This time of year, I spend a lot of hours unloading soybeans and corn headed for our bins. First, I pull the wagon up to the auger perfectly so the grain will flow into the hopper. Then I back up and do it again if it’s not perfect. I start the tractor, turn on the auger, and open the wagon door. It’s all about timing. I’ve done it a million times.
There’s lots to keep track of, more if we’re drying corn. Things that are predictable are favored. One thing I’ve counted on for forty years is that my Farmall 400 tractor will start. The 400 has had many roles on the farm. Among them is “auger tractor.”
By the magic of power take off, the 400 gets the auger turning and lifting grain up to the bin top. We bought a new Westfield sixty-foot auger to pair with the 400. There they are, working together, a shiny new auger with a faded old tractor. It’s like a May-September relationship.
My dad bought the 400 new. A while ago, I wondered how old it was. Using the serial number and internet search, I found that our 400 is almost exactly as old as me. I was born in February 1956. Within a month or two, that’s when our Farmall 400 was manufactured in Rock Island, Illinois. It’s one of 40,000 made there from 1953 to 1956.
The 400 has been around my whole life, but knowing we are the same age caused me to look at the old tractor a little differently. He (or is it she?) is like a sibling that I grew up with. We did a lot of stuff around the farm. There are good memories and some not so good. The bad ones involve mud and manure.
Now we’re growing old together. I’ve spent more time with that machine than all but a few humans.
My father Sylvester bought my tractor sibling from Evan Implement, the predecessor of Miller Sellner in Sleepy Eye. The story goes that my dad was dealing with Art Miller on the purchase. They went to the Evan bar for a drink and final bargaining. I wish I could go back in time to hear those negotiations.
A new Farmall 400 in 1956 cost around $3,500. My parents weren’t flush with cash then, so they likely had to borrow. They had five older kids plus a baby me. Like all farms of the time, there were cows, pigs, chickens, lots of manual labor, and not great profits.
Oddly, $3,500 is close to what I could sell the 400 for now. Of course, $3,500 in 1956 bears no similarity to $3,500 in 2023.
It was one of the first tractors my dad bought. This was not many years after the transformation from literal horse power to mechanical power. It’s fascinating to think about those years around World War II when horses and tractors shared the countryside. Like technology now, there must have been early adapters and late adapters. Picture a farmer on one side of the fence with his two quiet draft horses pulling a single gang disc and a farmer on the other side, with his tractor roaring.
Our 400 did tillage in its early years. By the time I remember, it had turned over those duties. It was still planting, four rows, and picking ear corn, two rows. Those also were given over to bigger tractors. But the trusty old 400 retained all sorts of odd jobs around the farm.
Wrapped around our 400 is a Stanhoist loader with a trip bucket. It looks to be the same vintage. That used to come off when a four-row cultivator went on. Now the loader stays on year-round. It gets called to push and move anything and everything.
The seller of the 400, Art Miller, is several generations back now at Miller Sellner. Grandsons and a great grandson continue. Norb Sellner would have been the first mechanic to work any fixes the 400 needed. Son Dave and grandson Jeff followed him. Granddaughter Tricia is in management and accounting, probably not something you’d have foretold 1956. Jake Trebesch is a young mechanic who has an affection for old equipment and a tolerance for old farmers.
Occasionally you see a repainted tractor from that era in a parade. At times I thought to restore our 400 in that way. I doubt Pam would have thought it a good use of our resources when we didn’t have a lot of money.
Now that we could afford it, I’m not sure I want to see my longtime partner decked out in candy apple red. I suppose I could dye my hair and whiten my teeth, too, but why? The red that our 400 was decades ago is now a venerable rust-red, almost brown. It’s comfortable in its look, as I am in mine.
There are still 400s around. If you look up used ones on the internet, there’s everything from painted up models, to ones that look functional like mine, to some that are being sold for parts. There are 400s in tractor graveyards and, yes, some that have been scrapped for iron.
As I stand watching the flow of corn into the churning auger hopper, I listen to the Farmall 400’s four cylinders chugging away. There is time while the wagon empties. I talk to my mechanical workmate in my head.
Me, “So how long are we going to do this?”
400, “Till the wagon’s empty.”
Me, “No, I mean how long am I going to grow crops and auger them with you?”
400, “What do you mean? That’s what we do.”
Me, “We have done that a long time. But some day I won’t be here.”
400, “But you put gas in my tank. You can’t go anywhere.”
Me, “As long as Miller Sellner has people to work on you, you’ll keep running. Parts for me will get too expensive someday. Maybe you’ll go work on another farm.”
400, “There’s other farms? Do you think I can plow again? I liked plowing.”
Me, “I don’t know about that. We’ve had a pretty good run, though. Maybe there’s tractors in Heaven.”
400, “What’s Heaven?”
Me, “Oh, it’s a place where nothing breaks down, machinery is shedded every night, and the engine oil is always fresh.”
400, “That sounds nice.”