Tribute to Dad

I don’t think there was anything Dad loved more than tractor pulling. Here’s one of my favorite pictures of him pulling and a poem I found in his truck after he passed.


Full Pull
In the heat and dust they hitched the sled
to the tractor rumbling there
from the stack, the smoke it billowed out
clouding black the humid air
If you think it’s for the ribbons
or the prize money which is stark
if you think they’re here for trophies
then my friend, you missed the mark
It’s not about whose first or last
when twilight turns to night
it’s about the friends whose back you slapped
when everything went right
It’s about the times when times were tough
when you wondered why you care
until you heard the shouts of pals
rise up in evening’s air
It’s about the time the axle broke
when you knew you’d lost your shirt
then forty hands pushed in the mud
as you laughed until sides hurt
It’s about a day spent with your dad
who cares who won the show
we’re taking home fond memories
when it comes the time to go
In a hundred little towns the sounds
of tractors rumbles grand
they came here for each other
and the folks who fill the stand
It’s the feeling that you did your best
while in that pulling try
you mostly measured up yourself
as the track went flying by
So if this all seems strange to you
you will never feel as full
as the man atop that tractor
when the flagman says, “FULL PULL”

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