The John Deere H

I close my eyes and a wide blue sky is spreading out before me

And I'm hearing that old engine crank again in all its glory

It’s a faded memory that I go back to now and then

I’d give my right arm to be on that farm with the John Deere H again

The John Deere H was a row crop tractor; ours was a ‘43

And I was still too young to drive, but I knew she was made for me

It would be like heaven to start her up and till that stubborn ground

I’d climb up on that metal seat and make up my own tractor sounds

The H was made in a factory down in Waterloo

But my dad had got her second hand from some folks that we knew

She wasn’t sleek and she wasn’t fast, took a while to get her going

But she beat a horse and a hand held plow for cutting hay and hoeing

Then to my surprise he said one night “boy, it’s time you got to learning, ”

Then he showed me how to check the spark and set that flywheel turning

I was only eight years old, had to stand to reach the pedals

But I was so proud you’d have thought that I’d just won some kind of medal

In the spring she pulled a corn planter in the newly thawed out ground

And at harvest time she’d help make hay before the fields turned brown

She cut alfalfa with a sickle mower; the sweet smell filled the sky

And in dreams at night we’d still be working, the John Deere H and I

That old machine was a farm kid’s dream, none like her before or after

But we let her go in hopes of knowing so-called greener pastures

Though I’ve been around the world, my life’s the envy of most men

I’d give my right hand for that piece of land and the John Deere H again

I’d give my right arm to be on that farm with the John Deere H again