Family Fun at Adam’s Run

Contests are a part of life, particularly in sports. The majority of sports began as contests. Tractor pulling is no different. Of course, some would not agree that tractor pulling is not a sport. But then there are those who argue that the earth is flat!

Tractor pulling probably has it origins in our agrarian culture where two farm boys argued about who had the strongest horse. A contest ensued. Each horse was harnessed to a sled. The command was given for the pull to begin. Onlookers would jump on the slow moving sleds. The horse that could pull the most sled riders would have been declared the winner. These obviously were not draft horses which can pull over 8,000 lbs. (four tons)  That would be over forty average men! 

After the mechanization of farming the tractor replaced the horse. The first tractors were the traction engines. The evolved from steam engines mounted on wheels to make them portable. The engine was simply towed, usually by a team of mules or horses, to the machinery to be powered by the engine. This could be a thrashing machine or hammer mill or other machine. An inter prize man found a way to have the engine power the wheels and , walk, you have a traction engine. Soon the smoke belching monsters would be pulling plows formerly pulled by draft animals. And the tractor was born.

With the perfection of a practical internal combustion engine was the birth of the modern tractor. When I went to 4-H camp when I was twelve years old I had the opportunity to operate various tractors. Farmall, John

Deere, Allis Chalmers, were some of the modern drafters at camp. The 4-H Club was created by the federal government for education and entertainment of farm youth. I enjoyed operating the tractors but, unfortunately, the farm I lived on was not that mechanized. 

Tractor pulling became organized. Tractors compete in various classes designated by size, type and modifications. A tractor may have as little as 15 horsepower or several thousand. The contest is which can pull the largest weight the greatest distance. There are national sanctioning organizations designating the rules for competing. A tractor may be a small garden tractor or a multi engine monster engineered and built specifically for tractor pulls. The Pulltown National Tractor Pulling Championships in Bowling Green, Ohio is the largest tractor pulling event in the world.  

Local tractor pulls are a family oriented event. The tractors in this video are of the normal local farm type. The type of tractor used on the average family farm in coastal South Carolina. Family fun at Adams Run. 

I Lost My Friend

Yesterday we attended a family reunion. An opportunity to see old cousins and friends we had not seen in about four years. Family reunions were a big thing during my youth. We looked forward to seeing those cousins that we only saw once a year. Today family reunions don’t seem to be that popular. Perhaps it has to do with families not being the close knit unit they once were. Or, maybe the geographic dispersion of family members. I just don’t  know? 

The family reunion we attended was for the descendants of my great grandfather, Samuel Oliver Young, born 1833. But the dominant surname there was not Young. Due to the lack of interest no doubt. Nevertheless, we enjoyed visiting with old friends and cousins. I was particularly shocked (I guess that’s the right word.) by the changes Father Time had made to one of my oldest friends. 

I don’t remember when I first met Tom. His nickname was “Rooster”, but I don’t know why, and I never called him that. I think maybe I met him when we were both Woodmen of  the World. (WOW)  Woodmen of the World was a fraternal organization of life insurance policyholders. Younger members were members of Boys of Woodcraft. BOW attended regular monthly meetings with the WOW.  That is where, I believe, I first met Tom. His uncle was the head of the local WOW Camp. All WOW camps (local chapters) were named for trees and ours was Cedar Camp 412. This is where I met this slim lad with a ready smile and curly black hair. He became my lifelong friend. Later after each of us had graduated from high school, we were working at the same textile mill. I had a ‘57 Ford and he had a ‘57 Plymouth and we raced over the Carolina dirt roads to work every day. We neither wrecked nor got tickets. We were lucky. Over the next fifty odd years we saw each other sporadically, usually at family reunions. I guess I should give the reason why he was at our family reunion. He married a distant cousin of mine and that made him a legitimate attendee!  

And yesterday, I saw him again. He had put on a few pounds like the rest of us and the black curly hair was thin and gray. But his eyes had lost their mischievous look. The biggest difference in his demeanor was when he spoke. He spoke like some one who speaks in a foreign language. Slowly, as though searching for the correct word to use. And sometimes his answer would make no sense at all. I was flabbergasted. I did not know how to react. But lent a sympathetic ear. My first experience talking with someone experiencing the onset of dementia. I wonder if he knows who I am. I am afraid to ask.I would hate to hear that one of my oldest, if not the oldest, friend does not recognize me. It hurts me to listen to his repeated ramblings. I could probably walk away and he would not recognize my rudeness. I could not do that. Is friendship lost because it is not recognized? I think not. We walked through the cemetery housing our ancestors. He related a tale to me of how he and one other had seen two growling monsters emerge from the earth and give chase. When we reached the Civil War veteran’s grave I took a closer look at the stone. I turned to speak to him, but he was not there. He was about fifty feet away, striding toward the building where we had enjoyed a meal. I followed at a distance to ensure that he  went directly there where his wife was waiting. I knew my friend was having some problems but never expected this. He was suffering from dementia. Dementia is characterized by the impairment of at least two brain functions,such as memory loss and judgement. There are more than three million cases each year in the country. There is no cure, but treatment can help.

By the time I returned to the building, he was gone. This encounter has stuck with me. Could this be the fate that I may suffer? 

Incident at an French Gas Station

 

“ We’re almost out of gas! The red light is blinking! She said.  

“I’m sure there is a gas station close by,” I said, adding, “I’m sure that Renaults get good gas mileage.” We were in the suburbs of Avignon, France, a few kilometers from Eyragues where we were staying.

“We’d better find one soon,” she said with a hint of panic in her voice. Claudette was doing all the driving while we were in France. I had unfortunately misplaced my wallet somewhere in Paris and it was not to be found. 

“There’s one on the left up ahead,” I announced. I saw a sigh of relief on my wife’s face. We made a quick exit off the street to find a gas station consisting of two stand alone gas pumps and a carwash. There was no attendant in sight. Indeed no 7 Eleven either. 

She was out of the car and at the pump before I could get my shoes on. (If I'm not driving, I slip my shoes off.) She was inserting  the Visa card into the gas pump by the time I got out of the car. 

“It doesn’t work," she said, “It won’t take my credit card.”

“What do you mean, it won’t take the credit card?” I wanted to know. 

“I know it worked on the toll road…I’ll try a different card,” she said with a certain amount of stress in her voice.and from the abundance of her purse sprang perhaps the plastic savior.

“Oh no-o-o, it doesn’t work either!” She said and I volunteered to try my hand. She gave me the card and I tried every conceivable way to get the machine to acknowledge our wants and desires. I did not succeed. 

While I was attempting to solve the problem, Claudette had spied a Frenchman. He was apparently at the location to maintain the carwash. Neither the carwash nor the gas station were staffed by the attendents. She was gesturing to him and speaking in broken French as they approached me at the gas pumps. 

He was a tall rangy fellow of maybe fifty years or so. He wore dirty work clothes and had gray stubble on his weathered face. He looked a lot like Jean Reno, the actor.  There was a somewhat bewildered look on his face. I held a credit card in my hend and mimicked putting it into the gas pump. He looked at me quizzically as I shook my head. Against my better judgement, I gave him the card and held up ten fingers meaning I wanted ten liters of gasoline. The Frenchman entered the card in the slot and pushed it. His hand moved so very slow as the plastic card made its way into the gas pump. It seemed to have taken forever. I held my breath! He pushed some buttons on the pump…but nothing happened. The card and it did not work for him either. He looked perplexed and examined the card carefully before returning it to me. We had to try something different. Somehow I managed to get the carwash repairman to use his own credit card to put gasoline in our rented Renault.  I think it was my pantomime skills! He bought us €20 of gasoline! I gave him €25, I thought it was worth a €5 “tip”.

We never determined why the Visa card worked sporadically. We frequently are asked if the French are rude and crude. But we’ve always found them to be friendly and very helpful.  Maybe  not being rude, they’re just reflecting how they are being treated. 

The Jack Russells of General Motors

Back in the early 1960s there was a group of engineers a General Motors that got to make their dreams come true. These were like the Jack Russell Terriers of the automotive engineers. They were the guys that were always wanting to try something different. In kindergarten they probably didn’t color inside the lines! And some things never change.In the early 60s their time had come. There were many unusual buzz words such as rear-engined, turbocharged, overhead cam, air-cooled, and transaxle. At this time Ford Motor Company had introduced the Falcon and Chrysler the Valiant as their small cars. Both were fairly conventional except for size although the Chrysler product did have a slant six engine. Chevrolet had introduced the true radical design for American automobiles, the Corvair. It was a rear-engined car with the engine air-cooled. Yes, there were similarities to the Volkswagen. The flat six cylinder engine produced 80 horsepower initially with up to 180 horsepower in later Spyder models. The models with turbochargers were rather quick and as well although not with a compact like the Corvair. The car would be the F-85, a smaller Olds. It had a variety of engines including an 215 cubic inch displacement aluminum V-8. The Jetfire version sported a turbocharger no doubt borrowed from Corvair Spyder. The engine developed a staggering 215 horsepower, one horsepower per cubic inch! Only the Chrysler 300 had achieved this before. And it could be coupled with a four speed manual transmission. Hardly

grandma’s grocery getter. However, performance was not without problems. The turbocharger tended to overheat. Pontiac Division got into the act with the Tempest. A small car comparable to the Oldsmobile F-85. John Z. DeLorean whose name would become synonymous with Pontiac performance was in chargof development. Due to budgetary constraints DeLorean chose to cut a V-8 engine in half to produce an economical four cylinder engine. The car also had an

innovative curved drive shaft coupled the a two speed automatic transaxle. The Tempest would eventually grow into the legendary GTO. Buick added its Special to the mix being the first production automobile with a standard V-6 engine. While the original versions were rather docile, the later models would morph into the Buick Grand National powered by a 500 horsepower turbocharged V-6. Like Ford’s Model T the car came in only one color, black. It was said to be the fasted

production automobile manufactured in America at that time.

And so it that American car fanciers witnessed four of the most innovative automobiles developed by the American automobile industry.

The Moth that Hovers

We were staying at a hotel about five miles from St Remy-de-Provence in the south of France when I saw it. I was sitting at a small table having afternoon tea when I saw this creature for the first time. The plantings beside the patio were of rosemary, thyme and other herb, with a smattering of flowering plants as well. I thought at first it was a hummingbird. The antennae were the major clue that it was not a hummingbird although it “hummed” like the bird. Its wings beat seventy times per second producing the sound as well as movement, that is flight. And it can fly sideways. Unlike other moths, it flies in daylight.

I was seeing a rare creature for sure, a hummingbird hawk-moth. It is amazing how God made some creatures with a survival mechanism or if you prefer that they evolved with certain characteristics as Darwin would have said. This moth is an insect that appears to be a bird. And that characteristic helps it escape the insect feeders of nature. Its tiny wings (wingspan of about two inches) appear almost invisible as it hovers near a flower. There are actually two pair of wings! It is quite an amazing creature which feeds on the nectar of flowers. When not flying the moth’s camouflage is complete as its color  blends perfectly with tree bark. It does have discriminatory tastes and determines particular flowers by color. It uses a beak-like drinking straw which uncurls to suck out the nectar. This “drinking straw” can be an inch long or as long as one on the hummingbird hawk-moth’s wings. Once the hummingbird hawk-moth discovers a favorite feeding spot it may return to it daily at a preferred time! The honeysuckle being one of its favorites. As a boy I enjoyed the sweetness from the honeysuckle blossom. 

They hatch from eggs as green worms with white stripes. These larvae consume leaves of the plant which held the eggs of the moth. When it reaches a certain size it becomes encased in a silken cocoon. The metamorphosis takes place a the moth emerges and feasts on the leaves of it’s birthplace. The moth will live three weeks to seven months feeding on flowers and pollinating them.

My initial response that I was seeing something other than a hummingbird was correct since hummingbirds exist only in the Americas.