At the Helm

I stepped down from the wheel arch into the tractor's operator deck. The dished iron pan seat sat cool under the high noon sun. I anchored both hooves onto the textured steel floorboards and eased my weight directly onto the seat. The thick leaf spring beneath gave a stiff, oiled creak, dipping an inch before holding solid against the frame. No wobble. I rested my forearms squarely over the lower rim of the heavy three-spoke steering wheel. Framed between the tall exhaust stack and the radiator cap, the north pasture lay quiet and open. Ten minutes of steady watch from the helm.