The Steam Engine … A Portrait of Her Beauty!

You will be admired, fondled, and considered by throngs
throughout this weekend.

You will be intimately patted, and proudly and tenderly referred
to as ‘She’. They will parade your massive black beauty and
display you in all your steaming glory, as you perform that
snorting, smoking, belching service that only you can deliver in
your inimitable style. Hulling, pulling, shredding, threshing and
sawing, you’ll captivate your audience with your provocative
demonstration of seething power, still to thrill another
generation.

The heat and stench from your boiler will not affend or
discourage your admirers. On the contrary, your smoke, and screams
that pierce the air and ear will command even more respect, as men
stand in silent and mysterious awe of you.

You are cherished, treasured and coveted by a growing number of
steam devotees, and your place and importance in history is secure
and respected.

You massive, hulking creature of iron and steel, what is this
spell you weave? What is this romance that causes men to set aside
their work, wife, family, and leisure to restore, maintain and
possess you?

As you moved across the land, years ago, from farm to farm, your
earth shaking rumble sent small children and animals in search of
cover. A very brave little lad might hide behind his father’s
pantleg in curiosity and fear as your approach broke the pastoral
peace of his childhood.

Not that your visit wasn’t welcome, and looked forward to,
as it surely was. Whether your presence was to saw lumber for a new
barn or house, or for power in harvesting crops, you were always
welcome.

Your distant signal of approach warned the women of the house,
and preparations were underway in the kitchen for the arrival of
perhaps a hungry horde of threshers.

You played an important role in rural midwestern life, both
economically and even socially. You were part of that time when
farmers were bound together by their common needs, and dependent on
each other. But, your role in rural life at harvest time did carry
a certain social aspect, too. Many a romance began with a piece of
pie served by the young lady of the house to the shy and enamored
son of a neighboring farmer.

You roved across the land and you conquered. Your proud
ownership was often shared by a community of farmers, but your
personal care, operation and quirks were looked after by one man.
You rivaled and eventually displaced that long depended upon and
faithful team of draft horses. In time, in most instances, you made
peace and those powerful horses worked along side of you, and their
fear and terror of you subsided.

There you stand today to remind us ‘from whence we
came’. You are able to make men stop, forgetting for a moment,
the ultimate in modern labor saving equipment, as they talk and
stroke you affectionately. And, for one hot dusty weekend in
August, you reduce them to almost the level of a child with a
favorite toy, in their complete delight with all that steam age
powered machinery.

I believe I understand why they call you ‘She’.