Mr. Pittman told me that a running engine was a beginning, not a permission slip. He showed me how to read the differences between the engine's first idle test and the conditions it would face under real work. On a farm, a tractor must steer, stop, handle an implement safely, and operate within its proper limits while the driver can trust it not to develop a dangerous fault. The 4020 had been neglected far too long for anyone to assume those abilities simply because the exhaust had finally carried the sound of a working diesel.
That winter we dealt with things that felt less romantic than the engine. The damaged rear tire needed replacement, and the other tires had to be examined for age-related deterioration. The brake system required attention from someone with experience in the model, and several hydraulic hoses were too old to trust under pressure. We assessed the steering components, lights, and other parts needed for the machine's eventual use. Some small pieces I could clean or help replace while Mr. Pittman watched; the more demanding work belonged to the adults.
The expenses made me nervous again. The youth project's parts support was limited and had already been carefully allocated. James helped us contact suppliers who might offer project discounts, but he would not ask businesses for favors by pretending our need was greater than it was. He reminded me that generosity built on accurate information could grow into a relationship, while generosity obtained by exaggerating could destroy trust. I began to understand why he had been so interested in my notebook at the auction.
By late January Grandma and I had spent more time discussing the farm's ordinary budget than we had spent celebrating the tractor's first start. The winter heating bills came due, and Mr. Atwood helped us plan the spring fields with an honesty that did not allow for magical thinking. Our hay acreage needed to be cut and moved on schedule, the vegetable ground needed preparing, and the old Case could not be relied upon for any of it. He sketched a simple calendar showing which tasks could use the 4020 once it was verified safe and which would require temporary help from neighboring farms.
"We need a plan that works even if the Deere has trouble," he said. "One good test doesn't make a machine twenty years younger."
Grandma nodded. She had learned that lesson through more harvests than I could count. For years, Grandpa had kept extra belts, hoses, and tools ready because machines had a way of choosing the worst possible morning to break down. I had always thought those spare parts were evidence of his cleverness. I was beginning to see them as evidence of the farm's vulnerability, and of how carefully he had managed it.