Grass needs cutting again. Always does, doesn’t it? My old Ford 1720, trusty beast from ’89, sits there waiting. Funny how a hunk of metal becomes almost like a friend. Started thinking about maintenance the other day while I was out there, hands deep in grease, sun beating down.
Oil check, grease the nipples, it’s all part of the dance. Kinda meditative, really. Just me and the tractor, no phone buzzing, no emails pinging. Just the occasional clunk of metal on metal and the smell of… well, tractor.
Remembering that time I hit a water line. What a day that was. One minute I’m mowing along, feeling all proud of my neat lines, next minute – whoosh! Impromptu fountain right there in the field. Couldn’t help but laugh, standing there getting soaked. PVC’s easy enough to fix, but man, what a reminder that you never really know what’s lurking under the surface.
Sometimes I wonder what the neighbors think when they see me out there. Probably think I’m crazy, grinning away covered in grass and grease. But there’s something about it, you know? Something real. Can’t fake it when you’re wrestling with a stubborn bolt or trying to figure out why the engine’s making that new funny noise.
Bush hog makes short work of the tall stuff. It’s satisfying watching it all disappear under the wheels. Course, there’s always that moment of tension when you hear something that doesn’t sound like grass. Rock? Stick? Another water line? Heart skips a beat every time.
Got my mental map of where all the water lines and hose bibs are now. Well, most of them anyway. Still keep an eye out though. Never know when another surprise fountain might pop up. Kinda adds a bit of excitement to the whole thing, if I’m honest.
It’s not about having a perfect lawn. Never was. It’s about… connection, I guess. To the land, to the machine. Keeping the wild at bay, sure, but also just being out there. Feeling the sun, smelling the fresh-cut grass, hearing the steady rumble of the engine.
Maintenance isn’t just about keeping the tractor running. It’s about maintaining a way of life. A connection to something simpler, something real. Every time I climb up into that seat, it’s like stepping into a different world. A world where problems are straightforward, solutions are tangible.
Grass keeps growing, I keep mowing. Cycle of life, right there in my backyard. And you know what? Wouldn’t have it any other way. Even with the occasional unexpected shower.