.ter,Farming, Saturday. Oct. 30. 1976
S'.
*
&$k
\i \ vyf y*' 1 ' /
?
* /
u
t
u
,
vN
LIFE
“Why don’t those engineers who
design these things ever think about
us having to fix 'em 1 ” I muttered to
myself, shaking my head and getting
angry.
My arm was just about getting
numb as I kept trying to get a large
nut loose in a rather tighfspot within
a whole mess of shafts and cogs on
our corn picker. Neither wrench nor
hammer was doing much for me. Most
of my problem was a simple lack,of
j leverage. “All those guys do back;at
the factory is design ’em, slap 'em
~ ’ together, and forget ’em. I’d like to
get the bird-brain who engineered
this to work on this mess,” I said, with
my only audience being a few ears of
corn which were still in the machine.
I halted my efforts for a moment
and stared out of the open end of the
hay barn. The day was just as gray as
my mood. A slight breeze, loaded
down with tiny droplets of moisture,
was sweeping across the fields,
leaving everything it touched with a
blanket of water. Farther away, the
corn field looked as though it had
already been through a corn picker -
but it hadn’t. The storm a few days
ago tore the stalks to shreds and
what remained was a raggedy, pityful
sight. It wasn’t all that long ago when
the stalks reached majestically
towards the sky and large ears were
displayed with pride.
The change in the field from one
week to another was hard to believe -
it was so awful - unless you had seen
such damage before.
I had, and I stared at the gray and
wet day gloomily.
The moisture-laden air rolled
through the large, opened door and
kissed my face. That’s all that was
refreshing about the day.
A tall blade of grass in the fence
row brushed against the electric
fence. Brzzzzzzt 1 it went and the
sparks were clearly visible under
these dimly lit conditions “Another
job to tend to,” I thought to myself,
even though the cows wouldn’t really
be able to mess the corn field up
much more if they did get out. But
who wants to chase after cows
through a corn field - standing tall or
battered to the ground.
Observing what was going on
outside wasn’t making me feel any
better. The broken-down corn picker
still needed my attention Back to
work 1
The first order of business was
getting the 50-foot extension cord
and a light to illuminate this poorly-lit
working area
Now, with the light in place, I wasn't
having much better luck than before
on the
By Dieter Krieg, Editor
© Dieter Kneg 1976
It was giving me some light alright,
but depending on which way I
positioned myself, it also caused a
glare which was blinding There just
isn’t much room to work anywhere on
a corn picker!
I took another firm grip on the
wrench-and applied as much torque
to it as I could. The wrench slipped
and clattered its way down through
the maze of steel and iroh. My
knuckles crashed into a grease fitting.
With two fingers already having been
pinched, and now a set of bleeding
knuckles, I was developing a swell
temper.
I nursed my hand briefly and
wished I could just run stupid
machine off some cliff and hook up to
a new one.
“Now where did I put that ham
mer,” I wondered out loud. “It’s got to
be here somewhere. I brushed my
boots through accumulation of hay
debris on the floor. Nothing. Blood
trickled slowly from my injured hand.
I cleaned it up some more with a
handkerchief, grease and all.
The hammer hung suspended from
an edge of sheet metal. Right in front
of my nose, of course! I grabbed it
eagerly, as I wanted to “get even”
with this contraption. I tapped the
nut relentlessly and emptied the can
of penetrating oil in it. 1 was going to
get that dumb thing no matter what.
Before “going in for the kill,” 1
studied the situation closely. There
had to be an easier way. Perhaps I
could fit a piece of pipe onto the end
of the wrench for more leverage.
But there wasn’t enough room for
that
It was my move - and with nothing
better to work with than I had all
along.
I gritted my teeth and placed my
wrench carefully. The handkerchief
was wrapped around my knuckles for
protection in case the wrench slipped
again. The opposing muscle in my arm
was also ‘‘put on alert" to respond
instantly with a reversal if the tool let
loose.
And let loose it did 1 But with the
nut coming along with it! Victory'
But th.s moment of glory was short
lived.
What I was really wanting to get to
was the cog in back of the nut, and
that turned out to be solidly “frozen”
to the shaft.
Nothing I attempted to do would
loosen it
* * - * vw -* & % v*W*& -, * a*, "'V
; -■'v\ ./('-■v/ , '.U‘i ;t'- 5-" r; - “ v-,
aVV'-"V ■„'••?-' < -- s A tt
* ‘ s * „ ■* * J V~ * " ** *
> l f S t*\ *■ ’ _ ✓
s.
JUU ‘
farm
Disgusted, I walked out to get the
tractor The electric fence was still
buzzing the wet weeds My b'oots
slipped slightly on the clay which was
slick as wet soap.
The tractor sometimes hesitated to
start on a wet day like this, "Big
John's" pistons and flywheel spun
jerkily around and around, coughing
now and then, and moaning a bit as
though they didn't feel like working
today. Then a spark ignited the
engine’to life and the windows in the
shed trembled along with the tractor.
Shifting into’ sixth, I pushed the
hand clutch forward and headed fdr
the hay barn.
I hitched up quickly and was glad to
get the ice-cold pm through the
drawbar. Next stop would be the
Woodbine Garage, just down the
road.
“Big John” went thundering down
the track as I simultaneously pulled
the earmuffs down from my hat. This
wet air was cooler than I had thought.
It turned out that the garageman
was gone for the day. So I slapped the
tractor into reverse, then back into
sixth, and raced to MeeK's Garage,
just another mile further.
As is understandable, my corn
picker couldn’t be attended to im
mediately, but I didn’t have to wait
more than a few minutes. I felt good
about that after having wasted so
much time already.
The mechanic struck a match
and held it to the nozzle of his
acetylene torch. It popped on and
the blue flame shot forth pier
cingly Aiming the tool at the
blasted cog, he had it off in no
time flat Then he cleaned the
shaft nicely to prepare it for a new
one Now ft wouldn’t be long until.
I’d have itfixed. Or would it ?
Arriving home again, I took the old
worn-out cog and drove to the dealer
with it.
‘‘Got one of these 7 ” I asked, while
explaining whereabouts it came from. 1
The dealer examined the part from *
behind his glasses and reached for
the equipment manual. Leafing
through it, he found its number. Then
he checked through his files to see if
he had one
"Nope - I’ll have to order it for you,"
the dealer announced matter-of
factly. “I should have it for you by
Wednesday.”
“That's okay, I can’t pick corn in
this weather anyway,” I said, bringing
an end to a miserable episode of life
on the farm. Besides, I have to clip the
grass and weeds from underneath
the electric fence.
1
*' mt : IL