Here, you can drive!
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
City kids learn about buses, trolley cars, and elevated trains. Kids in the country learn to ride horses, drive cars, trucks, and tractors when they are barely tall enough to see over the steering wheel. I wanted so badly to be a country kid when I was growing up.
One of my first memories of being at the controls of anything moving was a hot summer afternoon outside of Ramona when my grandfather was heading back from the field after a long day of stacking hay. He turned to me, his tag-a-long, handed me the reins of the horses pulling the hay wagon and said, "Here, hold these — you can drive." Truth was, Grandpa's horses, old Jim and his teammate, could have taken that wagon back to the barn on their own recognizance, but I was thrilled to be holding the reins. I'd never before felt so powerful.
Like my father before me, tractors have always held a fascination and perhaps if I'd grown up on that farm outside of town, I would have learned to drive Dad's tractor at the age of eight or nine like my young friend Cole, who proudly powered his dad's tractor around the field while A.J. rode the baler this summer.
My dad had driven a team of horses around and around their fields, working the ground, from early childhood on and his memories of those chores are not always pleasant. So, it probably never entered his mind that his daughter would hanker for that kind of opportunity. But I yearned to be able to drive — horses, tractors, cars, and trucks.
Our family stories are studded with tales of driving forays. My aunt Naomi would beg her older brother, Laurel (when he was in high school) to let her drive the Model A and he'd agree, so long as they drove out past the Schubert farm and Naomi would promise not to tell their mother where they'd been.
My mom, in turn, begged her older brother Hank to let her drive the family car home from school. He was hesitant because he remembered some of her early forays in that car — like the time she drove around and around the house and forgot which pedal to push to stop the car and finally drove straight into the lilac bush in the front yard to end forward progress.
My little friend Emily, who lives across the street from us in Ramona, wants so badly to be tall enough to drive my car. Ever since she was tiny, I would bend the rules and let her sit on my lap and steer as we drove the deserted streets of town. When she got too big to sit on my lap, she began her campaign, "When will you let me drive your car?" She's made all kinds of promises, regarding this endeavor, including reminding me that some day I will be so old that I'll need a chauffeur! She keeps measuring her legs, adding high-heeled boots and saying, "Am I tall enough yet?"
My first foray with driving a tractor came in unexpected fashion just recently. No one was available to drive the tractor, hoist the bucket up in the air for Tim to stand in so he could decorate the huge cedar tree in his front yard for Christmas. Inside, I was just aching to do the job and I can't even remember if I volunteered or he just said, "Will you help me?" "Would I? Oh, my, YES!" I thought he'd never ask!
Patiently, he explained the controls and I climbed into the lop-sided seat. One part of me felt like I was 10 years old, thrilled, exhilarated at this great honor, proud to be asked to perform the task. I knew just how Cole felt last summer. "You have to stay close to the tree," Tim instructed, "Dodge those stumps. Can you do it?"
Well, Saturday, the weather warmed again briefly and Tim said, "You ready to help me take those lights back down?" I was Johnny-on-the-spot, climbed up on that old tractor, braced myself on that rickety seat, and put the tractor into low gear. There's something so exhilarating about being trusted to do this job which might seem rather simple and mundane to you. Oh, the thrill of spending another day in the country — because he let me drive!
