I became a woman of the Country today, learning how to drive my first ever tractor. I did so in the presence of two incredibly yummy-looking pool boys (Francois and Xavier, I've named them) who were a little stunned to see a girl decked out in cut-offs, well-worn Docs, and a ball cap needing instruction from three different people on how to start the tractor. (My parents were the first two, and the six-year-old Precious Boy was hollering "Drive the tractor, Auntie! Drive!" Helpful, Lovey. Thank you.)
The real reason I never learned to drive before was due to the fact that tractor work is the honorable work. It's the prima-donna position in farming, and as such, the youngest is often stuck performing the tasks that I did. You know, the shoveling of the shit, the feeding of the calves, and that one time I was awarded the prestigious position of having a cow vomit in my mouth. Yes. Good times.
Fortunately, I am no longer the youngest who resides on or near The Ranch. Oh yes. The very Precious Boy pictured here in the John Deere (And I must ask, why is HE in the good tractor?) will now be my rival for tractor duties.
Fortunately, at this point, he can't yet reach the pedals.
Considering his father was around six feet at twelve, I figure I have a good six years left of tractor driving.
And a grand six years they shall be.
[Ford Tractors, John Deere Tractors, Farm Work, Farm Girls, Hot chicks on tractors]
Labels: bad at being a woman, Boys, Family, Goals, Rednecks, The Ranch