For ages, hardy souls with leather hands have worked the earth. Driven by a will to survive and desperate dreams, they entered the fields with the daylight and stayed for a lifetime. The solitude of timeless hours sometimes witnessed a strange bond emerge between the yeoman and his reluctant beast or oily machine. As countless clods turned, respect leafed into affection for an ox with no tail, or a mule named Highlow, or the M-Farmall with a blade on the front. Seared by heat, iced by wind, and worn from work, an enduring union formed. As one entity, soldier of the soil and his witless lieutenant inched toward a distant turnrow and an unknown harvest.
Such a team is William Riddell and his fine red tractor. After service in World War II, Bill bought his M-Farmall on a G.I. loan. The two have pulled together for over fifty years. During that time, land on the Riddell place was cleared for farming, terraces and ponds were built to control watershed, fields were plowed, planted, and harvested, hay was stored and fed, sick and ice-bound cows were lifted and tended, and many strained eyes stared from a muddy ditch on some lonely, School Hill road to see an approaching man/machine rescue unit, protected only by a wet felt hat.
Despite this record, the intangible is the most unique feature of this 'relationship.' Bill's pride and appreciation for his powerful pardner, his intelligence and attention to detail, his romantic vision of place, history, and life, and his humorous command of language, both colorful and formal, inspire an understanding of how strongly he feels about his tractor.
Sure, Bill spent time in the oil field and the peanut mill to support his family. And yes, he skillfully maintained county roads for many years on a yellow grader with cheese, crackers, Coke, and a trailing dog named O.G. It's true that Bill chews tobacco, is a sports fanatic, and has always been a hound man to the bone. (Oma Lee has been known to mention a few other faults.) But, my favorite image of Bill is atop his trusted tractor, pulling a load of hay. He idles down the engine and grins with happiness about the field of square bales that he just hauled singlehandedly. He reaches down a hard, blunt hand and jokes because he is my friend. In his face is a weathered strength of character that will outlast youth and physical prowess. Bill is a man with the grit to face any difficulty that the future may hold. And, if he ever does need any help, just bring him his sturdy M-Farmall, and together, they will get the job done!
by Gene Grimshaw
