Tractor Research Paper

A bead of sweat formed between my shoulder blades and slid down my back as my heart rate quickened with the excitement and nervousness that always hits just before the start of a big job. I drove the old Ford tractor down the gravel driveway with dust rising in choking clouds from under the tires. Small and seemingly non-descript, that tractor meant the world to me. Nearly fifty years old, the blue paint was weathered and sun-faded; the tires balding and worn smooth. Often it would take two or three tries to start up, but once running, she could be depended on for as long as needed. My father, two uncles, and my older sister had all driven this tractor down these roads and through all these same fields in past years and I was proud and happy to have the chance to carry on this legacy. I guided the tractor to the edge of the field and stopped, surveying the ten acres of freshly mown hay that
The constant dull roar of the tractor and the clickety-clack of the rake filled my ears. The rhythmic bouncing of the rubber tires over the uneven ground seeped into my muscles, slowly tiring and stiffening them. Gathered by the rake, the hay cascaded over itself in a continuously moving line like a breaking wave rolling toward the coast. The sun beat down and, under its intense heat, my t-shirt was soon wet-through with sweat. Shimmering slightly and distorting my view of the landscape, dust and heat rose from the earth and wavered in the June afternoon. As I drove through the field, all manner of insects, birds, and small rodents scattered form the noise and commotion I brought with me as I destroyed their small hiding places. Rising from the dry stems, a fresh, sweet scent reached up and gently enveloped me. Glancing back occasionally to see the completed windrows lying straight and even as they should be, my chest filled with happiness and pride at the work I had done so