By: Selina Pedi-Smith, Pellere Foundation
I’ve been down for the count this week – the second casualty in our house to whatever bug’s been making the rounds. I was luckier than Kai, who had the full fever-and-cough package, but still found myself knocked flat for a couple of days. Short of breath. Lightheaded. Even the trip to the mailbox became an Olympic event. And my cough was the worst kind. It wasn’t serious enough to justify sympathy, just this half-hearted little hack that waited for the quietest possible moment to announce itself…setting off the landmine in my head. Good fun.
Between marathons across the house, feeble attempts at making myself useful, and overwhelming gratitude for the consideration and care shown by my family, I found myself drifting back to the dreams I mentioned last week. As you may imagine, those dreams have had a distinctly mechanical soundtrack lately: the growl of engines, the hiss of hydraulics, the steady thunk of a bucket finding earth.
Maybe it’s the universe’s way of nudging me toward this weekend’s big equipment auction out near Knox at Terry Kahle’s place, where a field full of diggers, dozers, and tractors will be waiting for new hands. Don and Archer scoped it out last weekend and sent back photos of machines that looked like they’d be right at home on one of our project sites. I’ve been itching to see them for myself, assuming I can shake off the last of this cough.
I can see it now…clambering around inside the best prospects, playing out in my head how I could use each machine. Will I fall for the big yellow digger with the thumb? That thing looks perfect for moving the huge rocks that are always hiding in our mud. Or maybe the Kubota, with the two-knuckle arm. Imagine the reach on that baby.
Gotta see what happens at the auction, of course, but there’s something deeply satisfying about giving a new life to old equipment. They’ve already done their share of heavy lifting; their stories are written in the scuffed paint, worn hoses, and faded labels. But when you fire one up and it still answers, there’s a little thrill – that first low rumble under your boots, the way the hydraulics settle into their groove. It’s something almost primal, even though it’s powered by diesel and complex mechanical systems.
And let’s be honest, half the fun is the looking. Kicking at tires, peering under panels, swapping guesses with whoever’s standing nearby about what kind of life a machine’s had. Everyone’s got opinions, and we’re all probably wrong, but that’s part of the charm. You just don’t really know until you climb in, turn the key, and see if it still wants to work.
Either way, I’ve got a feeling something’s about to start shifting. Whether it’s a patch of ground, a plan that’s been idling too long, or just my own boots heading out the door toward Knox, I guess we’ll see what fires up first.
