A green day is working in the fields. A wagon hooked onto the tractor a Baylor or bail fork. It doesn't matter working in the fields. I love the feel of the accelerator riding against my thumb, the controls under my fingers and my left hand on the steering wheel. I love the small crackle that's in the radio and impossible to get rid of. The warm afternoon with the door open to let in the fresh air. Fields of corn, of wheat, of alfalfa, I love them all.
Mr. Dodge
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