I started to operate a "bush" or "brush hog" (Central Texas Bohemians call it a "shredder") as soon as my legs got long enough to allow me to fully depress the clutch on our John Deere MT without bumping the power lift controls; say, age eleven. I guess the worst thing that ever happened was when I was shredding our little fifty-acre home place near Cypress, Texas (long since paved over and lost in a sea of urbanization). I was working over one little overgrown pasture that was isolated in a clump of trees. Unknowingly, I passed over a ground bee nest, hidden in the dewberry vines. Then, I drove around the pasture and came back over it a SECOND time. They were waiting for me. I killed the tractor as soon as I recovered from the first shock; but I was unable to wait for it to come to a stop, so I jumped off SIDEWAYS and ran off as quick as I could. Before I could get away, they stung me eleven times IIRC; I do remember having seven stings on the head or face. If you've ever driven a two-cylinder Deere, you know that big old flywheel will drive the tractor some distance with the ignition off, even with a shredder hooked up and the PTO in gear (come to think of it, the shredder blade and heavy gearing on that tough old Rotocycle probably added MORE momentum). This is especially true if the motor has some wear, which the motor on the Deere certainly did (it had spent its first twenty years as the only tractor on a 90 acre cotton farm on a bluff overlooking Rosebud, Texas). This, coupled with the delay shutting off the ignition resulting from my surprise, meant that when Dad went back to get the tractor, it was a good thirty feet away from the nest and the ground bees were ignoring it again. So, Dad didn't get stung once. Nic! Yes, I finished shredding the next day. With one eye swollen shut.
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