I turned and found the tall man in the dark coat standing several paces away. He had a broad, thoughtful face and a folder tucked under his arm. He introduced himself as James Okafor, director of the county Farm Bureau, and shook Grandma's hand before mine.
"I heard what you said inside," he told me. "About the sleeves and the fuel system. Did you learn that in school?"
"From my grandpa," I answered. "And his manual. And some books."
"Can you show me what made you think this engine is worth examining?"
I looked at Grandma. She looked at the tractor, then at James. "We've already paid for it," she said. "We might as well let him explain why."
For the next twelve minutes I forgot almost everything except the machine. I showed James the exhaust damage, the old service tag, and the accessible areas where corrosion had formed. I explained how moisture could affect the engine during long storage, why the injection pump might also be compromised, and which things we wouldn't know until a mechanic helped us open it safely. I admitted I had no way of knowing whether the crankshaft or bearings were still serviceable. James never interrupted to tell me he already understood; he simply asked the sort of questions that made me think harder.
"What if you open it and the block is cracked?" he asked.
"Then we stop and add up the real costs before spending more," I said. "It might have to become a parts tractor after all."
"What if you find that only two sleeves are badly stuck, but the injection pump is ruined?"
"We need a specialist to check the pump. Grandpa said some things are too expensive to guess at."
James glanced at Grandma. Something about my answer seemed to please him more than any part of my mechanical explanation. "Most grown men would have told me they could get it running for fifty dollars and an afternoon," he said.
"My grandpa said guesses get expensive," I answered.
James nodded slowly. He asked whether I belonged to a 4-H club, whether I had a repair journal, and whether Grandma would consider supervising a youth restoration project if there were local help available. I said I had a notebook. Grandma said she wasn't certain about any project that involved another bill. James smiled, not because he thought the situation was funny, but because he understood exactly what she meant.
"I can't promise you a finished tractor," he said. "And I can't hand a twelve-year-old a blank check. But there are people in this county who want young people to learn practical skills. If you and your grandmother come to my office Monday, we can see what support actually fits."
"Support like what?" Grandma asked.
"A mentor. A safe workshop. Possibly donated materials or a youth-project award after we review the plan. We'll also need to talk about how it gets moved from here."