The stories these machines could tell.
Coming from a bygone era, they're left to rot in the spot they died. Weeds hide the hard work and toil that families poured into the land in their fight to push forward with progress. Some won, some lost, some got new equipment.
We're constantly finding these machines tucked away on our pheasant grounds that we walk each fall. Bailers, combines, tillers and other assorted machinery dot the land and provide habitat for the quarry of our chase. Ever flushed a rooster in the remnants of an old combine? It's an experience to say the least.
If you think about it, the pheasants are relic's themselves. Product of another era itself, they struggle to maintain their foothold in the face of farm practices that become more and more efficient each year.
Thank goodness for the glacial floods that created the channeled scablands of of Eastern and Central Washington that created the nooks and crannies that the relics of farmlands past and future cannot touch.
They both make Fall so very, very interesting.
I once flushed a covey scaled quail from the trunk of rusted out Studebaker in a back 40 junk yard. That was interesting to say the least.
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