2 inches in height, and the fields to 4.
We shot the shit as he explained the key controls. The foot pedal to drop the cutting deck, the notches to set of height, engine on, choke, blade engage and shut off. Then we did belts and engine stuff- hydraulic fluids, oil and lube points. “I just had her serviced, Buck is the Man. I used to drive all the way to Warrenton to have him work on her.”
“Buck,” I said, writing the name across the back cover of the owner’s manual.
“Twleve miles an hour, tops, he said. But look out for downhill.”
“What could go wrong?” I said, “Isn’t this the way country singer Buck Ownes used to get to the bar after they took his license away?”
Frank nodded as he demonstrated how the strange insect-like levers fold inward to control the left and right drive wheels, enabling precision cutting.
“Watch your rocks,” he said, gesturing toward the pasture. “If you hit them with the blades you can really screw yourself up.”
“I am looking forward to it,” I said., and handed him an envelope filled with cash. I assumed he wanted this off the books, and why not? What business does the government have with this anyway?
Frank drove away in his ancient Toyota truck with the empty trailer bouncing on the gravel drive. Crap, I thought. Now I need a trailer.
The Russians stopped by on their way back north to see the new toy. Matt climbed up on the seat and beamed. “Shit hot. Now I can cut that pasture between the properties!”
“From each according to their needs,” I said gravely, and thought about pouring one of the most Russian of beverages to celebrate.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303