By mid-September, the hemorrhaging of cash had subsided, there had been no significant unexpected expenses, and all of my projects had come in under budget. I was feeling pretty good about my situation, but I was increasingly frustrated by the clunkiness of zig-zagging around the farm with wheelbarrows or full arms to complete daily tasks. So, I reached out to the local John Deere dealer to request pricing for utility vehicles.
My requirements were pretty straightforward: I needed a 1,000 pound bed capacity (as opposed to the standard 500 pounds), a power lift cargo bed (as opposed to manual lift), and a roof. I also mentioned that, while not a dealbreaker, it would be great for the machine to have the capacity to mount a plow so that I could add one in a few years.
I went back and forth with the salesperson and came to a pretty disappointing conclusion: it was going to cost about $20,000 for a gator with my basic requirements, zero bells or whistles, and no capacity to ever mount a plow.
Still, though, this would be a game-changer for my daily tasks. Hauling water to the fruit trees, cleaning the horse’s paddock, hauling compost to the garden, bringing in firewood from the wooded edges of the property… the list of tasks made easier by this investment would be endless.
After just a few days of mulling over the possibilities, I learned that my wood stove would likely need to be replaced in addition to some chimney liner upgrades and a chimney cap – a project that would ultimately cost close to $10,000. In light of this news, I decided to invest in the more pressing wood stove situation and shifted the expense of the gator the the back-burner until the spring.
Weeks later, I received an email from the salesperson at John Deere. I rolled my eyes when I saw his name pop up in my notifications – I was sure it was another attempt to close the deal. Instead, though, I found the following:
I had expressed interest in used machines, but they generally don’t exist – and if they do, they’re several states away or very old, or both. This seemed a bit too good to be true – 70 hours is essentially brand new, and the description suggests a gator that likely retailed in the $35,000 range before the added cost of a plow. On the one hand, if true, this was an astounding deal. On the other hand, it’s $24,000 more than I’m prepared to spend at the drop of a hat.
I received the email on the Friday afternoon of a holiday weekend. For the next two days, I ran the numbers. The deal was unbelievable and unlikely to come up again. Realistically, in the spring, I’d be paying essentially the same amount for much less. I’d have to dip into savings in a way that was uncomfortable, knowing the litany of things that could go wrong in this new-to-me house over the winter. Deep inside, a voice was saying DO IT!!!! But I didn’t know if that was actually the right choice, or if I was falling victim to the perceived urgency of the situation knowing that the deal would not be on the table for long.
By Sunday afternoon, I was all but sold – but I remained uneasy about the expense. Conveniently, two of my mom’s siblings were coming to town to visit and see my new house. They aren’t farming people, but they have been my financial advisors for as long as I can remember – they would help me decide if this is something I can genuinely afford to do.
I decided to ask after giving them a tour of the farm, which wouldn’t happen until daylight on Monday. At Sunday night dinner, we were just catching up when my uncle said, as if it had just occurred to him, “You got your check, right?” … Huh?
We went through a little back and forth about the fact that I should have already received this check in the mail before I got it out of him: when my grandmother died several years ago, they had retained some money from her estate to cover any expenses that might have cropped up in the probate process. They had finally decided to distribute these funds, and the share that should have gone to my late mom was to come to me.
I had not received the check, but regardless, this was a boon – a few thousand dollars can do a lot on a farm. I could put it towards the gator either now or in the spring, or I could put it towards any number of other projects – the wood stove situation, a rototiller to carve out a garden space, orchard expansions…
“So yeah, if you don’t get a check for about 26k by Tuesday, let me know so I can write you a new check. They might have sent it to your old address.”
Wait, WHAT?! I clarified the amount – yes, he did say twenty-six thousand dollars – and put my head in my hands. “I was about to ask you guys if it would be financially idiotic for me to spend twenty-four thousand dollars on something,” I said. “Well, you can spend twenty-four thousand dollars on anything you want!”
Quickly, in a series of adrenaline-laced run-on sentences, I ran them through the whole thing – what a gator is (like I said, not farm people), the quotes I had gotten, the uses I saw for it, the new opportunity that had come up just two days prior. Serendipity, they said – my grandma looking out for me from beyond the grave.
My grandma was raised on a farm in Iowa and left as soon as physically possible – she hated animals and dirt, and for years told me that my homesteading dream was bizarre. “Why would you want to do that? You can buy eggs from the store. They are so cheap, and you don’t have to clean up poop.” She had a point. She did work awfully hard to build a better life for her children and her children’s children, and she was wildly successful in doing so. For all the guff she gave me about my goals, she did it with a smile – she knew I was choosing it rather than being forced into it, and isn’t that what she had worked for all along?
I took out my phone at the dinner table to email the sales guy and ask him to reserve the gator for me to come see at his earliest convenience. I saw it on Tuesday and found that it was exactly as advertised, and as soon as the check came into my life, it immediately went away again. The next thing I knew, a mint-condition gator with a mounted plow and all the bells and whistles materialized in my barn.
The Specs
It’s a 2022 in gorgeous conditions with a 6 foot Western Impact plow. Add-ons include a roof, windshield, half-doors, front and rear guards, turn signals, cab lights, and a horn. A horn. That’s pure comedy.
It has all sorts of storage in the dashboard and under the seat. It’s diesel, so while it’s incredibly loud, it’s durable and has more power for pushing the plow and towing stuff. Which, by the way, it has a four-thousand-pound towing capacity. Talk about overkill, but in light of this, I think I’ll have to build my chicken coop on a small trailer so that I can move it around the property as needed.
This purchase is certainly rooted in privilege – I had money fall in my lap by pure, undeserved luck. And that’s just the first layer of privilege, under which there are many more. But I also paved the way by putting myself out there and asking for help.
If this gator had reached the open market, it would have been gone in a day. Because the sales representative knew about my search, he was able to make the connection before it had even reached the shop. I didn’t just do anonymous internet research; I reached out, made myself known, and actively cleared the path for this opportunity to come my way.
It’s the same story from when I bought this farm: instead of waiting for it to go to market, I proactively reached out and expressed my interest. Crucially, I also offered patience. I maintain a strong belief that anything I want will eventually come my way because I’m willing to work relentlessly to make it happen. I control the outcome, even if I can’t control the timeline. The gator happened quickly, but the house took three years.
If there’s something you’ve been wanting, I hope that this week you’ll speak it out loud – you just might speak it into existence.
KC