Chapter 22 - The Tractor - part Two

Henry proving how easy it is the pick up rocks. Note the giant Flake bar of driveway he picked up along with the rock.

Smash’s only frustration with his Kubota tractor, was not being able to see what was in front of the bucket, or behind him when he was reversing. Obviously, he couldn’t put a mirror on the bucket, but he decided to attach a large rear-view mirror on the ROPS. It was a tricky procedure, resulting in a fair bit of swearing and clanging of tools, but he eventually got it secured, then sat in the driver’s seat to angle the mirror correctly, which is when he broke it.

I wouldn’t say I’m a very superstitious person, but breaking a mirror is one of those things I try to avoid – like putting a hat on the bed, or walking under a ladder, or stepping on cracks, or leaving horseshoes upside down, spilling salt, giving someone a knife as a present…and quite a few other things, now that I think about it. It’s silly, yes, yes, yes. But still.  

Smash isn’t superstitious, but he was really pissed off about the mirror, because he needed it to do the clearing job behind the garage and tank. I offered to help, (still very keen to give those signals a go) and he said thanks, in a grudging way, so we got to work.

Straight off, we realised there was one big, dead tree in the way, still standing but looking ready to fall. Smash decided he’d just push it over with the tractor, then attach a chain to it and pull it out. I was unsure about the pushing over idea because it would mean driving the tractor across the slope to get to the right place. He assured me he would clear enough space first, so there would be plenty of room to come at it. There were a lot of rocks, of course there were – there’s not one square metre on the block that isn’t rocky. So frustrating watching the bucket open, lower, close over thin air. We tried the signalling thing: I pointed forward, back, up and down, then did the jaws motion with my arms, complete with tilting option to position the bucket. I swear, without exception, Smash looked away at the exact moment I gave the integral signal, every time. Even when I bellowed, ‘Watch me!’ he just stared in a dazed way, as if his brain was fighting back. Don’t do it. Medusa! Look away. Then he’d yell back, ‘Did I get it?’ and I’d have to break the sad news that, no, he had not, which somehow managed to be my fault.

It was hot, dusty, noisy and boring. Alright for him, up on his fancy orange tractor having all the fun while I wallowed in the dirt choking on diesel. After an hour of it, I was fed up and hungry and could see little point in me even being there. When Ray and Cec arrived for a visit with a bag of croissants, I grabbed the opportunity for a break. Smash reluctantly got off his tractor – yes, that’s right, even Zest Bakery croissants were a poor second – and we all sat in the shed, eating and drinking coffee, talking about the Kubota, rocks, the Kubota, politics, the Kubota and the clearing job we were working on. At some point I voiced my concerns over the steepness of the hill and confessed that I’d already planned out what I would do if Smash had an accident in the tractor. I think Ray and Cec were surprised, maybe thinking I was being overly pessimistic, so I explained that I’m not very good in a crisis. To prepare myself, or perhaps feel I have some control over a situation, I tend to think through worst case scenarios and work out what I would do. Be prepared! Like a Scout.

‘Tell us then,’ Ceccy said. ‘What’s your plan?’

So, I told them. I’d see if he was alive, and if he was, I’d race up the hill and call 000.

They made polite, semi-interested faces – fair enough, it wasn’t a very exciting or intricate plan. Smash half rolled his eyes and said, ‘Aaaaaaanyway’ and got back to talking about his Kubota.

After Ray and Cec left, Smash wanted to get back to work but I was sore and tired and filthy. I wanted to have a bath and write, not crawl around in the dirt giving instructions that were ignored.

‘You do you, Kate’, Smash said, channelling one of our favourite comediennes, Anne Edmonds. Off he went, with his phone and ear buds, and within minutes the tractor started up and a minute or so after that, there was a creaking sound, then a heavy thump followed by Smash’s cheering. The big, dead tree, no match for the Kubota. I went outside to take a look, waved, got no response, went back inside to prepare for my bath.

Tractor going up and down hill, not across.

One of the things I love about being at the block is having an outdoor bath in the hotter months. It’s very liberating, although it’s also uncanny how many times visitors arrive at the very moment you turn the hose on. That day was very hot, but there was a lovely southerly breeze travelling through the shed. Radio national burbled on…something about violins; the Kubota droned in the distance, drowsily industrious. I thought I might even take a nap after my bath. Or maybe I’d write. Or read. I could do whatever I liked.

I put water on to boil, got my towel, soap and face cleanser lined up on a chair on the concrete apron near the tank, laid out some fresh clothes, and stripped off. Up on the hill, the Kubota kept on, back and forth, back and forth, going up and down the hill, not across, I was pleased to see. I waved to Smash and gave him a thumbs up. Nothing. I swear, I could’ve done a Can Can dance across the concrete and he wouldn’t have noticed. He was in the zone.

The kettle started whistling; I went back inside and was about to turn off the gas when I heard the tractor groan, as if straining, then all of a sudden it went silent. I heard Smash yell, then a very heavy thump, much bigger than a tree thump. I ran outside and screamed Smash’s name. Up on the hill, the Kubota lay on its side. I couldn’t see Smash. Everything was very still, as if the trees and clouds were all waiting to see what would happen. Inside the kettle whistled and spat. I heard Smash say something. I yelled out in a strange voice I didn’t recognise as my own, asking if he was okay; he appeared from inside the ROPS, bent over, one hand up, then he disappeared again.

I didn’t know what to do. So much for my plan. I hadn’t factored in being nude; those rocks are sharp. I ran inside to look for clothes, then back outside, then inside again like a headless chook.

Out of all the times Smash has scared the life out of me, this was undoubtably the worst. I can’t recall how I got there, but the next thing I remembered was standing beside him, (clothed) staring, speechless. He stared back, shaking all over, grey faced. Then he broke out in a massive sweat, as if he’s just jumped out of the dam.

He had some bruises and scratches; the ROPS was bent on one side, but really, he was so lucky to be alive.

I cried, with relief, then anger, then relief again. He was babbling, explaining what had gone wrong. The fallen tree had become wedged behind a big rock and he hadn’t been able to pull it, unless he came at it by driving across the slope. Then when he was reversing, dragging the tree by a chain connected to the bucket, it got snagged on another rock, so he lifted the bucket, hoping to lift the trunk over the rock. He said he realised the second the bucket was in the air he’d done a stupid thing, so was madly trying to lower it, but by then the tractor had started to tip. It went over slowly, giving Smash enough time to think he was going to die. He slipped down onto the ground into the space between the ROPS and the tractor, praying it wouldn’t do a full roll. After slamming down on its side the tractor started to roll further, but teetered, and came back down on its side.

As soon Smash stopped shaking he started fretting about the Kubota being on its side. It’s bad for them, apparently. I can’t explain why, but the more he fussed over the tractor the angrier I got. I felt like I might punch him, really, really hard, or kick and scream insanely. I walked away, straight to the Nissan and got in, hands shaking on the wheel, then I drove up to Five Ways to talk to someone, anyone other than Smash.

The first person I thought to tell was Ray. I sent a text telling him that Smash was okay, but he had rolled the tractor. Then I sent Josh a text. Immediately, Ray and Ceccy started texting back and Josh rang. Not many people survive a tractor roll. It’s a big deal. They couldn’t believe it. All three offered on the spot to come and help as soon as they could and I said, yes please; I really wanted them there.

When I came back down the hill, Smash was sitting outside his garage, drinking a beer. He talked incessantly about what an idiot he’d been, then he started shaking again, then he wanted to try and pull the Kubota back over with the Nissan and when that proved unsuccessful and very damaging to the Nissan, he  wondered out loud if he should put up the downpipes on the garage, or finish the plumbing in the bathroom, or tidy his work shop, or move all the garden tools from one side of the garage to the other.

I told him I thought he was still in shock, but I guess, I was too, and it was hard to sit still. Before I knew it, I was holding up a piece of polypipe next to the garage wall, and Smash was up on the second highest step of the ladder, wobbling on the rocky ground, trying to push screws through a bracket and into the corrugated iron. There was a moment when the ladder slipped off the piece of wood I’d put under one leg - Smash had to cling to the gable edge and I thought: Okay, this is no good. We’ve both gone insane. It was too much, too stressful. Our tree change was meant to be rejuvenating and fun, not prematurely ageing and dangerous. I told Smash I couldn’t stand it anymore, abandoned my post and went down to the shed to wait for Josh, Ray and Cec to arrive.

I have never underestimated how wonderful it is to have our friends and family there in Nundub, so close by, but on that day, we needed them so much, not just for help, but for emotional support.

Josh turned up with his excavator, and after some manoeuvring and digging and attachment of chains, managed to pull the Kubota back over. Sadly, it wouldn’t start. Smash looked gutted but Josh knew of a guy who was a magician with tractors, the Kubota Whisperer – famed for his incredible knowledge of tractor mechanics. By luck, he was able to come out the next day and he did indeed get the old girl going. (And here’s a tip for anyone out there who rolls a tractor and lives to tell the tale: don’t try and start it, just call a mechanic unless you know how to remove the glow plugs, which was very difficult on our Kubota because the fuel tank sits on top of the engine. When a tractor is on its side, the oil comes up the breather pipe into the top of the cylinders, so you have to take out the glow plugs before trying to start it.)

Over drinks, there was a lot of talk about how lucky Smash was, and how he’d obviously learned his lesson, how he’d never do something so foolish again. He was pretty hard on himself about it all, but mostly because he felt he’d let his precious Kubota down. He didn’t seem to realise how hard it was on everyone else, so, after everyone went home, I made sure to let him know. Without going into detail – I think he understands now.

Josh, digging a ditch next to the tyres so the tractor tyres have something to roll into. The Learner plate doesn’t seem as hilarious now. I’d love to know if the ROPS really would have worked, but don’t want to try it.

There she goes! Notice Rocket sitting on the left - he likes to help with jobs.