The Toro

After twelve years of working from sun up to sun down on blazing summer days, drenching rain and countless snowstorms, Toro was allowed to retire.

When I as eight, Wilbur, a farm hand, sat me behind the wheel of Toro for the first time. The seat had disintegrated over the years of people climbing on and off. A piece of thin wood had been duct taped in place to cover the hole, but even it looked like it would need replacing soon. My Spanish wasn’t what it is today, but Wilbur understood instinctively how much I loved Toro. It felt like an honor to sit in the driver’s seat. As I rode my horse, I would watch his four wheels spin tirelessly, as if he knew how much everyone depended on his power. Even if he was out of sight, I would still be able to hear the rumble of his engine in the far distance. On Saturday evenings, after I put my horse back in the pasture, I would listen for a moment, and then run towards the familiar sound. Wilbur would allow me climb on Toro’s back and let me throw hay bales into the pasture as he navigated over the bumpy terrain. When all the hay was gone, Wilbur would look back at me and smile, which meant I needed to hold on tight while he took Toro to top speed all the way back to the barn. We would both laugh. I don’t know why, but I think Toro liked it as much as we did.

When I was eleven, I drove Toro for the first time. As I turned the key and Toro growled to life, I felt like there was no job we couldn’t handle. At first I drove him slowly, getting used to how he turned and stopped. Within a few minutes, I felt like we understood each other well enough to ride into the pastures and feed the horses without Wilbur.

When I turned twelve, my horse died and we buried him on the far side of the farm. Toro would take me on the long ride to visit the grave. The comforting sound of his engine made the trip a little easier.

Last year Toro started to cough and spew smoke. He was getting tired and old. Farm hands and mechanics worked on him each morning coaxing him back to life, but on a cold rainy day, Toro wouldn’t even sputter. It was time for him to retire to the big barn. We pushed him to the top of the hill, and parked him where the sun would shine the brightest. He will stay there, probably forever, resting with his other old friends, watching over the farm.