Well anyway, this was early in July and it hadn't rained for weeks, I mean it was bone-dry. I was finishing the seedbed for the planter with the new 7600, pulling a 16' spring tooth harrow. When I'd progressed across the field to the point that I'd reached this little weed patch, I decided that it would be a whole lot faster goings if I just drove across it rather than going around.

The first and second time through were no problem. People say the third time's a charm, but it sure wasn't on that day. I raised the harrow and started out across the weeds. About half way across, the bottom dropped out from underneath the tractor so fast it made my head spin. By the time I got the clutch shoved in, that Ford was sunk to its belly in the slimiest, stinkiest mud I had ever seen, and the tines on the harrow were imbedded in the ground about 8 inches. This was indeed a predicament.

Of course Dad's partner, Bill, had seen the whole thing; he was disking ahead of me in the same field. He drove over to where I was stuck, surveyed the situation, and just sat on his tractor with a very pained look on his face.

By this time, Dad had gotten the planter ready to go and was just pulling into the field. He came over to investigate, and his analysis of the situation would have made a pirate blush. I knew then that I was in deep, literally and figuratively. After he calmed down some, Dad unhooked the planter from the 5000 Ford and we chained it to the back of the harrow. There was no way we could unhook from the harrow; it was three-point mounted, and buried in the mud.

All the 5000 did was dig a hole under the rear tires. Bill unhooked his 7600 Ford from the disk, and we chained it to the back of the harrow. Same result. We chained the 5000 and the 7600 side by side to the harrow, mounted up and let 'em eat. The stuck tractor did not move! By this time Dad and Bill were probably the two most disgusted farmers in Boone County, and I was the humblest.

They scratched their heads for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do next, pausing only to consider the possible methods that they would use to kill me after we got the tractor out of the mud. Summoning what little courage I had left, I suggested one of us go up to Mr. Tekotte's house and see if he would bring one of his tractors over to help.

They decided that would be OK, but neither one of them were about to drive over there and ask. You see, Mr. Tekotte, in addition to being the neighborhood's premier comedian, and a great guy, was also one of the dreaded JOHN DEERE owners. He would derive great pleasure from the fact that two Fords couldn't pull one Ford out of a little mudhole.

Dad and Bill knew that every farmer in Boone County would hear about this, and that since I was the one who'd buried the rig, I was the one who was going to take the first helping of abuse. I wasn't old enough to have a driver's license, but since it wasn't far, and all on country roads, off I went in Dad's truck.

Mr. Tekotte was home, and after hearing my explanation of what had happened, he laughed at me for a while, questioned my intelligence once or twice, and laughed at me some more. He finally climbed up on his 4020 and headed off down the road.

It took the 4020 and both of the other Fords to drag the 7600 out of that old hog waller. And yes, it did take a very long time for me to live that one down.

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