Best Day Ever
Yesterday was the most beautiful day of the year across New England and the best day too. Not only did we bake and purr in 70 degree temperatures under sunny skies. Not only did we see the orange breasted robins of spring take off their flannel long-johns. Not only did we watch a crescent moon hung in a pin-point sky. Not only did the Red Sox come from behind and beat the Yankees at Fenway with a five run eighth inning. On top of all that I went out and bought a new tractor. Did I ever mention I wanted a tractor? I'm an American boy. Of course, I wanted a tractor. And now, fifty years after the first time I realized I really wanted a tractor, I have one.
I got the loader, backhoe, bushhog, and york rake attachements and have more things to bang my shins on in the barn than you can shake a hydraulic hose at. I am so happy. Everytime I think of my handsome orange tractor I get a rush of endorphins. As a kid when the first day of spring arrived I might venture down to the corner store for a popsicle. Later on it would be me and the girlfriend in a rowboat on the lake. Later still, perhaps a new mitt for the boys and a bucket of Tee Balls. Now I venture across the river to New Hampshire -- where all the manly arts still live free or die -- and buy tractors.
My college son had this insightful response to the news, "...nice going, Dad, but I have a feeling this thing is going to spawn more projects than it finishes." He's right, of course. That's the point.
Spring is a time of hope, redemption, horsepower and long long lists of projects.
I got the loader, backhoe, bushhog, and york rake attachements and have more things to bang my shins on in the barn than you can shake a hydraulic hose at. I am so happy. Everytime I think of my handsome orange tractor I get a rush of endorphins. As a kid when the first day of spring arrived I might venture down to the corner store for a popsicle. Later on it would be me and the girlfriend in a rowboat on the lake. Later still, perhaps a new mitt for the boys and a bucket of Tee Balls. Now I venture across the river to New Hampshire -- where all the manly arts still live free or die -- and buy tractors.
My college son had this insightful response to the news, "...nice going, Dad, but I have a feeling this thing is going to spawn more projects than it finishes." He's right, of course. That's the point.
Spring is a time of hope, redemption, horsepower and long long lists of projects.
posted by Tom Bodett at 9:04 AM
3 Comments:
No comment. Just noticed that this entry had no comments and, well, that's just sad.
Oh, I do have a comment: I just don't like the word "blog." Perhaps you can come up with a spritely alternative that will change the world.
Just an idea.
Where I grew up, tractors only came in green. Have you parked it out by the road, sort of in a nonchalant angle so the neighbors will see it when driving by?
Wow, you have the full complement of attatchments to send you into the delirious far reaches of man land. Pack some soccer shin guards, your legs will thank youl
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