There was a time when I hated yard work. It was the biggest bone of contention between my father and me. It was even bigger than cars and all the trouble I caused with them. As soon as he said, “The yard needs mowing,” the fight was on.

I never won, but I made sure that the process was not pleasant for him. I still don’t like mowing. It brings back all those yelling memories, but there is a difference now that makes me want to mow.

“I like tractors purdy good,” is a line from a movie that my daughter quotes with a heavy drawl, and that is the essence of my feelings. I like tractors purdy good, too.

Over the next three days, I’ll be mowing the property for the last time this year, and it makes me sad. The mowing is still work and I won’t miss it, but I will miss riding the tractor. The tractor is a nice, small, diesel powered one with a three-point lift and a pull-behind, three-blade finish mower. It’s my man toy; one of many, but by far, my favorite.

I cut a 48-inch swath with every pass, run over fire ant beds with impunity, and mulch leaves as I go. The tractor maneuvers so well that I can dodge in and out of the myriad trees as if I were in a sports car. Shoot, I’ve even dodged spider webs on the thing although the roll bar tends to catch them on occasions and deposit them on my back.

I like the roll bar. This isn’t my first tractor, but the first so equipped. It haven’t needed it yet, but I’ve driven tractors before where I did. I’ve rolled one, driven one off a sea wall, and even gotten one suspended off the ground driving through a swing set. I’ve got pictures.

I do love riding the tractor, and I’ll tell you why. I will miss the time alone. When I’m driving it, with engine at 2200 rpm, and the mower blades roaring, I have my ear plugs in, my hat pulled low, with my brain in near neutral, I’m in my own little world. There are no distractions. Even though I carry my cell phone, I can’t hear it ring. I get into a zone and my mind wanders. It’s the ultimate daydream-machine. I’m alert, but somewhat sensory deprived, and I can go anywhere and do anything.

I’ve gotten into one of life’s unexpected dilemmas. I don’t like mowing the grass, but that’s when I can drive my tractor. I guess I can buy some more implements for it. It’ll be a hard sell. I’ll have to convince the Admiral that we have to have a drag bar, or a front-end loader, or a back-hoe, and that life will be a lot better with them. I don’t think, “I like tractors purdy good,” will cut it, although there is profound truth in those words.

David Wilson Atwood is a local freelance writer whose human-interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted at david@starchasers.us.