Liz Warren | Storyteller

“Smell that?  You smell that? Nothing in the world smells like that.”

I love the smell of diesel fuel in the morning.

In 1958 my dad bought two 560 International Diesel tractors.  Neighbors and farmers from the surrounding areas came over to see them. They were the new things to farming.  Nobody at that time had diesel engines in a tractor. They were big, bright, red and white.  The most vivid memories are starting them up on cold mornings in the fall.  We would roll open the large track doors on the tractor shed. They make a sound like bolts being poured into an empty bucket as the white exhaust erupts out of the pipes and fill the building and rolled out the doors.  We would stand outside in the cold air waiting for the fumes to clear out and the engines to warm up before going back in to bring the tractors out. 

Whenever I smell diesel fuel, it puts me right back on the farm, standing on the sunny side of the shed in the cold crisp air.

“Smell that? You smell that? Nothing in the world smells like that.”