Working on Grandpa the Tractor
There’s nothing quite like spring in the Pacific Northwest. Here at Red Dog the long days of late May are a blessing of light bestowed upon us all, and the cold rains and bitter winds really let you know you’re alive!
Here in the shop the swallows watch with glib interest from their nest of molded mud, tucked up tight in the rafters, as the endless projects are tackled in preparation for the onslaught of summer.
One of our most beloved tractors, known as ‘Grandpa,’ has come in for a brake job and sits in a state of deconstruction, both rear wheels cast asunder from its cold iron body, as new brake pads are procured. As I write this I am able to gaze into the innards of this beast’s belly and marvel at how far human progress has pushed the boundaries of our natural world. No longer must we harness a wooden plow a to some poor beleaguered draft animal, we now have metal machines to do the job for us.
And metal machines are in no short supply around here. In fact, with seven tractors to keep running the shop is often awash in chaos and oil, but undeterred, we ride the waves of blowouts and breakdowns, of rusted bolts and dead batteries with a gritty determination, for without these diesel fueled donkeys, farming would acquire a pall quite similar to the overcast sky of our beloved Pacific Northwest Spring.