If you’re not out in the fields yet, it will only be a matter of days before you’re bouncing around in that tractor eating dust, drinking Mountain Dew and staring at the endless acres left to plant.

 

You know what I’m going to say, right? Be careful. Slow down. Your life is worth more than a few minutes of saved time that could end up in an accident.

 

I know you’ve heard it before, and most of you think it’s never going to happen to you. I thought the same thing, until it actually happened to us. And we weren’t even in a hurry; it was just a normal spring day on the farm when life stopped and changed directions. By now most of you know the story of April 13, 1999, when our 2-year-old little boy toddled behind the skid steer that my husband was driving, was knocked down, run over and then pulled out from between the tires of the four-ton hunk of metal.

 

After several days in the hospital and two months in a body cast, Jake recovered, learned how to walk again and hasn’t stopped since. While his survival is a huge miracle without logical explanation, it has overshadowed another story that few people know about.

 

It was April 14, the day before our income taxes were due to be filed. Ours were done, but I needed to print them off the computer and mail them in. I was 80 miles from home and there was no way I was leaving my 2-year-old alone to lie in a hospital, hooked up to a breathing machine.

 

While visiting with another family who had a young son in the hospital, we talked about my taxes that needed to be filed and how overwhelmed I felt. The next day was tax day and I was at a loss of what to do. Wishing I didn’t have to deal with the reality, I prayed.

 

In the late afternoon hours of April 15, I was sitting alone in Jake’s room when a man dressed in a suit walked in and asked if I was Melissa.

 

When I said yes, he pulled out a piece  of paper, had me sign it and told me he would put it in the mail that day. It was a form to file with the IRS to extend my filing deadline so I could send my taxes in, when this life-changing event was over and things were back to normal. I had never seen the man before or since, and I don’t remember his name or what accounting firm he represented.

 

I just know that in the shadow of a 30-pound boy being crushed by a four-ton skid steer and surviving, someone else was taking care of the gritty details of life. I will never forget that moment. And that is one more miracle I always celebrate on the anniversary of that horrific event. As you head out this spring, think about your loved ones and what’s at stake. There is no need for a miracle for those who slow down and are careful during planting season.

 

The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of Farm World. Readers with questions or comments for Melissa Hart may write to her in care of

this publication.