Free Bone Coulee by Larry Warwaruk Page B

won’t have to go, Darlene. I can bring him back.”
    “Not only practice,” Darlene says. “He needs a haircut, too. Can I give you a trim tonight, Grandpa?”
    “The price is right,” Mac says.
    One thing about Darlene, she knows how to command. People fall in line before they know what’s happening, and then they don’t mind because she’s already got everything done up to perfection. Just like this birthday supper. She’s set the table with Peggy’s Wedgewood china with its tureen filled with wild-rice soup, and the platter covered with Chorniak Farms Black Angus T-bone steaks, barbecued medium rare, and one for Mac that’s well done. She’s baked a carrot cake with cream-cheese icing, decorated with a circle of twenty-five candles, and in the centre she’s stuck a chocolate rodeo bull and rider.
    “Let’s at it!” Garth says. “What do you say, Grandpa?”
    “Happy birthday.”
    “Quick on the draw,” Garth says. “What’s in this soup, Mom?”
    “Wild rice. But keep your hands off. We’ll say grace first. Lee? Can you?”
    “You can stay seated, Dad,” Lee says. “Let’s just bow our heads. Thank you, Lord, for the good food Darlene’s prepared for us tonight, for having Grandpa here with us, and for having our son here at home for his birthday. Thank you for everything. Amen.”
    “Amen,” Mac says.

    At sun-up in the morning Mac is at the field. He gets out of his truck, then walks over to the tractor. With his farming background, he knows not to start the engine without checking the oil. It’s a good thing that they still put the dipstick where a person can reach it. The new John Deere has tires that are higher than Mac’s head. What if he had to add oil to the engine? He’d need a twenty-foot ladder.
    The sun blinds from the east horizon as Mac seats himself in the cab. It’s a simple thing to turn the ignition key. Lee said it won’t turn over unless the gearshift’s in park. So many things to remember. He reads over Lee’s printed instructions.
    The throttle lever’s a red knob at the front of the right armrest. There are four black knobs for the hydraulics. The paper says that number one lifts and drops the wings on the cultivator. Number two raises and lowers the entire unit. Number three controls depths on the air seeder. Number four lays out the field marker to show the width of the sprayer. He doesn’t have to bother with three and four. There are more gimmicks than he can shake a stick at. Behind his right shoulder there’s a monitor with a touch screen; something to do with hydraulic oil temperature and rate of flow through the hoses. Laptop computer hooked up to the Internet at his left armrest. TV monitor above the front window to show what the tractor’s pulling behind.
    He reads through the instructions a second time. A diagnostic computer on the corner post display? Shows miles per hour. Engine revolutions per minute. Lateral hitch positioning…that prevents an implement from getting too close to a potato plant, if somebody happened to be growing potatoes. Programs that show where the field needs fertilizer, where the weeds are and how much chemical is needed from the sprayer nozzles to kill them. A GPS that can tell you how many miles to Timbuctu, and give you the directions to get there.
    Lee has the steering wheel set too low for Mac’s liking. He meant to tell him last night, but there was so much else to think about just getting the outfit here. He steps on a floor lever and the steering wheel drops smack on his arthritic knees. What does the paper say? There’s a side lever to drop it one notch at a time?
    The tractor’s running at low throttle. Mac pulls the first knob and the wings of the cultivator spread out and down. He pulls knob number two, setting the shovels into the soil. He steps on the clutch and puts the tractor in drive, shifts up the red throttle knob, and the outfit’s moving. He turns a knob, the field cruise control, and sets the