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Oregon | Had a memory today and thought I’d share while waiting for the dew to set in to bale.
My grandfather ran cat for 45 years. He came home from the second war and skidded logs for several logging outfits for about 12 years. Then our local county conservation district bought a cat to level farm ground during and after a huge reclamation water delivery project. Papa Joe was the one who was hired to run the brand new D-6 cat. He ran that same cable operated cat for 30 some years. First it was leveling ground, then irrigation projects, then creek and stream routings. When that cat was plumb wore out, the district auctioned the cat, Joe retired and the conservation hasn’t had one since. Anyways, a few years after retirement Papa Joe had a series of strokes and could barely talk, couldn’t drive, and was in rough shape for much of my childhood. I was about 12 when my dad traded a local logger half a beef for use of his D-6 cat for the spring. Logger delivered it, it sat for a few weeks until dad had time to use it on some projects. Dad couldn’t figure out how to get it started. He tried for several hours before calling grandma and asking her to bring out Joe. She was reluctant but they came out and dad and I helped Papa Joe out of the car and with aid from his walker, got him to the pony motor on the D-6. He pulled levers, hit it with ether, cussed, and got it fired up. Remind you, the guy could barely walk but he climbed up the track like he was 30 yrs old. Gave it full throttle, whipped it around (barely missing the fender on grandmas Buick) and took off towards the pasture wearing a full smile. He spent all day pushing brush and cleaning the creek banks. Grandma was worried but dad said ‘ah hell let him at it one more time’. He was a remarkable cat operator. I still meet people to this day that tell me stories about Papa Joe and his cat so I thought I’d share one to you. | |
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Here’s a story while I wait to bale
