-Photo by Jerry Nelson
This photo shows Jerry Nelson's 1949 John Deere A.

Time has not been kind to the old girl. New wrinkles and sags have appeared; last year’s derecho seems to have been especially tough on her.

I’m not talking about my wife. What I’m describing is our venerable 1949 John Deere “A” tractor. My dear spouse has weathered things much better than our old Deere.

The derecho that pummeled our region in 2022 left countless calamities in its wake. One was the destruction of the shed where our “A” had been enjoying her well-deserved retirement.

Dad purchased the “A” when I was a kid. She was the first tractor that I drove all by myself at the ripe age of 10. A guy never forgets his first.

The “A” and I spent many long days together in the sun, the wind, the rain, and the snow. We eventually acquired tractors that had cabs and the “A” was relegated to a lonely spot in the grove.

I decided to resuscitate the “A” when our two sons reached their teens. Her engine had become a solid mass of rust, so this was an undertaking that took approximately the same amount of effort as constructing the Panama Canal.

Our sons eventually left the nest, and I stored the “A” in our former dairy barn. I would fire her up every so often just for old times’ sake.

Then came the derecho.

The “A” was buried deep in the wreckage. Miraculously, she was only slightly injured, with a few new dents and a bent muffler. A flying board had driven a long nail into one of her rear tires.

We extracted her from the rubble and repaired her tire. Left with no other option, she was parked out in the grove.

I decided to fire up the “A” when our youngest son and his family visited this past summer. Her battery was as dead as a fossil, so we opted to perform a pull start.

This was a common practice when I was a kid, as deceased batteries were a perpetual problem at our farm. I recalled that we usually had to pull the “A” only a few feet before she would pop to life.

Not so this time. Pulling the “A” for approximately a mile resulted in just a few feeble chuffs.

I recently decided to see if I could remedy this situation. I remembered how, back in the day, farmers seemed obsessed with the points and condenser. I removed the magneto and installed new points and condenser. Testing the mag in the vise resulted in tiny yet powerful electric-blue lightning bolts.

The “A” still lacked a battery, so I couldn’t check my work. Or could I? I still have the hand crank that was used to start the tractor when (not if) its battery failed in the field.

I placed the crank — an old steering wheel with a cranking thingy welded to it — into the flywheel and gave it a whirl. I quickly became reacquainted with the freewheeling nature of the intake strokes followed by the backbreaking grunts of the compression strokes.

Muscle memory kicked in as I kicked the engine over. Should I use more choke? Less? I recalled that there was no formula for hand-starting the “A” other than “keep on trying.”

A person wouldn’t need an exercise coach if he made a habit of hand-starting a stubborn old John Deere. It’s a full-body workout.

Just as I was about to give up, the “A” emitted a throaty pop. Encouraged, I gave the crank one last pull. I gawked in stunned silence when the “A” sputtered to life.

One of the sparkplug wires appeared to be loose. I nudged it and quickly became reacquainted with the magneto’s lightning bite.

As I listened to her soothing idle, it occurred to me that the last time I had successfully hand-cranked the “A” was when I was in my teens. That’s roughly 50 years ago.

Good grief! How can I be so old that such a thing could be true?

My wife recently celebrated a milestone birthday. It’s not polite to mention a lady’s age, so I will only say that it involved the numbers six and five.

I reserved tables at a local pub and a good number of our family, along with friends — both old and new — dropped by to have refreshments and wish my wife a happy birthday.

Arranging her little soiree took much less effort than starting the “A.” My wife must have been pleased with her party because at the end of the evening she declared, “I think I should have a birthday every month!”

OK. But my birthdays are coming often enough as is.