Barn Boards & Baling Wire

It was silo-filling time in late September about 1964, in southwest Wisconsin, before the frost turned the corn brown. Leonard Sumwalt took the corn binder out early one Monday morning after the kids left for school, and cut six rounds on a 6-acre field referred to as the “new ground.” He and the boys had converted it from pasture to cropland the year before, hauling off several stone-boat loads of rock as well as taking out brush and small trees.

It gave Leonard a feeling of satisfaction to see the fine crop of corn the field had produced. The slope on the south end was a bit steep, but would be alright if they were careful on the turns. He went back with the little Ford tractor and wagon after lunch to pick up a load of corn bundles. When the wagon was full he came down across that steep slope on the south end.

Just as he made the turn the weight of the load on the wagon pushed the tractor sideways – and tipped it over.

“I fell off under it, and all I could see was the thing coming down on top of me,” he said. “The first thing I thought of was how long it would be before anybody found me. And then I blacked out – how long I don’t remember, but when I came to the tractor was on top of me. My legs were sticking out beside the motor and all four wheels were sticking straight up in the air. I was lying between the fender and body of the tractor, and my wrist was pinned under the fender.

“I could feel oil running out of the motor onto my legs; it was warm. I didn’t know how I was going to get out. I lay there for a while and then I hollered. My old dog, Rover, was with me. Every time I hollered, he howled. Someone went by on the ridge road up above, but they didn’t see us so I didn’t know what to do.

“Finally I said to myself, ‘I’ve got to get this tractor off my wrist somehow.’ Then I happened to think about the jackknife I always carried in my pocket. Luckily it was on my right-hand side. I got it out and started digging, thinking maybe I could dig the dirt out from under my wrist enough to free it. I dug and dug until finally I had dug a hole deep enough that my hand dropped down so I could pull it out. The circulation had been cut off for some time and it was quite swollen. I pulled myself out from under the tractor, called for Rover to come, and we headed for the house.

“We got about half-way home and here came a deer up the hill, tongue hanging out and looking like he was going to drop at any moment. I looked across the valley and there were a couple of dogs coming; they’d been chasing the deer. Rover sat down beside me and waited. I said, ‘You watch them.’ The deer ran on.

When the dogs came close I said, ‘Rover, go get ’em.’ And boy, he put the run on those dogs. They went back to where they came from. When he came back we went on down to the house; when we came to the yard I collapsed. I hollered for Bernice; she came out and helped me get up onto the porch. She sent one of the kids down the road to the neighbors. They came and took me to the hospital. There were no broken bones so I was only there about a week.

“The following Saturday the men from church all came in and finished filling the silo. I got out of the hospital in time to come home and see them do it.

“That was a close call. It wasn’t my time to go yet. The good Lord knew I had a family to raise and take care of, I guess, and that was why I lived.”

My father, A. Leonard Sumwalt, told this story of a tractor accident that occurred about 1964 on our farm in Richland County, Wisconsin.

This article originally ran on agupdate.com.