We all have pressure in our lives. Too much pressure can be disastrous, but the same can be said about too little.

I have a family member who has been experiencing pressure problems for the past several years. OK, so she technically isn’t an actual family member or even a human being. But she feels like family to me.

Dad purchased our family’s 1947 John Deere “A” tractor when I was a little kid. I couldn’t wait until I was deemed responsible enough to take the reins of our farm’s mightiest steed.

I was the proudest farm boy in the world when that day finally came. Together, the “A” and I plowed, planted, and cultivated hundreds of acres.

Time marched on; our farming operation grew, and we needed larger tractors to handle the increased acreage. The “A” was eventually relegated to a lonely spot out in the grove.

There she sat until her muffler disintegrated and her engine became a solid block of rust. I was struck by a serious case of nostalgia when our two sons reached their teens. I decided that they should also have the opportunity to experience our family’s venerable Johnny Popper.

We pulled the “A” out from her resting spot and began the arduous process of bringing her back to life. I won’t get into the logistics of unsticking her engine other than to say that we were very nearly at the point of employing high explosives when her pistons finally moved.

I gave the “A” a new set of rings and slapped her back together. It was a proud moment when she popped back to life.

I’d heard that the best way to break in an engine is to work it, so I hitched the “A” to a plow and sent our oldest son out to the field. He soon returned, reporting that oil was raining out of her muffler. I’d never heard of such a thing.

I consulted numerous classic Deere aficionados and was offered numerous theories. The leading one was that all the ring gaps were lined up on one of the pistons.

Infuriated, I swiftly tore the engine down and discovered that none of the piston ring gaps were lined up.

Life intervened. I had a dairy farm to operate, so the “A” sat outdoors with a disassembled engine for a decade or more.

By the time I turned my attention back to the “A”, generations of mice had made their homes in her crankcase. This time, I was determined do things right: new pistons and rings were installed, and the block and the head were machined.

The “A” was at last reassembled. She fired right up and popped like a new tractor. Then oil began to rain from her muffler.

Numerous Deere vintage Deere aficionados were consulted; heads were scratched, and chins stroked. The answer came from my friend Gary Patrick, who cut his mechanic’s teeth on old Deeres. Gary mentioned something about an air pump that was the likely culprit. I removed the pump, and the “A” no longer barfs oil.

Everything should have been swell — except that it wasn’t. The oil pressure on the “A” remained exceptionally low no matter how many additives I tried. When the engine was cold, the oil pressure gauge would read “M”, for medium. As soon as it warmed up, the pressure dropped to the “L”, which has the troubling word “stop” printed beneath it.

Numerous theories were put forth by my Deere consultants. Maybe it was the oil pump drive. Nope. Perhaps the oil pump was shot. Negative.

My leading hypothesis was that one of the engine’s oil lines had a rust hole. It’s impossible to get one’s head into the crankcase to have a look-see, so I purchased a borescope that attaches to my smartphone.

The borescope revealed… nothing! Stumped, I shoved the borescope into the oil filter canister. One theory was that the canister had been collapsed by an over muscular mechanic.

Things looked fine. Wait a minute! What are those specks on the side of the canister?

Rust holes! I had found the source of all those years of torment!

How to fix it? For approximately $5, I purchased an epoxy product, mixed it with its hardener, applied it to the holes and… presto! The old “A” has the oil pressure of a young girl.

I am proud to have fixed the “A” for such a nominal amount. Except for the cost of the borescope. And my smartphone. And the overhaul. And the workshop.

But that’s not what I tell people. Because it’s a lot more fun to brag, “I saved a family member’s life for $5!”

— Jerry’s book, “Dear County Agent Guy” can be found at www.workman.com and in bookstores nationwide.