I don’t like change.
A couple of years ago, when my 10-year-old computer shot craps and lost, I took it into town to see if the 18-year-old computer genius could revive it. After giving it a thorough check-up, he replied, “Yeah, I can get it going again, but you really need to let me update it with the latest version of Windows and clean up your operating system to make it run faster and more efficiently.”
“Just get it going again,” I replied, “I’m content with everything else.” The kid seemed shocked.
Ever since the advent of hand-held cell phones, I had been content with the basic, flip-open model that did what it was supposed to do: make and receive phone calls. I was as happy with its performance as a person could be who thought that phone calls should be made and received at home over a land line. Then, a few years ago, my wife brought home a new-fangled device and informed me that she had replaced my reliable old flip-top with this new contraption that would allow me access to the Internet from wherever I might be. I hated it for the first two years until I learned how to use it. Just as I started feeling comfortable with the gadget, she changed my plan and brought home a ‘smart phone’ and my learning process started all over again.
Have I mentioned that I dislike change?
A year and a half ago, I traded tractors for what I hope is the last time. Purposefully, I traded for the exact same model I had owned for the previous 12 years with the single exception of adding four-wheel drive. All of the controls and switches in the cab looked identical to my old model. I was pleased.
When the super-duper salesman delivered it, he offered to go over all of the controls, levers, monitors and switches just like any good, new car salesman would. I let him know that there was no use in doing so since I had previously owned the same model and simply needed to know the location of the switch that engaged the four-wheel drive option. He pointed to a toggle switch that, when pushed, would allow me to proceed through both hell and high water. “That’s all I need to know,” I replied and, since the salesman was as anxious to get my check as I was for him to leave, that was all the instruction I needed. I did tell him, “I will read the operators manual later.” I never read it.
Last week, I was finishing up my annual month-long job of clipping pastures with the rotary cutter attached to the tractor during some unseasonably cool, summer weather. I was on my next-to-last field, making my first pass along the heavily wooded border, with the side-window open when a tree branch caused me to pull my hand quickly back inside. Then, for some unknown reason, my PTO speed immediately dropped to 520 RPM. No matter how much I shoved the throttle forward, the engine speed and PTO remained the same. Puzzled, I proceeded back to the truck to retrieve my toolbox and take apart the dash, convinced that the throttle linkage must be screwed up.
After wasting an hour of time, and finding nothing, I called the dealership where the tractor was purchased. After spending 10 minutes explaining my problem to the mechanic, he told me to turn off the cruise control. “I don’t have cruise control,” I answered rather tersely.
“Yeah, you do,” he answered. “It’s standard on that model, now.” He then proceeded to tell me where the knob was and, just as he suspected, I had turned it slightly when I pulled my hand back into the cab from the open window.
I felt like an idiot for not even knowing I had cruise control on this new tractor and apologized profusely to the mechanic. Cruise control on a tractor: Ridiculous!
I hate change.
Jerry Crownover farms in Lawrence County. He is a former professor of Agriculture Education at Missouri State University, and is an author and professional speaker. To contact Jerry, go to ozarksfn.com and click on ‘Contact Us.’
