always be the case. Earl, who’d lived through depression and multiple farmer sessions, knew better. When James told his father he’d order the tractors, Earl’s reaction was immediate and volcanic. They were standing in the kitchen of the farmhouse, and Earl slammed his coffee cup down so hard it cracked the saucer.
You did what? James, expecting resistance but not this level of anger, tried to stay calm. Dad, I ordered two new tractors. The 4010 and the 4020 are worn out. We need modern equipment to stay efficient. Earl’s face went red. Worn out. I rebuilt that 4,000 102 years ago. It runs perfect. And the 4020 has maybe 5,000 hours on it.
There’s nothing wrong with those tractors except they’re not shiny and new. James shook his head. They’re old. They’re inefficient. They break down. We’re losing time and money. Running outdated equipment. Earl stood up, his chair scraping loudly against a lenolium floor. How much? How much? What? How much did you borrow? James hesitated.
85,000 for both tractors. 10-year note at 9 12%. Earl went quiet, dangerously quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and hard. You put $85,000 of debt on this farm without asking me. James bristled. You said the farm was mine to run. I said you could run it. I didn’t say you could mortgage it.
This land has been debt-free for 43 years. I swore when my father lost his land that I’d never let it happen again. and you just walked into a dealership and sign away our future. The argument escalated. James accused his father of being stuck in the past, of refusing to adapt, of holding the farm back out of a rational fear.
Earl accused James of being reckless, arrogant, and foolish, of believing salesmen and bankers, instead of listening to someone who’d actually survived hard times. It ended with James storming out, shouting that the tractors were coming whether Earl liked it or not, and Earl shouting back, “Not on my land, they’re not.
” Which brings us back to that Tuesday morning in April when the delivery truck rolled down County Road 14 with $85,000 worth of shiny new iron on the trailer. James wasn’t home. He’d gone into town for parts, assuming the tractors would be delivered and unloaded by the time he got back. But Earl had been watching.
When he saw that truck turn onto the drive, he walked out and stood in the middle of the gravelroad and he stopped it. The truck driver, a guy named Mike Sorenson, who’d been hauling equipment for 15 years, climbed down from the cab. Mr. Patterson, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just doing my job. Your son ordered these tractors.
They’re paid for, well, finance, and I’m supposed to deliver them. Earl shook his head. I understand you’re doing your job, son, but this is my property. Those tractors were ordered without my permission, and they’re not staying here. You need to turn around and take them back to the dealership. Mike looked genuinely distressed.
Sir, I can’t do that. I’ve got delivery papers signed by James Patterson. If I don’t deliver these, I’ll lose my job. Earl’s expression softened slightly. I’m not trying to get you fired, but I’m not letting those tractors onto this land. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to call your dispatcher. Your dispatcher is going to call Rick Holloway at the dealership and Rick is going to call my son and then we’ll see what happens.
