A close call on the farm ~ March 18, 1993

David Heiller

This week’s Askov American includes our 1993 Ag Edition. We publish it every spring to coincide with National Ag Day, which is the first day of spring. This year’s Ag Edtion contains stories about accidents that local farmers have experienced.

I started collecting the stories last year, after a North Dakota teenager had both arms torn off by an auger. He made national news because of his courage in making his way into his home and telephoning for help by holding a pencil between his teeth. His arms were re-attached, and he now has limited use of them. He is at-tending college. Life is a struggle, but at least he has life.

No local farmer had farm accidents that severe, but some were potentially as bad or worse. They were “close calls.” Almost every farmer that I talked to had an accident story to tell. They didn’t have to think about it very long either. It’s a dangerous profession.

One exception was Palmer Dahl, 83, Moose Lake. He farmed for most of his life in the Denham area. Palmer couldn’t remember any serious accident or near-accident. But he recalled a dangerous situation once, when he was hauling firewood.

He had to go up a steep bank before he could get on the road to home. So he unhitched the wagon, and drove the tractor onto the road. He used a chain to pull the load of wood onto the road. Then he reattached the wagon to the tractor, and continued home.

Palmer anticipated the accident, and thus perhaps prevented it from happening. He added that tractors and their power take-offs are the cause of many farm accidents. The stories in this week’s Ag Edition bear him out, as do state and national statistics.

David LOVED his tractor!

From April, 1991, to July, 1992, 11 Minnesota children have died in farm acidents. Five of them have been killed while riding on tractors when they fell off and were run over. Tractor overturns are also a common cause of farm fatalities.

A personal experience

Even I have a farm accident story to tell. I was raised in town, but spent a few summers “working” for my uncle Donny. Mostly I just got in the way and watched Donny and my brother Glenn work. But I can still remember my close call vividly.

It happened while we were raking hay. I was about eight. Glenn was driving the tractor. He was about 17. I was sitting on one fender, and my brother Danny, three years older than me, was on the other. Looking back, I can see what a dangerous spot that was to be sitting, especially with a hay rake 10 feet behind.

The hay rake was one of those old-fashioned kind. It had curved tines about two feet long that moved back and forth like giant pitchforks. It would roll the cut hay into long rows for the baler to bale. The tines were polished silver with use, and looked as clean and sharp as needles.

 "The tines were polished silver with use,
 and looked as clean and sharp as needles."

I almost found out how sharp they were that day. My brother and I started horsing around, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground behind the tractor, with the rake coming toward me.

Even before I hit the ground, I was rolling out of the way. I did it without thinking, and I made it. Glenn never stopped the tractor. He didn’t even know I had fallen, and probably still doesn’t. I never told him. His punishment for fooling around might have been worse than the hay rake.

I did have a few words with my brother. (He will probably deny all this. Look for a letter-to-the-editor in the next few weeks.)

Another close call happened in about 1977. I was driving a tractor and pulling a wagon loaded high with hay, and with three children perched happily on top. We went down a hill and I forgot to downshift. The brakes couldn’t hold the load, and we jolted out of control for about 10 seconds. The kids held on tight, but barely. They could have been thrown from the wagon and run over.

With that happy thought in mind, I hope you enjoy our 1993 Ag Edition.

Editors note: The promised letters to the editor were received, they follow:

‘Hay rake‑schmay rake’

Editor, Askov American:

David “just my imagination” Heiller, I just finished reading your Farm Accident Edition of the Askov American and feel I must respond to your famous Hay Rake Incident (HRI). I’ve heard the HRI story time and time again and I think it’s finally time to tell everyone the whole truth. And now, the rest of the story.

Hay rake, schmay rake. Here’s the way I remember the HRI. It was actually I who was driving the tractor. And you didn’t fall off the back, Glenn threw you off. You were right, you did manage to roll out of the way of the rake. How you did it with your arms tied behind your back and legs bound together is beyond me. I guess the burlap sack tied over your head must have clouded your memory of the famous HRI.

DANIEL “the truth” HEILLER

Cottage Grove, MN

Hay rake incident, version three

Editor, Askov American:

Regarding the two recent versions of the infamous Heiller hay rake incident, neither one of them is the correct version of what actually happened. I know, because I was an eye witness from a distance. As usual, Glenn was the only one doing any actual work. What neither version recalls, is that in addition to pulling the hay rake with the tractor, Glenn was also pulling a hay baler behind the rake, a wagon behind the baler, and a manure spreader behind the wagon. Danny and David were playing tag and David slipped and started to fall. Glenn immediately stepped on the clutch, threw the transmission into neutral, set the handbrake, disengaged the power take-off, cranked the wheel to the left (so the tractor wouldn’t slide into the ditch on the right), threw Danny into the tractor seat, drove to the ground (catching David before he hit the ground), threw him out of the way of the rake tines, and flattened himself against the ground as the rake passed over him. Without pausing to catch his breath he jumped back onto the tractor, shoved the transmission back into gear and resumed his work; but only after tying up the two boys to keep them out of further trouble. He then finished raking, baling, and spreading, and drove the full wagon of hay back to the barn and loaded all the hay bales into the hayloft by hand, by himself. Danny and David were only untied after all the chores were done. It was the last time either of them saw the farm as neither of them were worth a lick when there was work to be done.

You say that boys aged 8 and 11 were too young to work? Why when I was their age I was running a 400 acre farm by myself. Also I was attending school and had to walk five miles to school every day, uphill, both ways.

NELG RELLIEH
Eyewitness
Wayzata, MN

Drive safely, young folks (& not so young) ~ January 13, 2000

David Heiller

We headed home from Winona in Moms 1964 Chevrolet Impala on a late night in March of 1970.

I’ll never forget what happened on that ride.

About seven years after the described event.
(I used to say that David had used eight of his nine lives.
I was only kidding, honest.)

Α wrestling tournament had just ended, and my school, Caledonia had won, like we always did, although I hadn’t won, which also wasn’t unheard of either. But the season was over for me, and at that point in my life, it was kind of like World War II had ended. I felt relieved and happy and free.

And proud, because I was driving and Mom had trusted me with the car and with transporting three friends.

Then I hit a patch of ice, and all of my power and confidence changed in an instant.

Ι still can remember the exact spot. I think about it every time I pass it. It was on the exit ramp from Interstate 90 to Highway 61, just north of La Crescent. That’s where the sheet of black ice laid waiting like a thug. I hit it going way too fast, and instantly lost control of the car.

We careened sideways down the ramp. Α light pole flashed by. We missed its concrete base by inches. The car straightened out then spun the other direction. We hit the yellow meridian and banged over it onto the oncoming lane of traffic, then shot toward a steep embankment, at the bottom of which lay railroad tracks and the Mississippi River.

Inside the car we all screamed as we bounced around, off the seats and roof and each other. Of course none of us had seat belts on. Who wore seatbelts in 1970?

I saw my death. I know the others did too. I remember thinking, “I’m going to get everyone killed,” and I was ashamed and sad.

All this happened in a matter of seconds, although it seemed like time had stood still.

Then somehow I turned the car from the embankment and slowed down. I think all that time my foot was on the gas pedal and not the brakes! I headed straight down the highway the wrong direction. It’s a busy stretch of road, but thankfully that late night, no cars were coming. I hit the meridian again, bounced over it, and landed in the correct lane. I pulled over. We all knew that one of our nine lives had just died.

Α car pulled up behind us. Two high school acquaintances got out and asked if we were OK. They looked like they had just witnessed a miracle, a miracle in bad driving and in survival.

I said we were OK. I drove home in a very quiet car.

I didn’t say anything to Mom that night. I thought, “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” But as we were getting in the car to go to church the next morning, she asked, “What’s wrong with the tire?” The left rear rim had a big dent in it, and the rubber wore a coat of yellow Paint. “Did you have an accident last night?”

I confessed then, although Ι left out the screaming and crying.

My uncle Joe pounded out the rim later that day. He was amazed it hadn’t gone flat.

If you are past the age of, say, 25, chances are you have a similar story.

Driving a car in the winter is dangerous, especially for a young, inexperienced person like that 16-year-old boy in 1970.

If you are lucky, you will escape with a hair-raising memory and a lesson learned. You might get a bump and a bruise. You might pay for an auto body bill. You might get a lecture from your Mom or Dad. You might take some joshing from Al Seibert when he pulls you out of the ditch. That’s if you are lucky.

If you aren’t, you will end up with people giving glowing tributes about what a great person you were, although you won’t get to hear any of it. Or you will end up with a permanent injury, physical, mental, or both.

I’m stating the obvious, and all three young people who read my column will probably ignore this advice, but I’ll say it anyway, for the record; be careful driving in the winter. Don’t be overconfident. Don’t go fast. Watch for the cars that coming your way. Wear your seat belt. Slow down.

You might try driving on an empty parking lot that is icy, or on a lake. Practice going into a skid, and then correcting it. You actually come out of a skid by steering into it. It’s hard to get used to, but that’s how it’s done. It should help when you start to skid on a highway. (And remember to take your foot off the gas!) All of the above advice applies to us old fogies too.