I have a soft spot for Volga’s Old Timers Day celebration and not just because I’m an old timer.

My wife and I had skipped this event for several years due to overscheduling. This was nothing less than a severe lack of proper priorities.

So, we decided to take in Old Timers Day this year. We parked our car by the house of our friends Tim and Sharon, who happen to live only half a block away from the parade staging area.

A short stroll with lawn chairs in hand brought us to a prime parade viewing area, a grassy lawn in the shade of tall trees. The weather was balmy with a light breeze: perfect parade conditions.

A sheriff’s cruiser started the show, its red and blue flashing lights warning everyone about a parade that was proceeding down the street at approximately a mile per hour. It wasn’t long before candy tossed by parade participants began to rain down upon the pavement.

Tim and Sharon’s two young grandsons scrambled out to scoop up the goodies. There is a distinct advantage to stationing yourself at the beginning of a parade, when the sweets are tossed most freely. The boys’ shopping bags soon bulged with loot; it was like Halloween except that they didn’t have to ring doorbells or wear spooky getups.

Shiny tractors rolled by pulling flatbeds that carried past graduates of our high school. Forty years ago, fifty years ago. Next year will be my class’s fiftieth, so I will be one of the oldsters being paraded like museum pieces that are trotted out for their annual display.

It all reminded me of an Old Timers Day parade that took place 35 years ago.

Our family owned a 1947 John Deere “B” tractor. The old girl had developed a nasty habit of drinking oil, so I gave her a new set of pistons and rings. I was more surprised than anyone when the tractor started right up after its overhaul.

While I was at it, I decided to give the “B” a total makeover in the form of a rattle can paint job. A set of new decals completed the illusion that the old girl was still a spring chicken.

I decided to enter the “B” in the Old Timers Day parade. Our two sons, who were 4 and 6 years old at the time, begged me to let them ride along on the tractor during the parade.

After consulting with the authorities — their mother — I relented. My wife got into the spirit of things by purchasing white T-shirts and bright red suspenders for the boys. My way of getting into the spirit of things was much cheaper. I simply let my beard grow until it reached a level of bushiness often associated with Grizzly Adams.

In an effort to foster the Old Timers Day theme even more, I dragged an ancient steel wheeled plow out of our grove and gave it a hasty paint job. I’m pretty sure that I didn’t match its factory colors, but that’s what you get when you grab whatever paint you happen to have on the shelf.

As I drove the “B” and the plow the four miles to Volga, I became keenly aware of why steel wheels were discontinued. Steel wheels rattle annoyingly when you take them down a road. A lot. And really loud.

Our sons joined me at the parade staging area behind the school. There was a carnival-like atmosphere, with numerous floats, flatbeds, and old tractors. It was exceedingly enjoyable on that perfect June morning to chat with other parade participants. It was as if a brotherhood of amateur entertainers had spontaneously sprung up.

My wife purchased candy for the boys to toss as we crept along the parade route. They threw it grudgingly, somewhat jealous, I think, of the kids who were scrambling to collect the sweet treats.

Old Timers Day didn’t end for the “B” and me at the conclusion of the parade. A tractor pull was held later that day in a field near town.

I had no choice but to enter the “B” in the tractor pull. How else could I prove my mechanical mettle?

My father-in-law, Dale, filmed as I piloted the “B” down the track. The shaky VHS recording shows the “B” chugging mightily as it pulled the sled at a heady two MPH. I finally yanked the clutch lever when there got to be a long time between the engine’s signature pops.

That long-ago Old Timers Day was excellent. The only way it could have been better was if there had been some leftover candy for me.

— Jerry’s book, Dear County Agent Guy, is available at http://Workman.com and in bookstores nationwide.