A year ago I bought a 1957 Ford 641 Workmaster that I didn’t need and now can’t live without. After a few days of exploratory maintenance and minor upgrades, including all four fluids changed, the old four cylinder Red Tiger breathed confidently with newfound glory. It’s now steady heartbeat indicated it’s happiness to be free of it previously neglectful owner. Chained up, the 5’500 pound leviathan twitched giant old pine stems off my land in the early winter months. A Kings pine couldn’t slow it down.

Come late January however, a reconstructive ankle surgery slowed me down to a near stop. Going from working 12 hour days in the woods and around the house, to sitting day and night with my left leg in a cast proved far harder than I had imagined and my mental state began tumbling towards madness. Over active to deeply sedentary in a morning.

Prior to my procedure, I’d rigged up a jenky quick attach snowplow, which I could chain onto the Farmi winch still mounted to the three point hitch. After a couple hiccups, I was surprised by how well it worked, despite my fly-by-night engineering.

Two days after surgery, western Maine got muffled by two plus feet of light, bright snow. Contra-logically, I wrapped the cast in a black trash bag and crutched out to the new pole barn where the red Ford ox slumbered. The upgraded 12-volt system fired instantly despite of the shattering cold. After 15 minutes of warm up, the hydraulic fluid reached a viable viscosity and the Franken-plow was able to lift.

I awkwardly clambered up onto the seat and assessed my options of operation. By manipulating the clutch with my right foot and operating the brakes and steering with my right hand, I gained back a modicum of mobility and use, which I so desired. I must have looked like a flannel clad newborn moose.

My plow rig held up to the deep snow, and the powerful tractor with loaded tires and chains showed no hesitation while pushing back banks. I also own a 1946 2N and acquired a Dearborn angle plow, which I had used for years. But with less than half the horses and unloaded tires, the big storms posed quite a challenge. Plowing off the front was nice though.

So confident in the 641’s ability in deep snow, I began making passes down into my woodlot and fields. I would chug deep into the forest and kill the engine and listen to the ticking of the block as it cooled, the gathering herd of curious chickadees, and the random whump of snow sloughing of hemlock branches.

On one occasion I barreled into a drift that was just a little deep to cross and floated the frame, halting forward progress. It was a little touch and go for a moment, but reverse and elevated RPM dug the chains down into the sod and some serious traction. Worse case, I’d have had to swim and crutch the three eights inch logging cable over to a tree and pull myself out with the wiley winch. Of the myriad uses for this tractor I am delighted to report one more: a 49 horse wheelchair.