Summer's over

I’ve been sitting out on the stoop all afternoon (without laptop, I’ll have you know) listening to the tractor action across the marsh. They’ve got some hayfields on the hillside over there, and from the sounds of things, they’re blowing silage into wagons. Buddy has a fleet of John Deere tractors, ranging from the 1930s to the state-of-the art stuff he’s not allowed to repair without permission from Deere HQ in Moline. That 1930′s era Deere was, if I’m not mistaken, the first John Deere model with rubber tires all round. Buddy’s grampa bought it new. It only comes out a couple of times per year now, either for blowing silage or spreading manure. Pretty sure they’re still claiming depreciation on that puppy ninety years after it left the dealer’s showroom! The reason grampa’s heirs are beef farmers today is because he left them hundreds of acres of hayfields and pasturelands mortgage free. Enjoy your range-fed steaks while you can, because once this generation of beef farmers goes to the big ranch in the sky, your steaks will come from cattlebeasts tethered to a 24/7 feed trough inside a factory farm their entire lives. There was a time I would have considered that as animal abuse, but I’ve reconsidered. When you watch folks at an all-you-can-eat joint, they’re basically doing the same thing. Do they feel abused? No, they’ll happily pay for the privilege again next all-you-can-eat day. As I’ve mentioned, there’s a local lad recently put up a $6 million “finishing barn” that houses 600 head. He inherited a long-time beef operation when his dear daddy passed a few years ago. He had the collateral to secure millions in financing. He’ll look like a genius till interest rates go up. Then his lenders will seize the farm that’s been in his family since pioneer days, and he’ll be driving a snowplow to keep his kids in groceries. Spent some time with my brother “the kid” over the weekend. To say the kid has had an interesting life is to understate matters in the extreme. He’s a collector too, although of guitars rather than tractors. He spent a few years of his extravagantly misspent youth as the guitar tech for several up-and-coming Canadian rock bands that, unfortunately, never really went anywhere. He’s got as many Fenders and Gibsons as my neighbour has John Deeres. So here we sit on Labour Day 2026, awaiting the end of the world. Ya, maybe nuclear apocalypse really is just around the corner, but maybe somebody can put together a blues-rock jam while we’re waiting. I’ll bring my harp.