Ricky Dandelion and the Chariot of Fire

Ricky Dandelion walked through knee-high field grass next to his back field property line. It was mid-July, and the grass stalks were getting close to the electric fence wire.

Normally, Ricky and his lovely wife, Venice, would consider it a Saturday date by going out together into the cow field with their matching Stihl-FS131 weed-eaters and cutting the grass away from the fence line, but things were different this year.

Ricky had sent most of his herd off to the auction or the butcher and only had one dry cow left. Her name was Mollie Sue. Venice would not allow the cow to be taken away since Mollie Sue was named after her mother. Ricky, for the same reason wanted to shoot the cow between the eyes but he had hidden his disdain.

Because they were down to one cow, Mollie Sue was unable to keep up with the growing grass in the eight-acre field. Venice’s mother, Mollie Sue, could usually eat anything placed before her, and then some.

“Venice,” Ricky said as he stood on the back porch looking out at the field. “I’m afraid that that field is too big for the two of us. Would you be agreeable to me buying a used tractor with a field mower?”

Venice’s face appeared downcast.

“It will be sad to end our weed-eating dates in the field. Is the romance over?” she asked. A tear ran down her cheek. “Nevertheless, it may be time.”

“Old Pete Stodgkin down the road has an old tractor that’s been sitting behind his barn for years. Maybe he will accept an offer for it and a spare mower deck that he owns. I’ll go ask him.

Ricky placed his cold boney hand upon Venice’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Venice. Our romance won’t die. You can sit on the tractor fender and ride while I mow.” He reached for the beltline of his pants and pulled them back up to his waistline and started his walk to Pete Stodgkin’s farm.

A mile later, Ricky walked up the long gravel driveway to the Stodgkin farmhouse. Old Pete had been out of farming for years, but still had a few animals and most of his equipment which was stored under lean-to sheds and out in his surrounding fields.

As he stepped up onto the front porch, from directly behind him came a blood curdling scream. This terrified Ricky so badly; he jumped straight up waving his arms in the air which then caused his pants to drop below his muscle-less buttocks.

Ethel Stodgkin opened the front door and looked at Ricky through the screen door.

“Ricky.”

“Ethel,” Ricky responded as he frantically fought to pull his pants back up.

“What in the heck-and-how-are-you was that scream?” He turned around to look behind him. There, not more than four feet away, lying on its side, stiff legged, was a Tennessee Fainting Goat.

“Crimony, Ethel. Why don’t you get a farm dog like everyone else?”

Old Pete came out from the living room and stood behind his wife.

“Ricky. How do?”

“Peter. Love your guard goat. Do you have an old tractor and a mower deck you are willing to sell?”

“Well, I’ve got an old diesel behind the barn that I will part with, and I have a couple of mower decks.”

Pete led Ricky through the barn to the overgrown pasture behind. There, covered in blackberries was what looked to be a tractor which was well beyond its years.

“$200.00 for a field mower. If you can get it out of here, the tractor is free,” Pete said.

He didn’t know if it was the word, “free,” or the fact that the goat had once again come up behind Ricky and screamed, but both were passed out on the ground stiff legged.

Later, after adding some fresh diesel, and filling the tires with air, Pete spent considerable time jump-starting the 6-volt battery but eventually, the rusted tractor came back to life.

Ricky drove the black smoke-belching machine back to his house. Hitched to the backend was an eight-foot-wide mower deck.

The old tractor was unusual by today’s standards because it ran off a 6-volt, positive ground system, just the opposite of today’s vehicles which have a 12-volt, negative ground. This will be an important fact for this story.

The old tractor growled as it rolled into his driveway. Venice could hear but not see the tractor through the deep belching black diesel smoke.

She stepped out onto the back porch with a peanut butter poultice covering her face. Through years of testing, she found that Jiffy did a better job of keeping her skin soft and wrinkle free. Better than the competition, Adam’s chunky style peanut butter.

“Swing open the back gate, Venice. I’m driving her into the field. Care to go on a date?”

Venice ran and opened the gate dressed only in her bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. As Ricky drove the smog machine into the field, the warmth of the day and her perspiration from running to the gate caused the peanut butter poultice to begin dripping from her face.

“Give me 15 minutes. I’ll be back out.” She waved and ran back to the house.

Meanwhile, with the excitement of having a new toy, Ricky stopped the tractor parallel to the fence and ground the power takeoff into gear which started the blades on the mower deck spinning. He lowered the deck to the ground, and he could hear the grass being cut. Oh, Ricky Dandelion had power now! Putting the tractor in low gear, he began mowing the fence line.

Shortly thereafter, Venice emerged from the back door of the house dressed in a clean farm dress and wearing her Muck Boots. Holding her Walkman in her right hand and with her headset over her ears, she was in her own happy place listening to the latest cassette from The Marvelous Hollis Quince and the Yodel Aires.

Ricky put the tractor in neutral, disengaged the PTO and Venice climbed up and sat on the fender.

It was a date afternoon to remember for the two of them. The old belching tractor bouncing and swaying back and forth across the field. Although Ricky could not hear the music in Venice’s headphones, it did not stop her from singing the lyrics at the top of her voice.

Now, Ricky realized when he left old Pete’s farm that there were things on the tractor he would need to repair. For instance, the headlight switch was broken, and the fuel gage was dead, which is why after an hour of mowing, the tractor ran dry of diesel. . . at the farthest end of the field from his house.

“Well darn-it, Venice. I’m going to have to walk back to the barn to get that Jerry can of diesel.” The two walked hand in hand back through the freshly mown field grass. Molly Sue lay watching them on the uncut grass in the shade of a fruit tree while chewing her cud.

“I’ll start dinner while you work on the tractor, Ricky,” she said. And Venice went into the house.

Ricky went into his shed and emerged with the six-gallon Jerry can. Because of the weight of the can and its diesel, Ricky had to develop a rhythm to make it to the tractor: Five steps holding the can in his right hand. Stop. Pull up his pants which had dropped to his crotch. Then, five steps with his left hand holding the can, followed by the raising of the pants. This exhausting routine continued all the way to the tractor.

Ricky flopped onto the ground in the shade of one of the back wheels and he mopped his forehead with his handkerchief while he rested. Mollie Sue in the meantime had meandered over for a better look.

“What do you want, you old bag of burger,” he groused.

The top of the tractor had a hinged cover which when lifted exposed the fuel tank and the six-volt battery. Ricky lifted this up and removed the fuel cap. Though it was hard carrying the Jerry can up from the shed, it was darn near impossible for Ricky to heft it up high enough to get the spout cleanly into the fuel tank. Diesel splashed all over the tractor, all over Ricky, and all over the grass underneath.

Cussing a blue streak, he was able to get enough fuel into the tank to drive the tractor back to the barn. Screwing the cap onto the tank, he closed the cover, climbed onto the seat and turned over the ignition.

Nothing. The old battery was dead again.

With a cloud of vile language spewing from his lips, Ricky grabbed the now empty Jerry can and walked back to the shed to get a battery and jumper cables. Mollie Sue followed.

Not even thinking about his tractor having a six-volt battery, Ricky wrapped the jumper cables around his neck and grabbed one of his 12-volt batteries off the work bench. He headed back up the field pausing every twenty steps to set the battery down to rest his arms. Mollie Sue followed.

Finally reaching the tractor, he was exhausted. He dropped the battery onto the ground, directly under the fuel tank and the battery. He again mopped his forehead with his partially diesel-soaked handkerchief. Attaching the jumper cables to the 12-volt battery, he stood up on the right step and raised the cover to expose the tractor battery. He laid his handkerchief next to the fuel cap.

Now, Ricky had not been concerned about how old Pete had jumped the tractor previously and he hadn’t watched how he had done it. After all, he had jumped the batteries of many cars in his lifetime. But this was a 6-volt positive ground system on the tractor and Ricky was using a 12- volt battery.

Ricky attached the black negative cable to the negative on the tractor battery. He then attached the red positive cable to the positive terminal on the tractor and he climbed down onto the ground.

“Well Mollie, we’ll let it charge for a moment.” He walked over to the shade of the fruit tree to sit down.

Unbeknownst to Ricky, the 12-volt battery was super heating the 6 volt battery.

“Pop, pop!” The caps blew off the top of the six volt from the boiling water pressure.

“What the heck?” Ricky muttered as he and Mollie stood up and stared at the tractor.

Just then, the six-volt battery shorted out causing a fiery flash. This ignited the diesel of his handkerchief which was lying next to the fuel cap, which ignited the diesel which had splashed onto the tractor, which ignited the diesel-soaked grass under the tractor.

Ricky ran up and unhooked the jumper cables from the 12-volt battery and began stomping on the flaming grass. It had little effect.

“Fire Department, fire department!” he yelled as he ran back toward the gate. Mollie followed. This was more excitement than she had seen in a long time.

He ran through the back door into the kitchen.

“Venice, Venice!” he shouted. There was no response. Running into the living room, he found her in her yoga clothes lying backwards over an exercise ball. She was holding a Harlequin novel over her head reading while listening to something through her Walkman headphones.

Ricky got her attention. “Venice, call the fire department. The tractor and the field are on fire. I’ll go open the gate.”

They both ran to the kitchen window to look. Venice screamed. Ricky fell to the floor and passed out stiff legged.

The thing about a volunteer fire department is that you have to wait for a volunteer. 

Twenty minutes later a water truck pulled into the driveway with one firefighter. Ricky and Venice were leaning against the fence staring at the fire which was now burning black from the tires which were melting. Ricky pulled open the gate and the firetruck drove into the field. Mollie Sue followed.

It took about twenty minutes to douse the flames. The burnt wreckage smoked the rest of the day.

Maybe that tractor was never meant to run again. Maybe it was destined to be buried under a mound of blackberry vines which is where it is today, only on a different farm.

Want to go on a date, Venice?”

Her eyes sparkled.

“I’ll get my Muck boots,” she responds.

Ricky brought from the shed the matching Stihl-FS131 weed-eaters, and the loving couple walked hand in hand for a romantic date . . out to the fence line.

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