A combine broke down.
Any time you see the sides open like that, it’s not a good sign. That is like seeing a car pulled to the side of the road with the hood up. There is someone INSIDE the back of this beast…also a very bad sign.
The man inside the beast is My Farmer (H.O.T.T. people).
The breakdown required a four-hour round trip drive for parts, almost two full days of mechanic-ing (by the man in the picture) along with the help of four other people and a tractor at critical points. And lots of welding. As soon as he tightened the last bolt, My Farmer’s dad (who we partner with) pulled into the shop with the other combine limping along with a bearing that was out.
This forced My Farmer to stop for a beverage. It was either that or cry. There is no crying in farming.
All this breaking down afforded lots of ‘fun’ downtime at the shop with the kids (fun applies to the kids only in this sentence).
See the combine behind Cowgirl? Just out of major internal surgery. My Farmer was doing a quick bearing-dectomy to the other combine while I took this picture.
In the first 24 hours of cutting our wheat, there were three more troubles including the following: A pickup that wouldn’t start, a pickup that blew a brake-line (or something else I don’t understand that made it not work), A semi trailer that broke down (something to do with it’s brake drum) which required a run into and across town for a replacement part, and what you see below.
Yep, that's my van. I think this is why most farm families don't run minivans, despite their alluring cup holders.
Farmer Boy and I changed the flat ourselves, putting on the little donut spare, and the next morning I drove into town and paid *someone else* to fix my tire (you should gasp here as farmers don’t usually do those sorts of things). It was actually quite fun – I sat around with six old guys and shot the you-know-what for half an hour. We ruminated about the price of combines, the right color for combines (green – duh) the price of wheat and hay. Then we all speculated about my flat tire and argued about how fast (or slow) you should drive on a dirt road in order to avoid said flats.
I think I just need big motor-cross, monster-truck tires on my minivan.
Oh, no! What a time of it?! As a child, while my dad was fixing things we had lots of fun times playing – one time, the water heater was broken and he was welding it, or soldering, or something, and we were able to play past sundown out in the nearby woods. All these years later, I remember what fun it was – which now that I think about it, it was probably pretty stressful for my parents, hmmm. Glad you are able to have humor in the situation. btw – monster truck tires on a mini-van sounds like a hoot! I’m trying to picture the kids in the back, holding on
Oh. My. That’s a start.
I know it sounds weird, but I kinda envy your farming life. Mine is so URBAN!
I don’t know…I think, if I were a farm gal(ley…lol) I would like a big pink combine.
I love these pictorial diaries…keep ‘em up!!