Ann called them a two ton pickup, maybe two tons of pickup, but Don says the truth is, they are a touch short of that. Obviously, they are at least the equivalent of two horse power, and that would be mighty horse power. Rudy and Scott are Belgian draft horses who live their pampered lives hanging at Don and Kelly’s farm north of town. I say pampered because they do not have to run off to work every day toiling in the fields, turning soil or boating stones. Don treats them like farmyard pets, probably talks to them and provides nutritious hay to the string of equine comrades who loaf about the farm.
They do work when work is available, and like all working animals seem to enjoy doing what they do best which is pulling things. We took the countryside tour on a crisp overcast day a few weeks ago by riding on a sled stacked with summer’s hay. While I never was able to actually have an extended talk with the brutes, it was obvious they were enjoying the outing as much as we as they zipped along over hill and dale with bells jingling and harnesses straining. At a brief pause, they nudged us as if wanting to be petted but seeing their heads were bigger than the average dog, it was difficult knowing where to rub. When a dog gets a belly rub it is not unusual to see it's hind leg start to rythymatically thrash about, for a horse of this bulk, that seemed inappropriate---with a leg weighing in at 300 pounds and a gigantic hoof shod with steel.
Through the years, we have had an interest in draft animals, I suppose for many reasons, but initially for the artistic possibilities they present. Horses have served man much longer than, say, the internal combustion engine. While horses have toiled, they also have provided a certain aesthetic to settings in which our ancestors lived and worked. They are a part of our history, almost a part of our very existence, part of our culture, maybe a forgotten part but still an astounding part.
Horses have worked without reward in many cases, sometimes treated poorly, sometimes wasted in war. Many times they were elegant and beautiful in the hands of knights, or Napoleonic potentates, or simply traveling through the back woods of Wisconsin, maybe on the way to find a young man's delight in a distant village. Don’s team was magnificent, strong, almost friendly, and willing to trot through the winter wonderland hauling the local royalty, that would be us, of course.
On the day he hitched the team, the land was covered in Wisconsin’s muted light, the clouds were low, the sun hidden away, but this was how it was, and has frequently been through the years, no different then and now. We headed out to the north. We passed by the woodlots and hayfields no different than 150 years ago. Don was part of the team and knew every stitch of the hitch, every function, every oddity of the animals, and the gear. That was his job on this day, as it was back one hundred years ago----not that Don was there---I don‘t think. These teamsters had no heated cabin, no radio, no GPS to guide their movements, just the reins and the open air and the warm clothes of a family farm.
In the past, trips like this might have been to the neighbors or to the forest to cut timber. There would not have been the smell of diesel nor the noise of the engine, nor the speed of a modern machine. There would have been more time to take in the day and breathe the air of winter. There would have been more labor, more wear on human hands, and less done on any given day. At the same time the farmer would not have had to make a payment on a $50,000 tractor. The sled, including the one we were on, was made by a blacksmith and constructed with hand-hued wood from the local forest.
As we moved through the outermost field, the two Belgians walked in stride pulling the sled with ease. Ann and I thought of a sculpture by friend George Carlson called, “Of One Heart” that featured two draft animals pulling hard together, back legs dropped to concentrate their combined strength. Team work. Two beautiful horses pulling together as a team. Rather an interesting metaphor for all of life.
As we roamed about the fields, one had to wonder at the changes, and wonder at values moving from one generation to another. Having this experience was in itself a great experience but to watch the beasts of burden, to watch the work of men and animals was intriguing, almost foreign. It seems to me there is more to this. Hard to put a handle on it but while it is easy to see the labor of it all, the sometimes grim existence of a different time, there is still an organic feeling of something that is more right than we might imagine. Is it of a slower time, less complications, less fuss over money and possessions. It is indeed, closer to the land, the mother earth. Is it just a romanticized distorted memory? Not sure. I will say I am pleased to know that Don and the working horses are still out there and the image and tradition is being kept alive. Never know when it might come in handy---even if it is just for a wonderful sled ride on a December afternoon.
No comments:
Post a Comment