One Week Behind the Plow: A Greenhorn Goes to Draft-horse School

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The other students seem to be learning quickly. Can it be that some people just aren't meant for this?

Grandpa, if you were watching today, you must've had yourself a pretty good chuckle.

WEDNESAY

There were no piles of leather straps on the barn floor this morning, but as we proceeded to harness the teams, we discovered that a good many parts had been, uh, rearranged. A devious bunch, these teachers of ours.

Safety is stressed here. Our instructors have made it very clear that working around and with draft animals can be dangerous, and their constant cautionary tips are well-taken.

"Always speak to a hurse before you enter its stall. Most horses won't kick you intentionally, but they will kick reflexively if startled, or in response to a muscle twitch or a fly bite. So let the horse know you're around... and try to stay out of kicking range in any case."

"Keep your eye on your horses, their harnesses, the lines, and the hitch. Make a mental checklist and get in the habit of running through it constantly, automatically. Watch for loose buckles, frayed straps, broken hardware, anything out of the ordinary. Get so that you can spot trouble before it happens."

" Never trust your team entirely or leave it untied or unattended for even just a little while... no matter how well-trained, no matter how long you've worked with the horses, no matter how mild-mannered or predictable they may seem. You just never know—anything can happen, and if it happens when your guard is down, you can have a real rodeo on your hands." (Rod said this as we gazed somberly at a wooden wagon tongue that had been snapped clean in half last week during one such incident.)

We plowed today, taking turns using both a sulky (riding) plow hitched to Meg and Madge and a walking plow pulled by Jan and Jean.

I have a new respect for anyone who has ever worked a field with these implements. Using a walk-behind plow is particularly tough. A moldboard blade is a slippery devil to control with two mere human hands; it's eager to dip too deep or pop out of the ground entirely or stray to either side (or any combination thereof) in the twinkling of an eye. Exerting too much pressure on the handles, in any direction, causes the problems. So the trick is to relax and let the plow and horses do the work.

Of course, that's easier said than done... as evidenced by the rather peculiar plowed field we produced today (the place looks as though an enormous drunken mole has run amok in it).
And to think we practiced plowing the "easy" way: with one person driving the team while another handled the plow! Most farmers did the job solo, using their hands to hold the plow and their shoulders to maneuver the lines, which were tied together and looped over one shoulder and under the opposite arm. What a feat!

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