It arrived one summer evening in 1966 when neighbour Pete Johnson opened the big brown box in our driveway. Mr. Johnson worked for International Harvester farm equipment and brought a miniature tractor you pedalled. As a 7-year-old I was in heaven and rode it around the neighbourhood until I outgrew it. We kept in in the family and, in 2005, our oldest grandson Nicholas rode it.
Then, Monday afternoon second oldest grandson Christopher — don’t you love the farmer’s hat? — climbed into the driver’s seat.