The Writers' Circle

She sat across from the house in a large overgrown field, lined with trees.  Her stack was tall, her hull was long.  She was dark with gigantic six foot metal hind wheels and lots of gadgets and gizmos strategically placed on top of her boiler.  She looked like a ghost from a time long past resting in the yellowing grasses of the wheat fields that surrounded her.  She was a Minneapolis 28hp Steam Engine.  
	She was so tall to me, possibly the most massive thing I had ever been around in my seven years complete.  She belonged to Grandpa and we were going to get to ride on her.  I walked around her as Grandpa instructed my dad and older sisters on what to do to get her ready.  They had started early filling her boiler tank with the green hose from the well house.  The next step was to light the fire in her belly and stock as much wood as she could hold into the wood container that Grandpa had fashioned and fitted her with to one side of the standing platform.  As the wood supply dwindled, we girls would inevitably end up in the yellow metallic wood box, peering out above the rim, to make more standing room.
	I stepped into the large back wheel, as I often did on visits, and marveling at the size.  I was just a little taller then half the height.  My father could stand inside the wheel well without problem.  I always envisioned being able to climb its' inside wall while holding onto the axle, a feat that always proved impossible.  The cold metal in the shade of the giant felt good against the summer heat.  I continued to walk down the driver's side of the long boiler.  I could walk under her belly with very little problem, accept for the chains that ran underneath and attached one to each front wheel.  It was a very simple form of steering device.  When one chain pulled tighter than the other, the wheels turned in that direction.  The front wheels were not small, however, and as I was soon to learn, they were not so easily moved.  The height of them was at my chest and they had a metal ridge that ran through the middle along the circumference of the wheel.  It was essentially an early 1900 traction modification.  The front of 'Minnie', as Grandpa called her, was a large metal door that sat under the smoke stack.  Inside that door, as I had seen on occasion, was more metal.  Its purpose was to supply an outlet for the smoke, created at the other end of the long of the long cylindrical body.  The stack towered in the air above me.  Smoke was trickling from the stack, hinting at the drive to come.
	    I walked around the passenger side of Minnie.  Behind the front wheel there was a ladder,  one so tall that I had to sit on the bottom rung and swing my feet up in order to climb on.  There were on two rungs.  The purpose was to make it easier to reach all of the controls on the top of Minnie.  Standing on the top rung, I could touch the cold metal wheel that would have been rotated with the steam power during a harvest.  The farmer would have connected a large belt to it, and then to the machine they were using.  The rotation of the drum would have powered other equipment in that fashion.  
	Grandpa was dressed in his blue and white striped conductor overalls.  It was accented with the perfect conductor hat in the same pattern.  He had tied a red bandana around his neck.  The most important part of the entire day was the special gift that I was given.  It was an outfit that matched Grandpa's.  I was his co-captain for the day.  Clad in my small blue and white striped, second in command outfit, I was ready to boss my older sisters around as we drove Minnie from the yard.
	Grandpa kept testing the whistle while we waited.  What started out as a faint trill finally grew to a loud blast as the pressure in the boiler built pressure.
	"Almost time," Grandpa smiled.
	At the prompting of the whistle, Grandma, Mom and any one else in the house that were not fortunate enough to make this trip, came out to watch Minnie off.
	Grandpa walked around Minnie, checking last-minute items, then hopped up to the drivers spot in front of the steering wheel.  He looked at us to make sure we were all accounted for.  Dad, Kari, Tammi and myself, then he winked and started moving controls.  
	Minnie gave a snort and a hiss as her big wheel started to spin behind the smoke stack.  Grandpa pulled another lever and the wheel stopped spinning.  He was methodically making sure Minnie was fully functional before we moved her.  
	"Ready?"  He said with a smile.
	We girls cheered our approval.
	Grandpa squeezed the trigger and eased her into gear.  Minnie pitched forward, jumping to life after a year of sitting.  
	I found out I was standing to close to Grandpa as he grabbed the knob on the wheel and spun it quickly in a clockwise circle to turn the front wheels.  The steering wheel was a foot in diameter and required a lot of back work to turn her quick.  Grandpa's elbow bumped me in the head.  
	"Watch out," Grandpa said, concern in his eyes.  He was unable to stop spinning the wheel, or Minnie would crash into the well house.
	Dad grabbed me and tucked me into his arms to help me give Grandpa room.
	The ninety degree turn was wide and slow.  The tall grass crushed into the ground beneath her weight.  I looked behind at the mangled plants that were claimed by her massive wheel tread.
	The next thing I knew, Minnie was on the old dirt road, and I was waving excitedly to everyone left in the driveway.
	Grandpa and Grandma's house existed as a monument to all grand things in my childhood.  It rested on a hill, nested in its' own little valley, at the very end of an old country road in Viola, Idaho.  As Minnie descended the slight hill, the pull on the steam power lessened.
	I wanted to hear the whistle as many times as possible.  After pestering my 
Grandpa, he finally blew it ten different times.  The last time he said, "Your Grandma gets a headache from the whistle.  How about you blow it one more time?" He did not need to hint any more.  I reached for him so he could hold me up to allow me to reach the rope that blew the tinny sounding whistle.
	Then Grandpa let me drive.  I stood on a metal box, barely big enough for me.  Even with the assistance in elevation, I could not see over the boiler.  Grandpa instructed me to watch in front of the huge wheel spinning slowly on my right, to the smaller front wheel and keep her away from the ditch.  This was a feet much harder than it looked.  When the wash-boarded road slid beneath the front wheels, it jarred the steering wheel.  With each bump the wheel turned a little more to the right.  With all of my might, I tried to turn her back to the left.  In desperation, I brought my legs up and dangled my weight from the knob on the steering wheel.  It still would not budge.
	Grandpa finally took the wheel then and told me he would get it straightened out.  That was the end of my turn.  The rest of the journey was tranquil.  We were all enjoying the special time we were having on Minnie.  We did not talk with each other much on the mile long journey.  We passed only one house, my grandparents' only neighbor.
	I was extremely content watching dirt and rocks drop from the traction of the wheels, seeing sweat dripping from Grandpa's brow and being dressed just like him, because he was my 'buddy'.
	That was the last trip we were able to take on Minnie.  Soon after, her boiler cracked.  Grandpa had wanted to fix her, but passed away before he had the chance.  He left some great memories and wonderful functioning miniature replicas of Minnie that he had made.