Crops and clothes

Well, despite threats of rain daily, crop season 2016 is marching right along around here.  Actually, it’s kind of a limping shuffle.

Captain has been dealing with breakdowns and repairs on the digger and the planter.  I haven’t had to run for parts yet, but it’s coming I’m sure!

Last night, as I was getting ready to go to bowling, Captain called me to come and “help me for a minute.”  My first question--being cleaned up and ready to go-- was “am I going to get dirty?”  No, just sit in the seat and drive the tractor and planter forward while I watch to see what’s not turning.

Joy and rapture.  Put me in the driver’s seat of a set of equipment worth more than my annual salary.  Not smart, dude, but whatever.  So I threw a jacket over my bowling shirt and walked down to the field.  

I got the usual instructions of where the clutch and brakes were at, he put it in gear and then walked around to the back of the planter and gave me the “go ahead” signal.  Luckily, he had put it in the lowest gear possible at the slowest RPM, so I was basically creeping along.

He walked along behind all 12 rows of the planter looking, had me stop and start a few times, and must not have seen anything wrong.  So then--THEN--he comes around to the front of the planter, gets down on his hands and knees, and gives me the “go ahead” signal.

Are you freaking crazy?!  You are a 160-pound twig in front of a ton of equipment with sharp things that will hurt you or flatten you like Stanley if my foot missed the clutch and brake!!  I get more frantic go ahead signals, so off I go.  He crab-walked along in the dirt in front of the planter a couple of yards before he tells me to stop.  Good gravy, that was a tense few seconds in my world!

He fiddled with something and gave the go ahead signal again.  That lasted all of 10 feet when I had to stop before he told me to.  He’s glaring at me and giving me the WTF look.  

Dude, I have run out of field, the tractor is in the middle of your mom’s yard, and there is nowhere to go!  Fine, he sent me on my way, and off I went to bowling.  Apparently he figured out the problem after I left because halfway through bowling, I got a text:  going to Fleet Farm.  I was going to suggest he buy some new T-shirts while he was there, but just then my teammate bowled a personal best of 209 and I got distracted.

What is it with men and their sentimental attachment to clothing?  I know I am not the only woman who has dealt with this conundrum.  Captain has clothes that no self-respecting homeless person would wear, but he won’t give them up.  No lie, he has a favorite T-shirt that the kids gave him YEARS ago that said “McStud” across the front.  Not only can you no longer see the printing on it, if you hold the shirt up to the light, you can see through it to objects on the other side!  

Another case in point is his union suit.  Do you SEE that large hold in the shoulder seam?  That wouldn’t be warm or comfortable to wear, in my mind, but he puts it on every time it comes out of the dryer.  No longer, though, because I shoved it in the trash on Sunday.  Seriously, it was begging to be put out of its misery.

When I suggest it is time to give any article of clothing a decent burial, his answer is no.  I get that it makes no sense to go to any department store and buy brand new shirts just to wear in the dirt and grease, but Savers or Goodwill or garage sales are a reasonable alternative here!  I don’t get it.

Well, I kind of get it.  I have a Disney fleece pullover that someone gave us after the house fire.  It’s comfortable, it looks halfway decent on me, and it has held up like iron.  It’s been over 13 years since I got it, it’s been washed several thousand times, and is starting to look a little worse for wear, but I refuse to give it up.  Why, you might ask?  Because I haven’t found anything comparable to replace it yet.  When I do, I’ll bid my fond farewells to it and move on.  

However, T-shirts for farm wear are a dime a dozen at any secondhand store or garage sale.  It’s not like we can’t afford new(er) clothing.  The plain fact is that Captain gets sentimentally attached to his clothing.  He even says “They’re my friends.”

Pal of mine, there is a self-help group somewhere just waiting for you to join.  

Young Man was always another one who would wear clothing until it literally would just fall apart while he was wearing it.  The funny thing is, Captain would lecture him about not going out in public “looking like a ragamuffin,” which is sort of a pot and kettle situation.  

Maybe it’s a guy thing.  Maybe it’s a farmer thing.  Mostly I think it is a Captain thing that I will never truly understand.  It’s one of the little quirks that make him lovable!