Peace breaks out

In the spring of 1946, when he heard that the Bauser boys retired from the Navy, Dad hired one to help with spring plowing. He did not give instructions to Barry Bauser. Everyone knows how to plow. The plow reached the John Deere tractor and waved to the field to blow away what was next to our house.

"Yes, sir!" Bauser asked cheerfully as his father had a good impression on what he had learned in the Navy.

The Bauser boy felt good that day. It was spring. In the spring of 1945, he expected to die in the spring of 1946 against the Japanese. Instead, he was not only alive but whole. And not just whole but healthy. And not just healthy, but free: free from the navy, free bird. Life looked at it and was overwhelmed. He grabbed the John Deere tractor, started a wonderful engine, started the engine, and started the field behind the plow behind him.

Now everything went wrong. He saw him look at the field he was with. When he first walked around the field, the young Barry plowed a somewhat confused but acceptable groove. But as his spirits rose, John Deere's speed was the same. What you think was good, you were sure it was a good thing, but it was not really a good thing.

Probably when Barry was a boy, he was hunted with horses, and the horses had a better sense than going through plowing. Field arable land is a tedious, slow, rippling work. But when you get the tractor to accelerate, the tractor is interested in your request. And for whatever reason, but probably because the management of John Deere not only started on Barry's head but on his leg. And as the young Barry's foot struck the accelerator, the engine louched louder and louder.

What sounded good with Barry Bauser, you bet. The tractor is approx. He jumped thirty miles an hour – twenty-four miles one hour faster than the plague behind it.

And the plow? The plow tried to follow. A few meters away, he leaped in the air, tossed a few feet of land, then set off with another flying jump. The effect was more like a jackrabbit for the pursuit of a dog.

Dad came into the house and got Mammam, Davit and me to come out and see what's going on here. As we stood in the back yard, the Bauser boy assumed we had announced his technique. He waved cheerfully as he and the bound plow set off. Davie and I are washed back. It seemed as though he had been very entertained, we thought. (Well, it was a lot of fun.) Mom and Dad looked like a chambermaid.

"I do not know how to laugh or cry," said Mamma. "Me too," said Daddy.

But as they looked at them, they looked more and more to the people who were thrown into their inner parts. "You bought it to stop me," said Mamma. "It will ruin the plow and probably ruin the tractor. But the father pretended not to hear it. He hated criticizing people and scenes.

On Friday, Daddy told the boy Bauser that he would no longer need it. He gave him a big silver dollar, a normal salary for all his daily work. He had to pay at least fifty cents, or nothing, considering what had happened to the tractor, the plow and the field, but his father did not get a reputation as a penny pincher. He passed the dollar.

That afternoon, Daddy made a clean clothes dryer and his second best hat, and walked around the area to sadly ask Barry Bauser. He thought it would be better to try somebody in the army or marines, he said. Young Barry shook his confidence in the US Navy.



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