Following The Plow
(Page 4 of 5)
May/June 1974
By the Mother Earth News editors
WHAT'S IT LIKE?
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Since beginning this article I've marveled at the wonderful thing that happens when weed-covered land is broken, rowed up and made ready for the seeds . . . small miracles in themselves. I love to walk barefoot in newly plowed ground. (My tennis shoes are immediately filled with dirt when I start across the field, so I might as well kick them off and really enjoy it.) The turned-up earth, dark with moisture, is damp and rich-feeling between my toes.
It's hardly surprising, then, that I asked Theo to let me plow a little just to get the feel of it. He objected at first because Beauty is so undisciplined . . . but, finally, he relented.
My first feeling when I got between the handles was one of sheer fright. I hadn't realized how big Beauty was from her back side, or how vicious her hoofs looked. I could just imagine her "kicking over the traces" and going on a wild tangent out across Theo's pretty plowed field . . . and me hanging on with my big bare feet flying through the air. But Theo was prepared for any emergency, and held the lines as I gave the commands.
To be perfectly honest, I didn't like it at all. I felt just as much out of place as I would feel breaking a wild horse. I plowed a few yards and turned the handles over to my head and master. If l had to do the job for some reason I believe I could manage it . . . with practice and my heart in my mouth. But in all likelihood, I'd probably go to the hoe for my gardening.
Just for contrast, though, I'll give you Theo's report on his feelings about plowing with an animal . . . back when he had one he could keep up with. At that time we owned about the best plow, riding and cow horse around. His name was Buck, and we lost him from colic in spite of all our efforts.
"Old Buck," says Theo, "was sheer pleasure to plow with. The only noise was the tinkling of the trace chains and my soft commands of 'whoa', 'gee' or 'haw'. The birds sang so pretty and I could drink in Mother Nature in all her glory.
"Sure, the sun was hot as hell most of the time and made my clothes stick to my skin, but I figured it was getting the poisons out of me. That big oak at the end of the row spread out her welcoming arms, heavy with shade, and I'd pull old Buck and me into it and a wind would come up from nowhere and cool us both off like air conditioning, only better. I'd feel the good the walking was doing my legs and circulation, and a sense of 'everything's great' would come over me. There's just nothing like it."
Anyone who wants to master this art Theo loves so much should be able to find a teacher. There are farmers all around us. Oh, they may be in other walks of life now, but there are still many folks in smaller towns and communities who would gladly teach a willing soul how to horse-plow if he wanted to learn. People's minds are becoming less narrow, and I believe they see the new breed of settlers in a different light. And, after all, you can find out how to do anything on earth if only the mill and desire are there.
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