The Old Tractor That Kept Our Furnace Running

Hooking Up

I parked the tractor in the yard about thirty feet off the house, with the wind blowing the exhaust away from the windows.

Ivan made me set both brakes and put a block behind each rear wheel. He sat on his tailgate and watched me do it.

Lacey took Maisie inside, because it was warmer in there than out, even with the furnace off. The thermostat said fifty-eight now.

Maisie went straight to the front window, the way she always does when something is happening in the yard.

I ran the heavy black cord from the generator’s fifty-amp outlet across the snow to the power inlet box Garrett had mounted on the house wall.

It was the same cord Dusty had dropped on the porch. He took the generator and left the cord. I have thought about that more than once.

Then I went in to the basement and did exactly what my husband taught me. Main breaker off. Transfer switch over to generator.

I stood there with my hand on the panel door a second longer than I needed to, the way you check a stove you know is off.

When I came back out, with my gray knit cap pulled down over my hair and my tan chore coat buttoned to the chin, Ivan was standing beside the big rear wheel with his cane, waiting on me.

The sun was so bright off the snow that both of us were squinting.

“Bring her up to about half throttle first,” he said. “Now. Pull that lever back toward you. Easy. Don’t jerk it.”

I put my hand on the power takeoff lever and pulled it back. The shaft started turning.

The generator on its cart began to whine and then hum, a deep steady sound like a big fan in a church basement.

I turned my face toward our white farmhouse, with the snow drifted against its steps, and listened.

I could see Maisie at the window in her pink snowsuit, her hand flat on the glass. I was waiting for one sound.