Flash Drives and Parts Runs

My Generation

Three times in and out of the house for a computer update or three times to town for the wrong part?

Published on: April 29, 2013

Time was, when you had a breakdown in the field, somebody made a parts run. Like the time when I was a teenager and Dad sent me to town for a part, and I wound up back at McLean Implement three times because I came home with the wrong thing. But I learned the difference between male and female couplers. And that you really can't just guess.

This morning, my husband went out to spray. First decent day back in the field in weeks. He ran in at lunch and chased me away from the computer so he could plug in a flash drive and download an update.

"Say a prayer that this works," he said, and ran back out.

Within the next 15 minutes, he'd been back in and out of the house three times, each time trying for another update. Or something. I actually don't know the details of the exact problem because at that point, he really wasn't up for questioning. (I have learned that the hard way.) I did hear something about not setting the perimeter of the field, and noted the backdoor slammed a little harder each time he went through it.

For sure, these are the days of the high-tech fix. Long ago, I wrote about pulling a memory card out of my camera bag and handing it to my husband to fix a mapping problem. Who needs a wrench when you've got a camera bag? I felt like a total boss. Neff Company should hire me (not really).

But today, I had nothing for him, short of figuring out when to not pepper him with questions. Oh, technology. Still better than driving to town three times, but no less frustrating. Especially when there's a single percent of the corn in the ground in Illinois, and it sure isn't on our farm.

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  1. Tonia says:

    My mom always complains that when my dad (and now my brothers) do a home improvement project, they spend more time driving back and forth to Menards than they do working. I feel your pain.

    • Holly Spangler says:

      It's like you somehow knew there's a stack of stuff in our garage to be returned to Menards...! So very true!