Things that scare us, but thrill us when we complete them: part one

Ever do something outside your comfort zone that at first scared you just to think of doing it, but when you did, you never had so much fun?

I was thinking about how as a kid I never was a thrill seeker. My idea of living on the edge was taking a sled down a snowy hill or riding my bike without a helmet. I didn’t do a lot of things because I always felt they were for other people, or that I wouldn’t be good enough at it so why bother.

But once in a while I did just jump in, and whenever I did, I never regretted it.

In childhood there weren’t too many moments. Perhaps the most notable was not the typical experience for a twelve year old. It involved me, a 1940’s Farmall, a baler and a wagon attached. One hay season we were a little shorthanded, and my dad, level headed, but unafraid, thought it was time to teach me to drive the tractor. That way, he could single-handedly maneuver the hay from the baler to the wagon as I drove the equipment.

Can I just stop to say how awesome that was? At twelve I was somewhere around 5 feet tall and 100 pounds. I was smart, eager to be adult, and cautious. I’d been driving the lawnmower independently since I was eight, and had just started driving the truck in the fields. I was so ready for the responsibility.

The Farmall didn’t have all the fancy bells and whistles of the modern tractor. In fact, the starter seldom worked that most of my memories involve my father cranking it to start. It had a stick shift in some H configuration, a peddle on each side to apply brakes to the enormous rear tires, and a clutch. Fortunately for my five foot self, my legs grew faster than the rest of me and I was able to reach those peddles. Good thing, since much of the hay field was on a hill.

I’m really not sure what was scarier, going up or down. Going up required me being harder on the engine than I thought I should, with shouts coming from my dad to “give her the berries” (that meant slowly keep upping the throttle). Slow it down and strain too hard and the tractor would have stalled and we (meaning: tractor, baler, and hay wagon laden with hay and my dad) would have started rolling backwards into an inevitable jack knife. I learned to throttle. Going down hill meant down shifting and some weird clutch brake combo thing. Frankly, it’s uphill I remember more!

All I know is that when we came back with the wagon full and the job done, I felt like a real woman!