The Combine is on Fire!

     “Mom, the combine is on fire! ”  Not exactly what my Mom was expecting to hear as I burst into the kitchen, but my next line made her drop her toast she was eating for breakfast, “Dad’s trying to drive it out to the road so it will be easier for the fire department to find”.

Now this was in the days before 911, so she had to call the fire line, she got an answer pretty quick, but it took a while to give them directions since he was pretty far off the road and out of sight because of trees and hills. Once they said they were on their way, I started out the door, headed back to the field to try and direct the fire trucks in, but Mom reminded me I didn’t have my license yet so I needed to wait on her to get dressed and we would head out together. I heard the fire siren go off (we only lived a mile “as the crow flies” from Williamsburg where the fire department was) in the eternity it seemed to take her to get dressed, and as we were getting in the pick up to head to the field, the first fire truck went by light and siren. As we were headed down the lane, I looked to the east and I think my heart skipped a beat at the sight of how much jet black smoke was coming up over the trees! I’m sure Mom had already seen it as well. We were passed by a second fire truck on our way out, and with the thick column of black smoke as a guide, the firefighters had no trouble finding the hidden narrow lane back to the field.

That November Sunday started out normal, other than the fact is was bitter cold. We had fed and watered the livestock like normal before we drove out to the field in the pick up. The sun was bright that morning, the sky clear as a bell! There wasn’t a breath of air moving as we pulled up along side the combine, the corn stood silent in the cold air and was covered in a thick frost still, but it would burn off soon. It looked like it was going to be a picture perfect day for shelling corn! Dad climbed up to try and start the old Massey Ferguson 300 so it could warm up while we greased and looked it over, but the starter that had been giving us trouble all harvest refused to crank over. Not to be deterred, Dad grabbed a screwdriver and we both climbed up the corn head. Dad climbed on up and opened the engine compartment door and dropped down beside the engine while I peered down inside to watch. What happened next is forever burned into my brain, as Dad crossed the terminals on the solenoid, the sparks he made caused the dust on the engine to ignite like someone dropping a match on a puddle of gas! I slid down to the corn head as Dad climbed out of the engine compartment. He stood on top of the combine for a moment, looking at the fire, and as it intensified, he slammed the door shut and slid down to join me on the ground. As we stood there hoping it would burn itself out, trying to figure out what to do next since we had no fire extinguisher, the fire burned through some wire somewhere and the starter started turning over! Miraculously the ol girl actually fired up on her own! That’s when Dad made the decision to try and get the combine closer to the road, and away from the standing corn. He told me to take the pick up to the house to call the fire department, but to go through the center and west field instead of going the way we came in since it was less road time for my 13 year old self and then he climbed in and headed for the road. By this time the smoke was really coming from the engine compartment and it was hard to see the cab as I floored the pick up on my way to the house. Dad made it almost half way to the road before he figures the fire must have burned through the fuel line and she died for the last time. The fire really intensified when it died which is why he came to that conclusion. He spent most of his time steering from the platform since the heat and smoke were to much to take inside the cab. The engine on the older Massey’s sat right against the cab for those unfamiliar with Massey Ferguson combines. By the time Mom and I made it back to the combine, the fire department had water flowing and it didn’t take them long to knock it out. I’ll never forget the smell that hung in the air after the fire department left, I’ll forever connect it with the death of a combine!

We had to go back to the house through the center and west fields after everything settled down so we could look for the contents of Dad’s truck bed. I had hit a pretty hard bump as I sped to the house, and the tail gate had come off and I spread tools and parts for quite a ways and didn’t even know it! Talk about putting the cherry on Dad’s day! We never did find all his hand tools.

It took a few weeks, but the insurance finally came through with a check, and Dad was able to find a Massey Ferguson 510 to replace the 300 and the rest of harvest went off without a hitch. The 300 sat where she died for a couple of months till we finally towed her back to the house. Our parts guy/mechanic finally bought her from the insurance for parts. She sat outside his shop for a few years till he finally got all he could off of her and she went for scrap.

For years my Mom used that day as an example of why you should never work on Sunday!
🙂

The red dot is where the combine was when the fire started, the blue dot where she died, and of course the yellow dots his path he took. The dark green strip running diagonally through the field is a county ditch/water way only that could only be crossed where he did.

Looks ok from this angle sitting in the barnyard.