For the past three or four years, my brother Jeff, my son Andrew, and Andrew's dad, Jerry, had been talking about getting together with fellow farmers and tractor enthusiasts for an old-fashioned plow day. No modern equipment, no fancy technology, just antique tractors, a few plows, and the opportunity to turn some dirt the way it was done years ago.
And because every good gathering deserves a memorable name, we decided to call it Let's Get Plowed!
Now, before your imagination gets carried away, we're talking about plowing fields, not tipping back a few too many cocktails! Although, knowing this group, I'm sure the name inspired a chuckle or two.
For one reason or another, the gathering never seemed to happen. The weather wasn't right, the fields weren't ready, or the timing simply didn't work. But this year, everything finally came together. The tractors were ready, the farmers were available, and the fields were waiting.
Originally, the event was going to take place on another farmer's property, but at the last minute, his field was too wet. A change of plans brought everyone back to the Goodwin family farm, the very place where my siblings and I grew up.
Little did I know how meaningful that change would become.
I wasn't sure how many tractors or farmers would be participating, but I knew one thing. I wanted to be there to witness it.
As I drove toward the farm that afternoon, my dad was very much on my mind and in my heart. Oh, how he would have loved this! Farming wasn't simply something Dad did to make a living. It was something he genuinely loved. And while he enjoyed all aspects of farming, harvest time was his favorite, especially climbing into the combine and harvesting the crops.
I can still picture him working the fields, surrounded by the familiar sounds of tractors and farm equipment. Growing up on a farm meant those sounds were part of everyday life, along with plenty of chores that weren't nearly as enjoyable.
Rock picking, anyone? Thank you, but no.
If you've never had the pleasure of walking through a field picking up rocks, let me assure you, it wasn't exactly my favorite childhood activity. But it was part of farm life, and everyone was expected to pitch in.
Funny how the chores we once complained about can become part of the memories we treasure years later.
When I arrived, several men were gathered around one of the tractors, working to attach a plow. The engine was rumbling, and although I couldn't hear much of their conversation over the noise, it was obvious that plenty of knowledge and experience were being shared.
I smiled as I watched them assessing the situation. Put a group of experienced farmers around an antique tractor, and you're bound to have a few opinions about how something should be done! Before long, the tractors began making their way into the field. There were five John Deeres in all: a 2510, an A, a 630, a 730, and an 830. Each had its own history, its own distinctive sound, and someone behind the wheel who appreciated the opportunity to put it to work.
But one tractor held a particularly special place in my heart. Dad's beloved John Deere 2510. Years ago, that tractor was known on the county fair tractor pulling circuit as the Snake Hunter. Every summer, Dad would enter the tractor pull at the fair, and our family would be there cheering him on.
I can still remember the yellow Snake Hunter decal proudly displayed against the familiar John Deere green. I wish we had a photograph of it. I don't even remember how the tractor earned its name, but I do remember how much Dad loved pulling with it.
Those tractor pulls were quite the social event. Friends would back their trucks up toward the competition area, creating their own makeshift viewing stands. Dad would bring his straight truck, the one he used for hauling grain and other farm work, and fill the back with hay bales so we could climb up and watch. Who needed bleachers when you had a grain truck and a few bales of hay? I can still picture everyone gathered together, watching the tractors compete and cheering on their favorites. It was a wonderful part of growing up in a farming community.
Eventually, Dad retired the Snake Hunter from competition and removed the decal. But as far as I'm concerned, that tractor will always be the Snake Hunter at heart.
And there it was, all these years later, back in the field with my brother Jeff behind the wheel. Watching him work the ground stirred something deep inside me.
Jeff has always loved farming. Although he didn't continue farming after Dad sold the equipment, I know that somewhere in his heart, he'd still love to be a full-time farmer. There's something about working the land that speaks to him, a connection that never really goes away.
And on this particular afternoon, he was getting to experience it again.
Round after round, the tractors made their way across the field, their engines rumbling as the plows turned the soil. Some spectators watched from trucks parked nearby, while others stood along the edge of the field, taking it all in.
I saw lifelong family friends I hadn't seen in years, along with familiar faces who are still part of our lives today. It felt like a little reunion, brought together by a shared appreciation for farming and the machines that helped shape its history.
My son Andrew was driving his John Deere A, and one of my favorite moments was watching him and Jeff plowing at the same time. There they were, my brother and my son, working the land where our family had spent so many years. I could see the happiness on their faces.
And for a moment, it felt as though Dad's legacy was unfolding right before my eyes.
I thought about all the years he'd spent working those fields, the pride he took in his equipment, and the satisfaction he found in a day's work. Although he wasn't physically there to witness the gathering, so much of what he loved was right there in front of me.
His tractor. His land. His family.
And a new generation carrying on a connection to farming that had meant so much to him.
Of course, not everyone escaped a little constructive criticism.
Our longtime family friend Mike, who farms the Goodwin land today, couldn't help noticing that a few of the guys weren't quite finishing their rows before turning. Apparently, some were cutting the corners a little short!
I had to laugh. Even on a day devoted to having fun with antique tractors, a farmer's eye for a properly plowed field never takes a day off.
For several hours, the men continued working the ground, enjoying the experience of operating equipment from another era. Today's farming machinery is bigger, faster, and filled with technology that would have been difficult to imagine decades ago.
But this day wasn't about speed or efficiency.
It was about the experience.
The sound of an old tractor engine, the feeling of working the soil, the conversations between farmers, and the satisfaction of doing something they genuinely loved.
Afterward, I was talking with Jeff about the day, and he shared something that touched my heart.
He told me it was one of the best days he'd had.
Not because anything extraordinary had happened. There were no prizes, no trophies, and no competition to win, well maybe just a little since my brother mentioned the 2510 smoked em all. It was a group of farmers and friends doing something they loved.
But for Jeff, it meant so much more.
He'd spent hours working the land he grew up on, driving Dad's tractor, and sharing the experience with his nephew Andrew. For a little while, he was back doing something that had always brought him happiness.
And hearing how much it meant to him made me happy, too.
I've thought about that conversation several times since.
Jeff didn't need to become a full-time farmer again to reconnect with that part of himself. He simply needed a tractor, a field, and a few hours doing something he loved.
And isn't that a beautiful reminder for all of us?
Maybe there's something you've been missing, something you once loved doing but haven't made time for in years. Perhaps it's painting, dancing, gardening, playing an instrument, or spending time doing something that makes you forget to look at the clock.
What would it feel like to revisit it?
You don't have to turn it into a career, become an expert, or make it part of your everyday routine. Sometimes giving yourself permission to experience that joy again is enough.
As I think back on that afternoon, I can still hear the tractors rumbling across the fields and picture Jeff and Andrew working the ground together. I can still see Dad's beloved Snake Hunter doing what it was built to do, decades after those memorable days at the county fair.
And I can still hear the happiness in Jeff's voice when he told me what a wonderful day he'd had.
What started as a lighthearted gathering with a cheeky name became something much more meaningful. It was a chance to reconnect with old friends and family, honor a love of farming, and celebrate the roots that continue to shape our family.
Sometimes the greatest joy isn't found in discovering something new, but in finding our way back to something we've loved all along.
And who would have thought that a few antique tractors, a field full of dirt, and a group of happy farmers could remind us of something so important? Well, I suppose that's what happens when you finally decide and say, “Let's get plowed!”
xo, Sheryl
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