Revisiting a Near-Death Experience

What happened? Why me? You ask yourself these questions after a near-death experience. I jumped from a burning tractor. My mind won’t forget it.

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In a different version of cosmos, this post wouldn’t happen.

I grew up on a farm in rural Wisconsin but have lived in Chicago for the last 10 years. During the planting and harvest seasons, I love going back up to help my family.

For me, it’s an escape. No people. No congestion. It’s just me and the open fields. I put my earbuds in and listen to podcasts for 12 straight hours. What I do depends on the season—and whatever my dad needs me to do. I could be hauling wagons, combining soybeans or wheat, or planting (I twiddle my thumbs when my dad asks me if I want to plant. I’m worried about straight rows. Though, he told me he got compliments on the last time). Most of the time, I work up the soil to make it softer, mix up the nutrients, and take out weeds. We do it before planting.

Fewer and fewer family farms exist where I’m from. Now, American agriculture is mainly produced by farms with thousands of acres—a far cry from the type of farming we do. Most of our equipment is beat up and decades old.

About seven years ago, we got a 1988 John Deere 8560 to work up the land instead of using our John Deere 4960 (I love that tractor). It was a big deal for me. The 8560 had duals all around. It was monstrous. Working the soil was way easier.

This last spring was so wet that we couldn’t start planting till late May. We were behind schedule. I worked up the fields, and my dad planted the soybeans.

 

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The Accident

May 29th was like any other day. That’s usually how every near-death retelling begins, right?

I finished a field in the morning, refueled for the afternoon, and completed a section of another field. And then it happened.

POP!

Smoke shot up in front of me. No exaggeration. It wasn’t smoldering. It erupted.

Adrenaline shot through my body.

To avoid the tree line ahead, I hit the brake and turned my head downward to shift into neutral. When I looked up, huge flames were against the cab window.

At that moment, I thought this is it. My only instinct was to jump out.

I opened the door with flames right outside it. I knew I’d get burned. I didn’t flinch. I dove out and felt heat on my right arm.

It was a six-foot jump. I don’t remember landing—or how I landed. It was a blur. All of a sudden, I was on lying in the dirt. I didn’t feel any physical pain. It was like I woke up. My instincts had made the decisions but, now, I could think and decide what to do next. I looked around and almost found it hilarious that my iPhone was still in my pocket and the earbuds were still in my ears. The NPR Politics episode discussing the U.S. imposing trade tariffs on China was still playing!

I called my dad, who was in the field behind me. But before that, what did I do? Took a photo of the burning tractor. Am I a Millennial or what?

“Dad! The tractor’s on fire!” I yelled in an urgent voice, pacing in the field.

“There’s a fire extinguisher—”

“No! Literally, the tractor is on fire! I just jumped from the cab! I’m looking at it right now. The whole cab is engulfed in flames!”

The glass cab shattered. Blueish-green pieces collapsed like a demolished building.

My dad could see the black smoke from afar. “Okay! I’ll call the fire department,” he cried. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

I spent the next few minutes marching aimlessly in the field. My body carried me while I thought about what to do next. My arm was red and hot, but I could tolerate it. The foul odor of burnt arm hair lingered.

My levelheadedness surprised me. Solving the problem was my main focus. I knew how far behind we already were in the season. What are our next steps? What kind of insurance do we have on it? Are we going to have to borrow neighbors’ equipment? They’re as behind as we are. The ground is too hard. Are we going to have to unhook the planter from the 4960 to prep the field? That would set us back even farther.

It just so happened that the accident occurred in the best possible spot, in the best possible field. The burning tractor sat right by the road, in a field two miles from the town’s fire department. Of all the land we rented, it was the best field for the accident.

A firetruck and a couple SUVs pulled up on the side of the road. They immediately ran a hose to the burning tractor. Their eagerness struck me. They seemed too excited. Must’ve been awhile since their last big fire. A large man approached me and asked if I drove the tractor.

I explained what happened and, in the meantime, someone fetched a bottle of cold water for me. I chugged it and asked for another to put on my arm.

My dad came and saw I was with the fire department. He walked right up to the tractor, and I thought what are you doing? His face was ghastly and a frown replaced his usual smile. It was real.

My mom showed up. My little brother followed behind her. She cried and hugged me.

“You could have died!” she sniveled. I didn’t say anything. The event still hadn’t hit me other than the initial moment.

The fire department put out the flames. After 45 minutes on fire, the engine was still running. Nothing Runs like a Deere.

It turned out an oil line blew and hot oil hit the exhaust pipe and the firewall (apparently they don’t stop fires). The chances of that happening are extremely low—like one in a million low. I emailed John Deere about the exact odds, but they haven’t gotten back to me yet.

So then why did it happen to me? That’s what I want to know.

Four Coincidences I Can’t Stop Thinking About

I’m not a “everything happens for a reason” kind of guy. I feel it reduces personal initiative and self-determination. I want to believe that what happens to me, good or bad, is a result of the decisions I make. But I don’t know. When I think back to the accident, I notice four particular coincidences.

1. My dad or anyone else could’ve been in the tractor, but it was me. I’m young enough to jump from a burning tractor and absorb the fall.
2. The accident happened in the best possible section of the best possible field we rent. The fire department had no trouble extinguishing the flames.
3. My mom drove me home afterwards. A Beatles song was the first thing that played on the radio. They’re my favorite.
4. I walked away with hardly a scratch. I have some scars on my arm, but they’re barely noticeable. If I had waited any longer, I doubt that’d be the case.

I don’t know. It’s hard for me not to think about these four things. It’s hard not to take it as a sign of some sort.

At that particular time in my life, I was going through revisions with Homeless but Human. I was putting more effort toward my life. I felt like I spent most of my twenties scared. I wasn’t happy where I was but tried to work at it. Then this happened. It’s like a fire was literally lit under me.

The moment I looked up and flames were by the cab is hard for me to explain to others. My heart dropped. I thought I would die—in a tractor fire. It was the most terrifying moment of my life. If you’ve had a near-death experience before, you know what I mean.

I know this is cliché, but you notice what’s most important to you. You realize how superficial things can be. You relax because what’s stressing you doesn’t matter.

We’ve all been blessed with the gift of life. We can do whatever we want with it. But maybe we let our fears prevent us from living life. Don’t let others stop you from living your best, happiest life.

I want to live the richest life I can. I want to explore the world around me and try to understand my place in it. I want to challenge my perspective and push my boundaries.

I’m choosing Living over Existing.

 

Have you had any experiences like this? What was that like for you? How did you interpret it? How do you live differently because of it? If you haven’t, what’s worked for you to live a richer, meaningful life?