Gas Engine Magazine

Tractor Man

By Staff

Box 13, Big Fork, Montana 59911

I am married to Tractor Man, an otherwise normal husband who at
first glance seems reasonably respectable and regular, but lives a

I realize most of you are probably stunned to learn that my
quiet unassuming predictable meat and potatoes kind a guy has a
second, more daring persona as ‘Tractor Man!’ It was years
before I stumbled upon this shocking revelation, myself. But I
should have known.

When I look back I see undeniable, tell-tale hints of his dual
identity: Take our marriage vows. I should have paid attention
right then and there on the altar, but I was not willing to let one
strange disclosure interfere with landing a husband. It should have
been a tip-off when he promised to love, honor and drool over heavy
equipment. (Anyway, I figured we were even when I promised to love,
honor, and change him every chance I got.)

There were other clues: The bib overalls (stripes, no less!)
tucked away in his closet, the collection of caps with needlepoint
names of manure spreading machines or pig feed producers. Or the
steady arrival of strange catalogues that sell lubrication
injecting syringes and front end chassis clutch bearing booklets.
An unmistakable give-away.

But I will never forget the day I found out. It started as a
simple day, a nice day; a back-roads ride into town kind of day. We
were engaged in pleasant conversation, if I remember right, when
suddenly (I kid you not) his face began to glow, his voice raised a
pitch and he smashed the steering wheel to smithereens with his

‘Was that a John Deere AA Massey Ferguson Case mustard
colored 20 cylinder hydroponics scoop dump and shovel tractor?’
‘Where?’ I sez, alarm beginning to build. ‘Back there!
Under the tarp in the yard alongside the barn, hidden by the silo
and protected by a 1400 pound chicken with a ring in is

The excitement was mounting our car would be in shambles in
seconds. ‘Well, ah, I don’t know. . . ‘


‘Maybe it was a Ford!’

Our car swivelled in the road. I’m not fooling, it
swivelled. I pulled my face out of the dash board, I pulled my nose
out of my face. I put assorted teeth in my pocket.

And so I discovered Tractor Man.

I better be careful. The last thing I need him to learn is that
I’m really a 125 pound long legged blond beauty in

Reprinted from Lakeshore Country Journal.

  • Published on Nov 1, 1994
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