Everybody Has a Story: Little kid and big horses

Over the aroma of fried pork chops, potatoes and warm apple pie, Dad said, “Your brothers and I are taking one team and wagon to the field. When you finish breakfast, Jerry, you harness the other team, hook them up to the hay wagon and bring it to the field.”

I was in a state of shock. At the age of 7, I had never harnessed a team of horses, hooked them to a wagon nor driven a team and wagon anywhere. Excuses poured out: “Dad, I don’t know how to harness the horses, I’m too little to reach over their backs, those harnesses are too heavy for me,” and so on.

Well, like any good dad, he had anticipated such responses and was well prepared.

“Sure you know how to harness the horses, you’ve watched me do it hundreds of times,” he told me. “There’s a wooden box by the barn door you can move over by the horses to stand on, so you’ll be tall enough. And like all farm boys, you’re strong enough to manage those harnesses.”

South Dakota farming in the 1930s and ’40s was hard work. The age of modern machine technology, like tractors, had not yet arrived, at least not on our farm. Meals big on both protein and carbs were the norm. I washed down the last bite of Mom’s delicious homemade apple pie, fresh from the oven, with fresh milk right from the cow.

I took my time with that last bite, dreading what was to come. Dad and my two older brothers headed for the fields.

One last gulp and I headed for the barn. Plow horses, as they were known then, were short, stocky, heavily muscled animals that knew how to pace themselves and could pull a “walk-behind” plow all day. Those horses knew more about what to do and how to do it than I would ever figure out.

Dad was right, of course. The box gave me the height I needed and I was strong enough to push those heavy, thick, leather harnesses up and over the backs of the horses. Yes, I had watched him do it a hundred times and I did know how!

Now came the next test. I took the reins and commanded the horses to back out of their stalls, which they obediently did. I’m sure they were thinking they’d better cooperate and help out this snot-nosed kid.

Next came the throaty non-word of “gech, gech,” which meant go forward, and they obediently did. I drove the team out to the hay wagon, backed them up to the tongue-and-doubletree harness, and hooked everything up.

Only one problem: There was one 3-foot-long leather strap left over. Studying all the arrangements as hard as I could, I was not able to see a place for that strap. I finally decided to tie the extra strap to the side of the wagon and watch for an obvious place for it as we went out to the field.

I was proud as a peacock, sitting up straight, driving that team and wagon to the field. Dad was pleased as well, judging by the slight grin on his face as he approached the wagon. But then he asked what that strap was doing on the side of the wagon.

I’m now 85 years old and you know what? I never did find out what that strap was for.

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