Celebrating Steam and the Green

We've been having more of our fair share of storms lately, floods a plenty with lashing winds and most upsetting for me, a sunflower casualty, a broken stem that I'd tried to splint with two paint stirring sticks from Walmart, but failed. It was too damaged to survive. But Saturday dawned with the sun shining brightly, temperatures quickly soaring to dry out roads and fields. I wore my heavy hiking boots to combat any mud puddles, grabbed the Sony camera and drove to Berryville for their 52md Pageant of Steam. I was hoping to catch up with some of the folks from Steam School and sure enough soon after I arrived I heard Robin calling my name and I greeted friendly faces.
I had been looking forward to inspecting the traction engines. Throughout my life when I'd seen them, I had been overwhelmed and impressed with their huge size and the noises they emitted, but today I saw them in a new perspective. Thanks to the Somerset Steam School I now looked at them and understood how they worked, mostly. I found an excellent old book online, 'The Traction Engine, Its Use and Abuse' by James H. Maggard from 1900. It's available on Amazon but part of it can be seen as a PDF here. It's a manual from when these engines were made and spoken in layman's terms, so easy to take in. I was excited to see these huge beasts again and studied their working parts, even taking a guilty pleasure when I spotted that a water gauge was low. I mentioned it in conversation with the owner who assured me all was well. I did feel a little proud that he spoke to me as though I understood everything he was saying. Unfortunately though, I did not.

I love these county showgrounds at Berryville, with large buildings housing plenty of flea market vendors and copses of tall trees offering plenty of opportunity to seek shelter in the shade. But I took no notice of that, the noon parade was about to start and I wanted to watch the vehicles as they passed me standing in the hot dust, engines chugging and throbbing, well tuned without missing a beat, proud owners sitting erect on their prized possessions, happy to pose for a photo and smiling broadly at spectators.

This machine stopped me in my tracks, I'd never seen anything like it. As the monster approached me, it looked huge and dark as it thundered towards me, my eyes blinded by the sunlight. I couldn't make out the driver's face but I heard the engine slow down and guessed he was allowing me to grab a fast photo before he flattened me. I had absolutely no idea what this looming behemoth had been made for, I just stood in awe as it trundled past, the ground shaking in its wake. I asked a guy standing next to me, his face was also alight with total admiration of this hulk, but he did manage to inform me that it was a tree cutter. It drove over the length of a tree, hacking off its limbs and then the rear blades would chop off the roots. What a beast!

I strolled around the tractor enclosure, admiring the Farmalls and Cases, there were some beauties here. But my eyes kept searching ahead for a beautifully restored Minneapolis Moline, but alas, one was not to be found today, although I did spot one standing silent on some grass, not yet fully restored, but still worthy of an admiring inspection. I love the gold orange of these tractors and had fallen in love with my first one down at the Massanutten Tractor Show in Woodstock, VA 7 years ago. The heavy pounding of huge steel wheels grinding into the dirt caught my attention, and I dashed back out of the enclosure to where the traction engines were lining up for the parade.

Buddy Hale with Robin and Gil Roberts from Somerset Steam School.

The air was thick with the wonderful aroma of wood smoke as fire grates burned their fuel to propel these magnificent slow rolling kings. It's funny how I whine about the fumes when stuck in traffic on the way to work, yet here I was sucking them up as greedily as the peach ice cream I'd devoured earlier. I was standing in the middle of the junction as the engines maneuvered into position to start parading in front of the bleachers when someone yelled out, their words which I'd missed, were evidently understood by the drivers as immediately the air was filled with a screeching symphony of shrill whistles, accompanied by columns and clouds of black plumes erupting skyward from smokestacks. I was too close to the engines to get good photos of the smoke but grinned as I looked about me, watching unsuspecting spectators suddenly stop in their tracks to slam their hands over their ears. Everyone was laughing, it was a great moment.

Mr Buddy Hale sat and admired his gorgeous Port Huron as it trundled slowly by, a resplendent steam superstar since it graced the June/July cover of 'Engineers and Engines' magazine.

And then the tractors started forward as the traction engines began the parade route. The director of the show, Kenny Pruitt, constantly made me chuckle. He had full control of all traffic and whenever his finger pointed at a vehicle it stopped immediately and didn't start to inch forward until given the all clear. This gentleman was evidently used to getting respect. He's a pro on the shingle mill and threshing machines too. He either stood in the middle of the vehicles or ruled over them from a canvas chair parked on the side. Nobody dared sidle past him until he beckoned them to do so.

I loved this Case. It only took its owner two years to restore it after finding it in a barn.

This year's steam show was celebrating 'The Year of the Deere' because it's the 100th anniversary of John Deere. I was trying to ignore this fact as I'm not a John Deere fan, I'm a red girl, not a green girl. But I had to stop in my tracks when a John Deere tractor approached, looking like it had just rolled off the set of a 1950's Sci-fi movie. Sleek and svelte, in pristine condition, I just ignored the colors and adored the lines. I'd never seen one of these before, a 1958 fully dressed 620 Orchard Tractor. It was immaculately divine and I wanted one.

After standing for so long in the bright sunshine I needed some shade and headed for the tents to forage among the flea market stalls. I came close to purchasing a blue vintage metal garden chair but decided against it since I was still taking photos and didn't want to drag it around, but if it was still available when I was done I'd go back for it.

Some of the traction engines were resting under the tree canopies, surrounded by deep puddles of oozing mud. I know it oozed because I temporarily forgot about it while stepping back for a photo, my boots squelching and sucking as I slipped, nearly losing my balance.

I was drawn to the hit and miss machines, their rhythm calling my name. They were stuttering and sputtering, glugging with an occasional belch thrown in, pop popping and vibrating as though jigging a jig. The Little South Penn above gave a very satisfying thwack that I had to just stand and listen to for a few minutes. I have no idea what I could use one of these machines for but I'd love one in the back yard, just to sit and watch while it did its thing. Another one, a Fairbank Morse farm engine had such an entertaining beat that I found myself tapping my foot and had to stop myself from jigging from one foot to another as I watched the wheels spin round. I wondered if I had inadvertently hopped a couple of times as when I turned around I spotted two men looking in my direction. Oh well...

After I'd finished watching every machine, I walked back onto the dusty track again, and immediately felt my face burning. I'd overdone the sun again with no protection and now yearned for some cold aloe lotion to dab on my cheeks. The thought became mind consuming, so that after a while I could think of nothing else and reluctantly made my way back to the car, my poor face already reddening. As I drove away, the heavy rumbling of steam engines and the chatter of the crowds faded away, the world of steam left behind until another day, and it was only after I'd driven a few miles down the road  that I realized I'd forgotten the damn chair.