On the concrete floor of a 32’-by-48’ workshop, beneath a flood of fluorescent light, the tailgate drops on a restored, green 1966 Chevrolet truck as Rob Meek sits dead-center and slides his legs under a workbench covered by tiny pieces of wood, thumb drills, and bits of wire. Meek’s dog, Luna, a dubious lab-mix and mainstay of the shop, lounges in a corner, while the voice of Sheriff Matt Dillon hovers in the background and Gunsmoke plays on a flatscreen fixed to the metal walls, hanging alongside a timeless assortment of Model T parts and antique tools. Observed from afar, Meek might be mistaken for a man seated before a Sunday roast. In reality, his farm toys are calling—it’s time to make sawdust.
Welcome to the abode of a remarkable craftsman, made even more distinct by his construction medium of choice. Meek is among a handful of top-drawer enthusiasts in the United States making farm toys from wood, built from scratch. He is a composite of artist and toymaker, meticulously designing and creating 1/16 replica farm machinery. Each work, gently coaxed from wood, springs from hundreds of careful manhours and near-countless bits of pine and oak. Meek is a master of minutia, working for love of process and final product. “If someone takes a minute of pleasure from something I make, or if it connects them with their farm childhood, that’s all the motivation I need,” he says. “There is nothing more pure than farm toys.”
The Boy Chauffeur
Raised beyond the confines of city life and surrounded by the fertile farmland of central Illinois’ Effingham County, Meek spent a childhood digging in a sandbox from hell. “My parents weren’t farmers,” he says, “but we lived in the country, and I spent my early days in this sandbox that some kids probably wouldn’t even be allowed in today. It was me, several old tractors, a bunch of Tonka vehicles and tunnels and roads in deep, deep sand.”
At 14 years young, Meek made his elderly neighbor, Charles Riley, an offer the glaucoma-affected farmer could not refuse. “I told him if he’d teach me how to drive his tractors (Farmall H and Farmall M) I’d work for him for free.”
A handshake deal was sealed—as well as the start of invaluable mentorship for Meek. Riley became a second father, teaching Meek to farm, along with the ins and outs of agriculture machinery. In addition to Riley’s failing eyesight, his wife, Faith, had never learned to drive, making trips into town increasingly difficult for the couple. At just 14, Meek took the wheel: “We lived between Beecher City and Cowden, and there were probably only 10 houses in the whole area at the time. I had no driver’s license, but I became the chauffeur, taking the Rileys wherever they needed to go. Wonderful memories. When there was no internet, no iPhones, no gaming systems, and you were a kid in the country, driving and farm machinery were part of an awesome life.”
The Maestro
Into adulthood, Meek left Illinois for the Navy, served three tours in Iraq, and eventually settled on the East Coast, beside the waters of the Atlantic Ocean in Accomack County, Virginia. Following military service, he tacked on 12 years with the Department of Corrections of Maryland, retiring in 2018. Although presently living almost 1,000 miles from his childhood, Meek, 58, keeps a figurative foot in the rows of central Illinois farmland.
The pull of his past took physical form in the early 2000s, when Meek began collecting toy tractors. By 2009, searching for stress relief—an outlet—from corrections work, Meek fell back on a highly-honed skill passed on by his father, Robert: woodwork. “From about the age of 12 onwards, my dad let me go with a bandsaw, starting with keychains. He taught me how to use any woodworking tool and pretty much how to make anything. Again, that was part of what I was expected to learn in the country.”
Starting big with an A-frame barn, Meek threw himself into carpentry, working down to furniture and household items, and in short time, the growing tractor collection drew his woodworking attention. Boiled down, it was time to go from big to intricately small. “I realized I could buy almost any farm toy tractor I wanted, but I couldn’t buy equipment of quality,” Meek recalls. “In other words, I decided to build my own machinery behind the tractor. That was the progression or fascination, and even though some people call it an obsession, I call it a challenge.”
Meek’s “challenge” birthed incredible toys—works of art from a woodworking maestro.
Lotta Pieces, Lotta Time
In late fall, when the end of the season closes with a chill, Meek takes to a fully insulated, 32’-by-48’ shop and stays within for much the winter, building an assortment of farm toys from wood, complete with articulation, open-close hydraulics using bits of wire, implement folds, and innumerable miniscule parts. He sits on the 66 Chevy tailgate, with drill press, table saw, and bandsaw in close proximity, and gets lost in a world of his own making. “I might stay in there for up to 20 hours,” Meek describes. “Me and my rescue dog and a bunch of toys. I’m gone; it’s like time doesn’t exist.”
His work is superb: soil finisher with tines, lights, shanks; 24-row John Deere planter with complete plumbing; 4-fold John Deere 2623 disk with 242 washer-made blades and operational hydraulics; a combine header with precise details down to the fingers; and countless other creations. (As exceptions, Meek occasionally makes tractors from wood, as well, including outstanding Big Bud 16V-747 and Case IH 600 Quadtrac renditions.)
“I go to the dealerships and they’ll give me a booklet on planters, disks, or anything, and that’s where I get my inspirations. Then I go home and take out paper and lay out the design, using an online scale calculator to convert feet to inches. I start with a wooden frame and go from there. Certainly, some things are tougher than others—I can’t tell you how long it took me to figure out how to make the cylinders open and close on the John Deere 2623.”
Each piece, beautiful in detail, demands the patience of Methuselah, and requires hundreds of hours of labor to complete. The John Deere 2623 (5’ wide with row markers down) was Meek’s most complicated piece to date and took six months to finish. “I tried to figure the actual manhours involved, but I counted up to 900 and gave up. No doubt, it was far more than 900 hours.”
How many different pieces of wood are in each creation? “It can easily be hundreds. For example, I made an old wing mower sitting in a field, with a fence, animals, flat tires, and two guys working on it. The tractor alone is 120 separate pieces. Lotta pieces; lotta time.”
Toy vs. Art
The 66 Chevy contains a telltale indicator of Meek’s woodworking talent: a lever-action .30-30 resting on the back window’s gun rack. The rifle, made entirely of wood, is hyper-realistic: “I got pulled over by a state trooper one time who was convinced the wooden .30-30 was real.”
Despite Meek’s phenomenal level of woodworking skill, his motivation is basic: a finished product and an appreciation for the history, nostalgia, and art. “There are no dollars for me in this. I just want to show what I do and what other guys do when we work with wood. That’s what really drives me. When you build something with your own hands and for its own sake, that is a feeling that can’t be found elsewhere.”
“The process of making a wooden farm toy is worth every hour of effort. It makes me feel great when people like my work or say something good about it. There’s no money or glory involved, and that makes it pure. At the end of the day, when someone gets pleasure out of my work, that is all the extra gratification I need.”
In the end, how does Meek view his wooden farm machinery—art versus toy? “It’s a dual-edged sword. I’m halfway between art and toy, and that’s a wonderful place to be,” he describes. “I thank God I’ve been enabled with talent to make farm toys. After all, we all know we never, never outgrow our toys.”
Every winter month, expect Meek to be lost at play with an ever-growing cavalcade of exquisite farm toys crafted by his own hands. It’s time make sawdust.
For questions or to read more stories from Chris Bennett (cbennett@farmjournal.com), see:
While America Slept, China Stole the Farm
Bizarre Mystery of Mummified Coon Dog Solved After 40 Years
Where’s the Beef: Con Artist Turns Texas Cattle Industry Into $100M Playground
The Arrowhead whisperer: Stunning Indian Artifact Collection Found on Farmland
Fleecing the Farm: How a Fake Crop Fueled a Bizarre $25 Million Ag Scam
Truth, Lies, and Wild Pigs: Missouri Hunter Prosecuted on Presumption of Guilt?
US Farming Loses the King of Combines
Ghost in the House: A Forgotten American Farming Tragedy
Rat Hunting with the Dogs of War, Farming’s Greatest Show on Legs
Misfit Tractors a Money Saver for Arkansas Farmer
Predator Tractor Unleashed on Farmland by Ag’s True Maverick
Government Cameras Hidden on Private Property? Welcome to Open Fields
Farmland Detective Finds Youngest Civil War Soldier’s Grave?
Descent Into Hell: Farmer Escapes Corn Tomb Death
Evil Grain: The Wild Tale of History’s Biggest Crop Insurance Scam
Grizzly Hell: USDA Worker Survives Epic Bear Attack
A Skeptical Farmer’s Monster Message on Profitability
Farmer Refuses to Roll, Rips Lid Off IRS Behavior
Killing Hogzilla: Hunting a Monster Wild Pig
Shattered Taboo: Death of a Farm and Resurrection of a Farmer
Frozen Dinosaur: Farmer Finds Huge Alligator Snapping Turtle Under Ice
Breaking Bad: Chasing the Wildest Con Artist in Farming History
In the Blood: Hunting Deer Antlers with a Legendary Shed Whisperer
Corn Maverick: Cracking the Mystery of 60-Inch Rows
