Christmas Morning 1968 — His Old Farmall Started in -20° While the New Ones Froze

On Christmas morning in 1968, the thermometer outside Walter Kemper’s kitchen window read a chilling –22°F at 4:47 a.m. Walter stood in his long underwear and wool socks, cradling a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He watched his breath fog the glass, a reminder of the bitter cold that had settled over Trip County, South Dakota. The sky was clear and hard, a stark contrast to the previous three days of relentless blizzard. This was the kind of deep cold that wrapped around you, making the stars seem almost close enough to touch. But Walter wasn’t standing there to admire the beauty of the winter landscape; he was calculating the needs of his farm.

Eighty head of cattle were out there on 480 acres of prairie, and Walter needed to assess whether they had enough hay to survive another day. He also had to check if the tank heaters had managed to keep the water from freezing solid overnight. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on him as he prepared for the harsh conditions outside.

Meanwhile, three miles east, his neighbor Ron Christensen was waking up for entirely different reasons. At 4:15 a.m., Ron’s phone rang, jolting him from sleep. His hired man was calling from the barn, urgently informing him that the automatic waterers had frozen despite the heaters, and several cattle were already showing signs of cold stress. The urgency in the man’s voice made Ron spring into action.

He dressed quickly, knowing that time was of the essence, and rushed to his nearly new 1967 International Harvester 806 diesel tractor, eager to get out to the pastures. However, when he turned the key, the tractor turned over a few times, groaned, and then died. Confused, Ron checked the battery, which was strong, and reassured himself that the fuel was winterized number two diesel. Everything, on paper, should have worked.

But at –22°F, “should have worked” and “did work” were two very different realities. In such extreme cold, diesel fuel begins to gel. The paraffin wax in standard number two diesel starts to crystallize at around 10–20°F, and by –20°F, it thickens into a substance more akin to syrup or jelly. Fuel in this state cannot move through lines or injectors, rendering the tractor useless. Simultaneously, battery capacity drops significantly; a battery that could deliver 200 amps at 70°F might only provide 80–100 amps at –20°F. Even the newer multiweight engine oils of the 1960s become sluggish and resistant in such frigid temperatures.

Back at Walter’s farm, he was well aware of these challenges. He had prepared for the cold, knowing that his old Farmall tractor, while not as flashy as Ron’s newer model, had a reputation for reliability. It had been a workhorse for years, and Walter had taken care of it, ensuring it was winter-ready. He had changed the oil, checked the battery, and filled it with the right fuel for the conditions.

As he stepped outside, the biting cold hit him like a wall. The crunch of snow beneath his boots echoed in the stillness of the morning. He made his way to the barn, where his Farmall sat waiting. With a deep breath, he climbed into the driver’s seat, feeling the familiar contours of the worn leather. He turned the key, and to his relief, the engine roared to life with a satisfying rumble.

Walter couldn’t help but smile. While Ron’s nearly new tractor struggled against the cold, his old Farmall started without hesitation. He felt a sense of pride as he maneuvered the tractor out of the barn, ready to check on his cattle and ensure they were safe from the harsh winter weather.

The journey to the pasture was slow, but the tractor chugged along steadily, its engine purring in the frigid air. As he approached the cattle, Walter felt a wave of relief wash over him. The tank heaters had done their job, and the animals were huddled together, seeking warmth. He surveyed the hay supply, calculating how much they would need to last through the day.

Meanwhile, Ron was still battling with his frozen tractor, frustration mounting as he realized that the cold had rendered his modern machinery useless. He cursed under his breath, wishing he had taken more precautions like Walter had. The contrast between their situations was stark; Ron’s investment in newer technology had not paid off in the face of such extreme weather.

As the sun began to rise, casting a pale light over the snow-covered landscape, Walter felt grateful for his old Farmall. It might not have had the sleek design or advanced features of newer models, but it had something more valuable: reliability. Walter understood that in farming, especially in harsh conditions, dependability was paramount. His old tractor had been a faithful companion through many winters, and today was no exception.

That Christmas morning, while many struggled against the elements, Walter Kemper found solace in the knowledge that sometimes, the old ways are the best ways. In a world increasingly dominated by technology and modern conveniences, his old tractor reminded him of the value of simplicity and preparation. As he tended to his cattle, he knew he could face any challenge that winter threw his way, one reliable start at a time.

Walter’s experience that day became a story he would share with friends and family in the years to come, a testament to the resilience of both man and machine. It highlighted the importance of preparation, the wisdom of experience, and the enduring spirit of those who live and work on the land. In the face of adversity, Walter found strength in tradition, proving that sometimes, the old ways are indeed the best ways to weather the storms of life.