For love of tractors. . .

Ten or fifteen years ago, if anyone had told me one of my heart's delights would be tractors (John Deere tractors, specifically) I think I might have been in doubt. Now, here I am...intrigued by the rhythmic differences in the motor sounds of various makes and models. I learned to listen to them from Bob, who could very often identify year, make and model the moment the first "putt-putt" became distantly audible. It gave him many moments of playful satisfaction to watch my amazement when I could never seem to catch him being wrong about that. He would say something like, "Pretty soon you'll see Eric come up by here with the 70" (or the 60, or the A) and I, being sure he must be just guessing, would wait to prove him wrong. But he never was.

Today, I love to hear the tractors. My heart swells when I hear them start up and make their way out of the garage. The more of them, the better. It is music to my ears and a melody in my heart. Imagine how I felt today, at the parade in Callicoon, immersed in the midst of that 300/400 piece "orchestra." Now, I do realize that my passion for tractors has more to do with all that I associate with them (Bob, wholesome living, "workmen who have no need to be ashamed" -- all that) and not so much the machines, themselves. But how I arrived there doesn't matter; what matters is the fact that I am there and I don't doubt for a moment that there is a purpose, for there is purpose in all things.

Feeling a need to honor this passion with at least some of the loyalty I feel it deserves, and in anticipation of this day, I have been asking myself how I might resolve the issue of wanting to be in two places at once. (If I knew the answer, wouldn't *I* be famous?!) It is Sunday, after all, and in the past twenty-five years or so, I can count on one hand how many times I have not been in a church on a Sunday morning. (A couple of absences were weather related, one to deliver an offspring to college and one or two due to illness.) If the timing of all things involved were to go according to plan, it could work. (Church: 10:30-11:30...Parade: 12:00...gives me half an hour...25 miles...perfect!) Realizing the chances of that happening were very slim, I put the folks at church on notice: Come eleven-thirty, Dorothy is outta here; which was received with loving kindness and understanding. So......at eleven forty-five, with two hymns yet to go, I stuffed my music in my bag, said to the gentleman near me, "I have a date with a tractor" and off I went.

Thankfully, I was able to maintain a smooth 65 mph (which I consider "hurrying" rather than "speeding") until I had to slow down in Long Eddy. To make a long story short, the parade had already begun before I got there but I was in time to see my French Woods "family" and snap a few pictures to cherish.

My heart is glad today and who knew it would be tractors to make it so?