Word: tractored
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...thing about the Midwest is that it’s a farm culture, and the farmers know that if their crops are destroyed by drought or locust or freezing, they can’t sit on their porch and cry about it. They have to get back on the tractor and plow the field. And it’s that kind of sensibility that I admire, and that’s Evelyn Ryan’s sensibility. Some people call it denial. I call it Midwest...
...mile drive from Houston-from running each other over. "It's a little bit weird, because there's probably someone sitting in a house out there, and we're sleeping in a parking lot," says Marcus Chapman, 30, a Westerville, Ohio, firefighter, his head resting on a John Deere tractor pillowcase given him by his wife. But the USAR teams are from everywhere but here, and they can't guess who needs help in rural Louisiana. So unless they're tasked to tackle an specific, known emergency, a team will wait for orders in the morning-when, by daylight, they...
...gets his check. The only real snag was that after the dealership had come up with the idea of filling each trailer with donations of food and clothing, FEMA informed Unger that rules stipulated that each trailer had to arrive empty. Instead, Unger is sending the supplies down by tractor trailers to church groups doing relief work in the area...
...Deng and many other political moderates, the Cultural Revolution was a nightmare. With his wife Zhuo Lin, Deng was exiled to southern Jiangxi province, where he was forced to perform manual labor in a tractor factory and wait on tables in a mess hall. Members of Deng's family were also punished for his political sins. His younger brother Deng Shuping, a city official in Guiyang, was hounded mercilessly by self-appointed Red Guard officials and in despair committed suicide in 1967. His elder son Deng Pufang, a 22-year-old student at Peking University, was crippled for life when...
Otherwise, they brood. Into their study every morning parade the armies of the news. A knock on the door, and there stands Heseltine resigning from Mrs. Thatcher's Cabinet, Marcos on the stump, Gaddafi playing cowboy on his tractor, mummied to the nose. Come in, boys. The columnist will make sense of all this somehow. After the reporters and the editors have dumped the facts on the doorstep, the columnist, like a jigsaw addict, scoops up the pieces, studies the angles, mulls, clears his throat and says, with as much self-assurance as possible: This piece goes here, and this...