When we went out to visit Grandad's old farm last weekend, we didn't call ahead. We didn't plan to stop. We just wanted to have a look at the place. I think we half expected it to be converted to a commercial venture, but the people who bought the place still farm it just like my grandparents did: as a family. A couple of the kids were working outside and they hollered for their parents to come out. They all welcomed us with open arms.

We told them stories of 'helping' Grandad with the crops before the school season started, though we were a bit too young for the job. Plus, we'd grown up in town and "didn't know bugs" about farming, as he would say. When I piped up about how I used to love riding on the big red tractor with Grandad, the oldest boy said, "I got something to show you."

We all tromped out to the barn and when the boy flung open the doors, there it was: Grandad's old Farmall. None of us could believe it. They'd kept it running all these years. With their permission, I  climbed up into the wide, familiar seat.

It was a magic moment, sitting atop that old red tractor. I felt transported back to the days when I'd ride along with Grandad, the dirt swirling up around us as the sun fell off the horizon. I'll never forget those long summer days. Or that old Farmall. I'm glad it's still around. And still doing its job.