Tag Archives: tractors

My Folks # 18 – 29th St #2 – Filling Room

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Nothing about building our new home south of State Street remains in my memory, but then I was one year old at the time. I presume most of those days and evenings were spent with my mother at our tiny home on 30th Street north of State Street while dad spent evenings and weekends five blocks to the south, turning half of Mr. Quirbridge’s farm into gravel and lawn. 

The block slanted from the northeast to the southwest. A level pad had to be created before construction of a combination machine shop and living space could begin. 

On the north half of the building, this pad left the three large doors of the machine shop essentially level with the gravel lot. The southern half of the building extended onto a two-foot berm that leveled the slopping ground. This berm was soon covered by lawn where we toddlers spent hours rolling down this gentle slope.

If only my folks were still with us so I could ask, but I think scratching the northern quarter of the block into gravel for renting trailers and leveling a pad for an extended building would have been when my parents thought it prudent to invest in a Ford N Series tractor. They soon found the requests to rent the full-sized tractor were as insistent as those looking for trailers. 

By as early as I remember we were watching two Ford N Series tractors driving away in the hands of strangers. Some helped with the large gardens people were still maintaining. Some were turning those gardens and Boise’s surrounding hills into home sites.

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My Folks #10: It’s A Gas #2 – A Modern Gas Pump

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Since we rented tractors by the gallons of gas the customer used my dad decided he needed an actual gas pump to do the measuring. This was when I was six or so and I have no idea how gasoline was measured before dad found a used pump and went about installing it. 

Acquiring the pump and getting it installed happened when my mother took my two sisters and I to see Aunt Carol in her new place on a farm outside of Hillsboro, Oregon. Being 1953, US Highway 30 was a miracle of modern Federal construction — two full lanes wide, paved, with no railroad crossings, and the same signage from coast to coast to guide our way. Yes, there were local speed limits through every town and lines of cars behind every truck struggling to grind its way to the top of every hill. But sometimes the highway was even three-lanes wide so cars could pass trucks on steep grades!

When we got home from Aunt Carol’s I was shocked to find a modern gas pump sitting at the end of our house. It was modern in that it ran on electricity, showed gallons pumped, the price, and it had a little twirly thing in a bulb full of gas so you knew gas was flowing to twirl the twirly.

I had no concept that you could have your own gas pump at your house. Even the idea was cool! 

During our absence dad found the used pump, installed it and ran underground pipes to two above-ground tanks he had installed some twenty feet to the north.

I got real good at using that pump. First to measure how much gas our customers used (for renting tractors we charged $5 for the first gallon, $4 for the second and $3 for all after.) Later I took it for granted to keep my parent’s cars topped off before heading out on teenage adventures. 

Now, six decades after returning from visiting Aunt Carol and finding a modern gas pump attached to our house, one thing still dangles in my heart about that day — scratched into the concrete anchoring the pump, was the date dad had built the pump’s foundation. And the word, “Alone.”