Bramble Tamble: If you like to eat, thank a farmer.

A four-hour drive to the northwest on Saturday found Your Humble Correspondent and his immediate and extended family at the airfield in the sleepy little burg of Rantoul, Illinois, for "A Half-Century of Progress," an annual antique farm machinery show that should not be confused with the annual Farm Progress Show.

Farming ain't my scene, man, but I don't spend enough time with the in-laws, and besides, how could I pass up a learning opportunity for my son when my admission was paid for? It got us all out of the house, and besides, all of the grandkids were in a separate vehicle with their grandma and grandpa, while all of the adults were in the party truck.

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Funniest moment of the trip came before we even hit Rantoul, when my wife was talking about someone on her side of the family who is particularly reviled thanks to her actions during my wife's grandma's illness and death several years back. To illustrate the level of her antipathy toward this relative, my wife said, "I don't care – if she was stuck in a blizzard and her car was on fire and she didn't have any clothes, I wouldn't –"

I stopped her. "Wait a second. You've got to tell me –"

and by this time, I was laughing so hard I was crying –

"… you've got to tell me … no, wait! … you've got to tell me --"

(still laughing)

"-- by … by what possible chain of events could this scenario possibly take place? One – she is stranded in her car in a blizzard. OK, that's feasible - but then – somehow – her car catches fire. And" – by this time, I can't speak – "and – she is naked???"

And really, I did want to know, because it sounded so absurd, but she claims she meant "coat" instead of "clothes."

"Would you rather I said 'I wouldn't piss on her if she were on fire?'" she demanded to know.

No!

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Naturally, I took pics of the event. Everything was generally in John Deere green or International Harvester red - people go bonkers over their John Deeres; there are collector's clubs and everything, like for Corvettes and whatnot - but I did catch some non-Deere or IH opportunities for pictures. (I did learn during the course of the day my father-in-law's vehement - vehement! - anti-John Deere bias. I think he even had me convinced by the end of the day, and I don't even farm!)

Anyway, some of the pics were even worth posting.

I hope I'm looking that good when I'm 86. Why?

Cause I'm gonna keep on loving you! And I can't fight this feeling anymore!

(what, too obvious?)

Walking to school 30 miles uphill to one direction in the blinding snow (especially if your car is on fire and you have no clothes) might have been preferable to riding in this 1923 school bus. Rosa Parks probably could have had any seat she wanted on it.

(Which brings me to a separate point. When I was a kid, I never could understand how the entire civil rights movement exploded with Rosa Parks' protest on that bus in Alabama, and I'll tell you why. They told her to get to the back of the bus because she was black, and as far as I was concerned, the cool kids sat in the back of the bus. So what was the big deal?)

(Before I receive hate mail, remember: I was 10!)

This tractor was used at the front to kill that damn Hitler. (Not really.)

Just off the far airstrip was, apparently, "3000 Years of Amish Progress." (I couldn't get them all in the shot because I was too damn lazy to get up out of my seat, but the noteworthy thing about this was that they had 48 horses hooked up to the wagon.)

I've bitched about the Amish in this space before, and here's one of the reasons. No phones in their houses! No electricity! But, apparently, the Lord saith not anything about ...

(Please, no flash photography!)

(A funny note about that one: After the Amish horse demonstration, people are milling about - kind of like in that picture - and we're getting ready to make the two-mile trip back to the front gate, and it's gotten generally quiet on the wagon I was on, when my father-in-law yells - yes, literally yells - "Hey, Brandon! Look! An Amish with a cell phone! Take a picture!"

(So I did!)

At long last, we're finally on the wagon and chugging (or, as I originally typed there, "choogling" because I guess CCR is playing in my subconscious) to the front gates, and my ears and back of my neck are sunburned, and I'm tired and cranky and ready to drink beer in the party truck on the way home - when we decide to stop to watch a demonstration of 60-year-old tractors plowing in a straight line. (One at a friggin' time.)

Here is my reaction to this revoltin' development. (from my point of view):