19 Rural Fire Brigade

I was so embarrassed next day when I called the Captain of the Rural Fire Brigade. Had he any suggestions for getting my tractor out of a deep bog? He told me many stories quite similar to mine that were later added to when the whole valley learnt I was an idiot. He knew I was a weekender and had to be back at work in Canberra ASAP so suggested I leave it with him.

The following weekend I found my tractor sitting quietly under a big Manna gum near the bog, covered in dried mud but otherwise OK. The bog, disengaged from its prize, had closed again with only a sandy creek bubbling from the grave as evidence of the adventure. Clearly I had destroyed some spring system or aquifer probably thousands of years old. The only water that could be feeding the boggy lens was 300m uphill where a small creek disappeared into the ground. I apologised to all the watching spirits and declared never to be bad again. I was ignored and the trees turned their backs.

The tractor started first time after a copious injection of ‘Aerostart’ into the engine air intake. Driving away I passed two deep boggy ruts I hadn’t seen before. The RFB report indicated two people had attended the emergency in the 4WD fire truck. They had become bogged whilst manoeuvring into position and had had to winch their vehicle out by attaching the cable to a large tree. The winch was then used to extricate the tractor, anchoring their vehicle to said tree. The gurgling sucks and sighs as the tractor emerged must have been huge.

I became a member of the Creewah RFB and she after a few years became the brigade secretary as well as editor of the newsletter.

18 Superphosphate spreading

Attaching the 6-bag super spreader onto the 3-point linkage and PTO of the tractor wasn’t easy for someone who didn’t understand the devices. The two main lifting arms had to match the width and height of the brackets on the spreader, the angle adjusting arm had to be right so the PTO meshed with the drive to spin the thrower, and the spreader should lift up straight and not bounce around when operating. There were telescopic arms with pins and big screws for distance adjustment and I didn’t know whether I had all the required bits.

By the time I had the spreader in position on the tractor I could have spread the pile by hand and it would have taken less physical effort. I knew I had to do it though otherwise someone would say “why did you waste money on that tractor”. I pulled the lever to raise the spreader. There was just a loud humming noise but no action. I tried to raise the massive blade on the front of the tractor. Same result. Clearly the hydraulics had expired. I shouldn’t have bought the tractor. It turned out the hydraulic oil tank was empty and after a refill everything worked, though hesitantly at first.

I bounced the tractor the 1.5 km or so up to the blue-tarpaulin pile and started loading. There are a lot of shovels-full in 6 bags and the spreader lip was high. I bounced the loaded tractor back to the River Paddock and we were away. The spreader was fantastic covering an acre in no time. By mid-afternoon I had the whole Paddock done and the pile had enough left for a couple more runs.

I was so cocky. I decided to take a short cut back through the Middle and Top Paddocks to the diminished pile and leave the tractor there overnight and finish off tomorrow. The route by the Long Paddock road was too far. That season was wet, the creeks were flowing strongly and the river had been in flood twice. It was really quite a good season to apply fertilisers. No problems through the Paddocks, the tractor pulled beautifully, until we had to slow down approaching the pile from a new angle, down a steep slope. The brakes didn’t do anything but still no problems as I was in control. At the bottom, the ground wobbled and bounced as we started to cross it, the surface broke, and quite quickly the whole tractor sank right down to the engine. The big blade at the front was fully immersed in wet soil. A spout of water a metre high burst out of the ground at the side. We were going nowhere. It was time for a cup of tea anyway.

5 Every farm must have a tractor

I asked around at work if anybody knew anybody who had a tractor for sale very cheap. Almost everybody at work knew that a farm must have a tractor otherwise it’s an imposter farm or worse still, a hobby farm. I was quite scared that my farm would be labelled a hobby farm, implying I was playing rather than working. Mary-Anne asked why I needed a tractor; a typical woman question. She told me her father had a tractor on his place and all he did was drive it around the boggy paddocks never seeming to actually use it for anything productive. I ignored her question and gave her a difficult database to work on.

The first vehicle I ever drove was a tractor officially called a Fordson, but it did have other names. It lived in a field at the top of a slope so it could be started by running down the hill. If that didn’t work the tiny petrol tank was part filled and switched in and the handle at the front cranked. The handle had a vicious wrist-breaking kick-back. As soon as the engine fired, a kerosene tank became the fuel source and the precious petrol was tipped back into its container for next time. It was a joy to drive for a fourteen year old having only one foot pedal (brake and clutch combined) and a throttle controlled by pulling a piece of wire. It was so tempting to try to use the brake down the steep hill into the village when being pushed by a huge load of hay on a trailer. That released the clutch and off you sped, totally out of control for the stop sign and right angle bend at the bottom. The farm where I worked had three tractors and it was less than 100 acres. On that count My Farm should have four.

Garry found a suitable tractor. It was similar to his but newer and bigger: a 1955 International with 3-point linkage, PTO, a huge blade at the front and a cab so you could keep working in the rain. He was enthusiastic particularly about the PTO. I had to do some quiet reading to find out what that was. He reckoned the owner might throw in some extra agricultural implements at the price. These included a chisel plough, harrow, super spreader and hoist. It’s a bargain he said. We drove over to near Goulburn to see this bargain. Danny wasn’t expecting us. The tractor had a flat tyre, no battery and looked very lonely sitting in the middle of a big unproductive paddock. Garry was smart. He had brought a battery, some nostril-tingling Aerostart spray and never went anywhere without a small air compressor. In about 20 minutes the red dragon was blowing dense blue smoke out of its chimney. Danny was visibly impressed probably thinking it would never go again.

Take it for a drive said Danny. Can you show me first because I’m a Fordson man I replied? I clung on while we bounced wildly across this seemingly smooth field. He demonstrated its prodigious power in top gear by rolling two cars over and into a dam. They disappeared in a gurgle of brown and green bubbles. My go included kangaroo hopping the first 10 metres, and being scared.

The extras were thrown in for free with the full sum coming out at $2,500. And it seemed a pity to leave without a couple of gates and a sheep crush, also free. $2,500 for a shed full of rubbish seemed good at the time. I was ecstatic. Garry and I drove back to Canberra full of the future.

Garry continued to provide amazing service. He had a real-sheep- farmer neighbour who was prepared to move the tractor from Goulburn to Creewah, a mere 300 km, for $500. I had to guide him to both ends and load and unload the beast onto his truck. He would do the rest. A high bank was found, the tractor positioned at the top and the truck backed into a receiving position; easy after Danny’s fence had been rearranged. The reverse process at my place completed the deal.

Mary-Anne still wanted to know what I was going to use the dragon for. She got another database to complete. I avoided the question to myself by vigorous activity, raising the dull red of the dragon to a glorious deep sheen with a can of Repco Heavy-Cut Duco Polish. I pumped grease into hidden nipples and topped up oils and hydraulic fluid. Gordon next door, sensing my lack of purpose with the new machine, generously asked if I would like to level his drive and the area for his unbuilt garage. I enthusiastically spent half a day on it finally bouncing and rattling away with the whole place looking like a ploughed field.