This is a Long Story.  Although it can be read here in its entirety, I recommend that you print the text and read it at your leisure.  It is a true story, sadly enough.

Tech note: The following story was dictated using Dragon voice recognition software.  It was a total mess and has been edited using an old fashioned  word processor. 

This is a story about Israel.

In 1973 I want to visit my brother George at Kibbutz Maagan Michael.  A kibbutz is a communal farm and this one is very large and relatively wealthy.  I had just graduated from college and I really did not wish to go to work.  Actually I had no clue on how to do it.   George was in the volunteer program: a combination of work and study.  I traveled around Israel for several months until George's program ended and my program began.

My ostensible purpose in the program was to learn Hebrew, however, on our Kibbutz was fairly wealthy and most members spoke English.  So as it turned out I was assigned to work with the chickens.  Called the Lul which is actually Hebrew for the chicken coop where they are kept.  This was dirty work and not particularly popular, however, I did not mind it.  Due to the requirements of chicken farming those of us who worked with the chickens worked much longer hours.  As a result, I ended up banking a lot of time that I could use later like vacation.

If the work I was doing dirty the people I worked with  were wonderful.  As I recall it, among the 5 regular workers we had been us 6 graduate degrees.  We were also a separate branch of the Kibbutz. Among other things this meant that we had our own budget for things we needed.  You know, like cookies and ice cream.

Mindy. After I had worked in the chickens for a couple of months the new worker named Mindy was assigned to our group.  Mindy was from Flint, Michigan. She was plain, overweight and for some unknown reason took a “shine” to yours truly.  Now, it has always been my policy to be pleasant to pretty much everyone. After the fact I can only guess that this was interpreted by Mindy as some form of romantic overture.  The fact that she might have been, let’s say desperate.   Things became worse after our trip to the beach.

My Own Tractor. To understand our story you must understand something about transportation in Israel and on Kibbutz.  As I said our kibbutz was large and members would travel from point to point any way they could.  For that reason all the tractors had park-style benches welded to them just behind the driver's seat and they could carry up to three or four people instead of just one.  Because I worked with the chickens I had essentially the use of my own tractor.  This is roughly equivalent to being a 14 year-old kid with the sports car.  I could drive my tractor home at the end of my shift and it was mine to use as I pleased until the morning shift (3:45 A.M.).  I often drove the tractor down to the Wimpy hamburger stand near the highway for beer and hamburgers.  This mobility was rather elitist in the kibbutz society which is supposed to be of all equals.  Needless to say I loved it.

My particular tractor was a Massey Ferguson diesel and I do believe the slowest machine on the farm.  It had a top speed of about eighteen mph or fast enough to have wind blow through your hair.  To commemorate this I painted a yellow chicken on the nose of the tractor in a streaking movement looking like a dead run along with the Hebrew word "Cadoor" which means bullet (or is it balls…I forget. It's probably both).

The Egg Hauling Run. Although we use the tractor for many tasks, its primary purpose was to haul a small wagon called the "Ah-Ghee-lah" that we filled with our eggs.  This was done five times a day.  We had 25,000 chickens all of which were breeder stock: i.e. they lay eggs to hatch, not eat.  We would gather up to 2500 eggs on each of our rounds and take them to the hatchery. The hatchery by design was located at the complete opposite end of the farm (to avoid transmission of fowl diseases).  On a normal trip we would approach the hatchery by driving through the main campus.  We would unload the eggs into a small gas chamber (used to disinfectant them).  Only then we carefully drive the tractor down a steep Rocky embankment –no real path - to the main internal Road which was paved. On the road we complete our cycle back to the coops and our duties.

This last part of the cycle would change on the final run the hatchery.  As noted, I would be allowed to simply return with the tractor in the morning and what I did with the tractor in the meantime was totally up to me.  On one particular day after the final run to the hatchery I decided that I wanted to take the tractor down to the beach.  Since Mindy was with me on this final hatchery run, rather than leave her stranded I brought her along.  The trip is not a simple as it sounds.

The Frolic. Our Kibbutz is located midway between Tel Aviv and Haifa on the Mediterranean coast.  The main campus is situated on a rise of limestone with a beautiful view of the coast approximately two miles away to the West and the tall beginning of the Carmel Mountains about a mile away to the East and rising perhaps 500 feet.  Between the main campus and the sea are an amazing series of fish ponds.  These ponds obtain freshwater through pipes from springs located on the far side of the campus and they operated much like huge bathtubs.  The water flows in and is kept running with an overflow pipe just like your tub at home.  Fish are raised over a period of two years in each pond.  At the end of two years the giant plug is pulled out of the bottom of the pond and the water flows out to the sea leaving the fish.  Members go to that pond with huge trucks and conveyor belts.  They are addressed in raincoats and boots and our armed with buckets which they use to scoop up the fish that cover the entire bottom.  Some of these ponds are large enough to sail 25 ft. boats.  (These boats are used annually by the high school seniors to sail to Crete).  The whole operation is rather amazing, but for our purposes there are only two points that are relevant.  First, it is a long drive between the ponds to the Sea and second, at the beach end the ponds form an eight-foot levy above the Mediterranean.

Once Mindy and I traversed the narrow roads of the fish ponds and arrived at the levy I uncoupled the wagon and carefully maneuvered the tractor down the embankment.  Once on the hard packed stand high we took off at full tilt.  I drove in and out of the surf, the breeze blowing through my hair and having a wonderful time.  Only occasionally did it occur to the that have a passenger writing behind me on the bench.  In my mind Mindy had only been part of the workday and since the route to the beach came from the hatchery Mindy was just excess baggage on my joy ride.  The trip was beautiful.  We made it about halfway to Caesaria which was the Roman capital 2000 years ago.  At that point we encountered a stream that crossed the beach and as it was getting close to sundown high turnaround and headed back.  With some difficulty I was able to get the tractor to climb the embankment and not get killed.  I re-coupled the wagon and headed back to the campus, dumping Mindy somewhere along the way and went on to dinner by myself.  The next day my troubles began in earnest.

The Problem. Mindy commenced a campaign in which she asked each night to go to the beach.  Each night I have a different reason, nay excuse for not going with her on a repeat ride.  This went on for a long time during which Mindy somehow learned to drive the tractor.  I also realized that Mindy had a crush on me and had told all who would listen about our romantic ride on the beach.  (Please recall I barely remembered she was with me).  Tensions increased, but I didn't think I had a serious problem.  To understand what happened next you have to have a lesson in history and in Mediterranean weather.

The Quarry. As you will recall the main part of our Kibbutz is formed by a substantial rise caused by a formation of limestone.  That ancient Roman capital, only seven kilometers away, still has aqueducts, amphitheaters and other wonderful ruins all made out of this stuff.  The Romans quarried their stone locally.  One such quarry happens to be located not far from the hatchery.  It is a marvel of engineering and has perfectly square sides.  None of these sloppy pits that you see now-a-days.  No, it is as if someone took a huge cookie-cutter the size of a city block and cut the stone.  To get the blocks stone from the quarry the Romans cut a large slot in the side of the hill that grew as they worked their way deeper into the stone and hillside.  When the slot and the bottom floor of the quarry was level with the surrounding terrain they stopped cutting.  That was over 2000 years ago.  About 1955 the members of the Kibbutz decided that this was a perfect place to keep cattle.  They put a cattle gate on the slot, filled it with cows and basically didn't bother to clean it for the next quarter of a century.

The Weather.  It was the middle of Winter which typically on the Mediterranean is quite mild.  We had various days of rain, but when it rains it is not like the here in the Midwest.  A person can sit on a high place and watch various of clouds move in from the sea.  It may be dark and raining immediately below a particular cloud and it may be bright and shining 10 feet away.  On the sad day in question - given the circumstances - it appeared that several clouds must have remained stationary over the quarry and poured rain into it for the previous several days.

The Innocent Victim.  At various times we who worked with the chickens had extra members or volunteers assigned to assist us.  On the fateful day we had the pleasure of working with the South African man named Ariel.  It had been raining--at least in places-and so we were all wearing army surplus jackets.  When time came for the last round of collection for the day Mindy was at the wheel of the tractor.  Ariel and I were standing in the wagon at the Hatchery after unloading and disinfecting the eggs when Mindy proposed in a loud voice "let's go to the beach".

Mindy's Final I remember telling Mindy that it was Friday and that I was going to stop by my “adopted”  Kibbutz parents Chavah and Joe’s for dinner.  At that moment something in Mindy’s pea-sized mind just snapped.  She seemed to change colors but what I remember most was her putting the tractor into high gear, dumping the clutch and roaring down the path-less rocky embankment at full throttle.  Ariel and I were immediately knocked off our feet and bounced about in the wagon like so much cord wood.  Though the ride down the embankment was actually very short it was scary as hell.  The big wheels of the tractor were careening left and right.  It was with honest relief we reached the main internal road and back from the jaws of death.  Unfortunately this also allowed Mindy to pickup speed and soon we were traveling at our full 18 mph .

Poor Ariel, who had no clue as to what was happening, merely  bounced about in the wagon while I tried to stand up and deal with the runaway wench.  I struggled to stand up and that was when I first saw it.  

The Fifty Foot Shit Puddle.  It seems that the cattle gate on the ancient quarry is just fine for keeping the cattle inside the huge stone box, but it does nothing for the significant volume of rain that fell into the quarry, perhaps more accurately called now a cistern.  The rainwater had mixed with 25 years of, well, cow poop to form a somewhat viscous soup that had meandered easily under the gate and out a crossed the road.  It was a brown Cow Turd Lake that extended 50 feet on either side of the main internal Road and we were headed right for it.

I am not truly certain that I recognized the hazard for what it was before Mindy plowed into it.  The effect was spectacular.  The large rear of wheels of the tractor have these paddle like flutes on them which churned the “Lake” up into a rooster tail not unlike certain speed boat races.  The end of this spepia tail - of course - ended in the middle of the wagon in a blinding and gritty torrent.  I braved the stream of ofal to attempt a jump over the bench attached to the tractor.  I only made it part-way. Oh yes, this hurt, but I was able to reach and pull the lever that shuts off the engine.  The tractor coughed to a stop just outside the edge of the puddle.

Ariel with his hands at his side fingers spread wide was in some kind of shock and was rocking back and forth on the floor of the wagon making strange mewing sounds.  He was completely soaked-all brown - and all I could see of his face was his eyes and his teeth.  I, on the other hand, was standing in the road with a powerful grip on Mindy’s arm attempting to wrench her or at least her arm from the tractor.  My grasp was nothing like the death-grip that she had on the steering wheel.  I recall that my plan was to bodily carry Mindy's great bulk back to the quarry and throw her day faced-down into the shit. Kind of like bad, bad, bad mud wrestlers.  I never got the chance.  A car drove up (which itself was very unusual) and being “Mr. Safety” I ordered Mindy to move the tractor and she did.  She took off in high gear, knocking Ariel off his feet again. I saw the two of them rumbling away at full tilt.  I, two miles from the dorms, was left to squish my way home.

The Conclusion. To be honest, I plotted revenge for about two weeks, but before I could effect of plan Mindy left the country.  Maybe it was for the best.  As you might guess, there could be no effective retribution for that harrowing ride.  There is no moral to this story.  It’s just the way it happened.