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I was a kid. The situation demanded speed and instinct, both of which I was still developing. I looked up. The tractor towing me had stopped. I hadn’t been paying attention. The towrope was short. I was careening towards the back end of this machine. I knew I had to do something, but in that moment of panic, my instincts misfired and went silent. I was young, after all.

The driver noticed this unfolding tragedy and quickly started moving forward to avoid the collision.

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The rear lugs of the tractor in front of me caught the front end of the small, open-cab tractor I was driving. The driver stopped. My front end was nearly 90 degrees. A few more inches and the tractor would have flipped.

The driver backed up, my tractor slipped off the lugs and bounced to the ground. I stepped off my tractor. He got out of his. And we both took a few deep breaths before recounting how lucky we were.

This particular close call exists as a series of still images in my memory. One such tableaux is the tractor’s instrument panel, clutch and brake. The next captures the inevitability of collision. Then the one of me and the tractor I was driving pointing toward the sky.