Pages

Back in Time ( time traveler)


                               

                            In a small, gray S-10 Pickup, hustling down gravel roads over Iowa’s rolling hills, I had one of my many experiences with time travel.  In a cloud of dust, I crossed a time warp and found myself somewhere in the late 1800s.  Stumbling out of my little truck, I headed toward a large, white barn.  I looked for signs of life inside.  Some voices could be heard coming from within, and I followed the sound until I found a young man and woman having a conversation.  The woman stood there, barefoot, with a long, plain, green dress, playing with her apron strings.  The man had his thumbs under his suspenders, his face hidden by a straw hat.  Unnoticed, I listened for a moment, and I couldn't make out a word they were saying.  They spoke in a foreign tongue, but their conversation seemed quite pleasant and laughter filled the air.
Suddenly, they saw me and the room fell silent.  They looked me up and down, as if I were some kind of alien.  “Is your dad around?” I asked.  “He’s up at the house.” The young man answered in broken English.  I left them behind, heading up toward a very large, white farm house.  Everything seemed familiar; I knew I had been here, on an earlier voyage, but didn't know if those living here remembered  me.  Passing under spinning shadows of a windmill that clattered rhythmically, I realized a farm dog was following me, as though sent to watch my every move.  I knocked upon the house door, and a rather small man came and peered through the window at me.  He stepped out and stood with arms folded confidently, looking like a civil war general.  Everything about this man seemed stern, except his eyes, which gave away his friendly nature.  He had a thick beard but no mustache, and his dark hair was combed straight back.
“I’m looking for an older draft horse to buy,” I told the man.  He pulled at his beard in thought, so I added, “I borrowed a horse from you one time named Coaly and always wished I could own a horse like that.  You wouldn't still have her, would you?”  Immediately grinning at me, as if I were a long-lost family member, he stated, “all the of the draft horses I own are related to Coaly!  She is no longer living.” I saw a sad glimmer in his eyes, as he looked off past me, obviously remembering her fondly.  He began to reminisce, “I owned many horses over the years but when I bought this black team, a mare and a gelding, there was something special about them.  They were the type I like.  Coaly, the mare, raised many colts and all the horses I own are out of her.”  He looked me in the eyes, as if testing my sincerity.  “Why don’t you go out to the barn and chat with my son Virgil?  He likes to talk about horses as much as I do.  Michael is out there, too… well; Virgil is the one who works with horses the most.”
Followed by the guard dog, I headed back out into the big barn, and I found Virgil putting shoes on a tall, thin buggy horse. “This isn't our horse,” he said apologetically. “she’s kind of thin and rough-looking.  I’m shoeing her for our neighbors.”  I immediately got the message that even though he didn't know me, he didn't want me to think his family would ever own a horse that wasn't in good condition and being given the best care.
“I’m here looking for an older draft horse.  Your dad sent me out to talk to you,” I said.  A big grin spread across his handsome young face and his eyes lit up just like his father’s had.  “If you have a minute, I’ll get the horses in the barn.  It’s about time to feed them anyway.”
“I have nothing but time,” I told him.  I didn't know why I was there asking about horses.  I really didn't have money to buy anything right now.  But, when it comes to looking at draft horses, I always have time.  Virgil slid open a large door at one end of the barn, letting in a column of light.  One by one, huge, black horses lumbered through the beams, hooves clomping heavily on cement.  Each stepped into its own stall and began munching loudly on oats the young man had poured into their feed box.  Walking up an alleyway that gave easy access to the head of the stalls, Virgil quietly slipped halters on each horse, while they ate.
When I had been here on an earlier voyage, Virgil was only a tiny boy.  I knew he wouldn't remember me. I explained to the young man that I had borrowed a horse named Coaly from his dad years ago, and that I was looking to buy a horse like her.
“You knew Coaly?” he asked. “All of these horses are related to her!” he said smiling.  Their barn was full of horses, but I didn't count them.  Virgil carefully took the time to explain how each horse was related with the other.  “This one and that one are full sisters, and this is a half-sister out of that one’s aunt, but by the same stud. Those geldings were raised by these mares…” and so on.  I was fascinated by all the information, but it was too much all at once; I couldn't keep track of it.
Out of shadows in the barn, lit only by open doorways, emerged the older man who had sent me out to talk to Virgil.  He beckoned me to the rear of the mammoth horses and pointed to a big one in the middle.  “This is the mare I was thinking would be good for you.”  His face was beaming with love for his horses, as he explained to me that this mare was old enough that she would have good sense.  “If you are looking to buy a team, this younger mare right here beside her would also be for sale.”  He looked me in the eyes, searching to see if I might be interested.  My eyes gave me away -I was more than interested!
           “Well, these horses are a little bigger than what I was looking for,”  I said searching for a reason to not be interested, other than telling him the truth, that I couldn't afford them.  Undaunted by my comment, he stepped inside the stall and untied the mare he was talking about and brought her into the hallway where we stood.  She lumbered up beside me, and I felt dwarfed by her mass.  I was sure that he brought her out knowing that, even though I was saying she was too big; her size was exactly what was making me want to own her.
After we got a tape measure out and had a long conversation about just how tall she was in hands, the older man told me quite honestly, “You see, the reason we would be willing to sell these two mares (Karma and Coke), is that they are our least favorites.”
Amish speak English as a second language.  They say some things in a strange way. I wasn’t sure if something was being lost in the translation or why he would say this.  The way he had been fondly telling me all of her personality traits, I concluded that what he really meant was that all of his horses were his favorite.  And, out of all his favorites, these two he may be willing to part with if he had to.
“Well, Karma here is a full sister to that mare there.”  He pointed to another beautiful, black mare in the stall on the other side of Karma.   “Kari is the type of horse that will do whatever you ask.  She is so afraid that she might do something wrong and get in trouble.”  Then, looking affectionately back at Karma, he said, “Karma here conveniently forgets what she has been told.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.  “Well, when we let her outside to hitch her up, she knows she is supposed to stand there and wait for us.  But, she sometimes will step over into the yard and start to eat some grass.  Then, when we come out and scold her, she acts like…“oh, I forgot.”
While we were having the conversation, Karma was standing beside us, and no one was holding onto her.  All the other horses were busy eating. Karma, obviously bored with our words, ambled over into a stall with another horse.  Pushing it out of her way, began to eat its grain.   Without a word, the small older man slipped into the already crowded stall beside both huge horses, I could only see the top of his straw hat over her back.  He gave her a slap on the belly, and she backed out quickly and headed to her own stall.  His courage only seemed to be outdone by his affection for his horses.
They explained to me the system they had.  “Each of our horses gets used in turn.  Whenever we come out to the barn to harness up some horses, we get the ones that are next in line.” The older man, Abe, told me, pointing to the row of horses.  “That way, all of our horses get used.  Otherwise, it’s easy to have a favorite team and they are all you use.”
I told them what horse-drawn  equipment I had at home, and they were very interested.  When I told them, I had a bobsled, Abe got a big grin on his face. “They love the bobsled.  Some of these horses were on the bobsled last winter, but I don’t know for sure if it was Karma or Coke, I don’t remember whose turn it was that day.”
Reluctantly, I told him, “I will have to think it over.  I will get back to you about it in a few days.”  He had given me a price, and it was what they were really worth, but I knew that I just couldn't do it.  For some reason, my pride wouldn't let me tell him that.  I loved his horses, but I couldn't afford them.
Back in my time capsule S-10 pickup, I pulled out of their farm lane, crossing that time warp back into the modern world.  I couldn't stop smiling to myself as I drove home!  All I could do was go over the conversation I had with those Amish men and think about those beautiful, black mares.  I spoke aloud to myself. “I can’t afford any horses right now!  Why did I even go to see Abe…now I have to go back sometime and give my answer.”
  I wanted to go and tell someone about the whole experience. However, I couldn't think of anyone who would really value going back in time the way I do.  Back to a time where men not only lived by true horsepower, but thoroughly understood their horses.
That night, I could barely sleep. I laid awake in bed, pouring over all I had seen and working on a way that I could come up with the money to buy those horses.  I realized it was more than the horses I wanted.  I craved the connection with the history and lifestyle, in a time period that seemed more real.  I longed for a place in time where people made an effort to talk and learn to know each other.  I could only dream of living during a time when farmers took time to dwell on understanding the nature and personality of their work horses.                          
                                       

                               Part 2
             
During the next few days, I worked out a plan where I would be able to afford Abe’s mares, if I could only talk him down a little in price.  After work one afternoon, I sped quickly down the highway and turned down the gravel road leading to the 1800s again.  I parked my truck, awkwardly near the hitching post and rolled out, back in time.  On this visit, I only talked to Virgil.  I found him out in the barn.  It was milking time and large black-and-white Holsteins, each in a stanchion, waited patiently to be milked.  I drew in the sweet smell of hay and cows; Michael was milking and told me where to find Virgil.
Only too happy to show me the horses again, Virgil slid open a large door and the line of big black horses clomped into their stalls and calmly let the young man put on their halters and tie them.  I asked if we could take the two mares I was thinking about buying, outside, so I could see them in full daylight.

The warm spring sunlight revealed that the horses were as nice as I remembered, and I quickly asked Virgil what I had come to find out.“Is your Dad firm on the price he is asking?”
“I think he is.”  Then, with what I thought was a very kind gesture, he asked.  “Would you be willing to pay…” and starting at a very low price he worked up the amount until I had to say, “No.”
I tried very hard to explain to him that I thought his dad’s horses were really worth what they were asking, but that I just couldn't afford it.  While we stood talking, under a robin-egg-blue sky, the horses calmly swished their tails.  I held Karma’s lead rope, and she leaned her large black head into me almost affectionately.  I noticed the younger horse had a bump on her ankle and asked if it was a dirt clod.
“Coke got that as a colt, you know how colts are, but it never seems to bother her.”  He looked at the mare and grinned, leaning his forehead against hers as he said, “If I asked her about it, she would say, ‘I don’t have nothing!’”  I understood what he meant; she doesn't think anything is wrong with her ankle.
Virgil then told me, he thought his dad would come down in price later in the summer, if no one else offered to buy them. “Why don’t you come over and drive them sometime and see what you think?”  Virgil seemed to want me to buy those horses and for whatever reason I agreed to Wednesday, my next day off from work.

When I pulled back into the 1800s, that next Wednesday, I was as nervous as I had been the first time I drove a team of horses.  I really wanted to see how things would go with me and these horses.  I was so worried that Abe would not be willing to come down in price, and that I would offend him by making a lower offer, and worst of all not own Karma and Coke.
Virgil seemed as excited as I was to hitch up the horses and while I had a conversation with Abe about his growing up in Canada, his sons harnessed both horses.  I was disappointed that I had missed that process.  We hitched both mares to a small cart that had a long tongue and two seats, designed to be used with horses, and it could be hitched to all types of farm equipment.  Virgil asked me to drive, and I awkwardly took the lines.  I felt like a novice even though I have owned teams of horses for years.  I didn’t know these horses well, and I knew I was in the presence of master-horsemen.
I backed the mares to a manure spreader, and Virgil waited with a pin in his hand to hook it to the cart.  It seemed like forever until I could get the horses just where they should be, I could feel that I was being tested by the horses and the young man.   Abe and Michael had gone to work on something else in a nearby machine shed, but I could feel them also watching to see how things were going with me and their team.
Once the spreader was hooked, Virgil had me drive through a gate as he opened it.  He told me to drive the manure spreader into the barn to be loaded.  The horses seemed larger than the doorway and when they were almost in I realized that I was not going to make the turn. A steel wheel on the manure spreader was going to hit the wall, and I only barely got the horses stopped before it hit.  I personally considered myself to be in an impossible spot to get out of with horses.  I gladly gave the lines back over to the young man, and he smiled and told me. “I like to get horses into a tight spot and see if I can get them out.”  However, without any hesitation, he backed the team and circled around and right into the barn without a problem.
We scooped up pitchfork loads of manure and flung them loudly into the spreader.  Virgil would quietly cluck to the horses, and they would move forward until he said “whoa” without touching the driving lines!  We filled the spreader to the top; his horses had to strain under its weight as we headed down a lane and into a field to unload the fertilizer.  The power of the two big mares could be felt through the cart we sat on as it chugged forward through soft soil of a plowed field, pulling a fully loaded manure spreader.  The rich black cargo sloshed back and forth and flung out the back end as the tines spun covering the ground behind us in a wide swath.   No sounds of motors, no gas or diesel smells only the jingle of harness.  With this kind of farming, horse aroma and that of weeds and soil blends well with all natural fertilizer odors.  Sounds of birds and clicking of the spreader's gears did not overpower our voices as we talked about what we both loved, horses.
          Everything seemed perfect; the horses and I worked so well together. I could completely envision myself in a long working relationship with Karma and Coke.  My heart felt light and sure that I would, in fact, end up taking these mares with me someday, into the future.   We drove back into the barn to reload.  Nothing sounds quite as awesome as a big team of horses as they clomp across a cement floor.  Black forms of massive draft horses filled the hallway of the barn looking like a show team at a fair.  Abe appeared next to the horses as I looked them over and told me quietly that Virgil had informed him of my question about the price.
“I don’t think I will take less for them.” He explained, “I fed them all last winter, while I didn’t have much work for them, now I have plenty for them to do.  Maybe, toward the end of summer when things have slowed down, I would take less.  My heart sank within me because I knew that I could by no means even afford what I was going to offer, let alone the price he was asking.
“Abe, I want to be sure that you know; I think your horses are worth all of what you are asking!  I am not trying to tell you they’re not.  These are better horses than I need anyway.  I was really looking for a couple of old plow horses that are too slow for real work.”  Before I left, Virgil told me “Come back later in the summer and talk with my dad again.”  Heading back towards home and the modern world I jostled along in my little pickup truck trying to convince myself that this is all for the better anyway.

I saw Virgil sometime in June at a horse sale.  I was bidding on a massive, red-roan draft horse that sold for just over my top bid.  I was feeling sick that I had not bid higher when I turned to my right and there stood Virgil.  His eyes lit up when he recognized my face in the crowd.
“I was watching that big mare sell.” I told him, “She went just over my last bid.” I wondered what he thought about me bidding on another draft horse, but I also knew that he saw it sell for half of what his dad was asking for their horses.  We talked for a while and the last thing he asked me was, “Were you thinking you would want our horses in August or September?”  Without missing a beat I answered, “August, because I would want some time before winter set in, to get used to them.”  When I walked away I felt like kicking myself for telling him that I wanted his horses in August, I wouldn’t be able to afford them any time.

          As summer slowly past I thought about those beautiful black mares continually!  My poor son Dallas had to listen to me repeat this same story over and over.  When August came, no money tree had grown up in my yard as I had hoped for.  Every time I drove my truck anywhere near Abe’s farm, I tried to get myself to go and tell him that I just couldn't afford his horses.  However, I could not make myself do it!  I didn't know how to tell him, and I was afraid that I would see those horses again, and want them.  I kept trying to tell myself that should get over it, I didn't need them.  I felt guilty about what Abe and Virgil must be thinking, August was slipping away, and I never showed up to offer my lower price.  I wondered if they even still had the mares, surely someone else had come along and bought them.
One evening I was at a friend’s house helping him move, and I got an unexpected call from my son, “Dad, that Amish guy was here at our house, and he was wondering if you were still interested in buying some horses.”
“Is he gone already?” I asked.
“Well, he just went back out to his buggy.”  I instructed Dallas, “Go out and tell him that I will come over to his place and see him in the next couple of days.”  When I got home, I asked Dallas what all he had said to Virgil.  “He asked me if you were still interested in buying our horses, and I told him, yes!”  Dallas had told him the truth, I was totally interested, but I still didn't have the money.  “What else did you say to him?” I asked.
“I just told him that you said you would stop by his place in the next couple of days.”
Now, I had to figure out what I was going to tell Abe and Virgil, I decided that I had better just swallow my pride and tell them the truth.  Virgil had been at our house on a Thursday, and I wasn't able to make it to Abe’s place on Friday.


After work on Saturday, I drove down that same gravel road and through the dust-cloud time warp, into Abe’s place.  As I crawled out of my pickup, I found Abe out in front of his big barn, a team of horses stood hitched to a cart, and I asked him, “Are these the mares I have been looking at?”
  “Yeah, Virgil was expecting you might come today!”  My heart sank as I looked at those big black horses, that I had come to give up once and for all.  “Well, you see.” I stammered. “My son told Virgil that I was still interested in your horses because he knows that I am, but I have to tell you the truth, Abe, I just can’t afford to buy them now.  In fact, I was kind of hoping that you had sold them.”  Virgil joined us and Abe explained to his son, “He has come to tell us that he isn't going to buy Karma and Coke.”
I glanced at Virgil to see how he took it, and he looked disappointed.
“I’m sorry that I didn't stop in sooner and talk to you. I almost came over a couple of times, but I just couldn't make myself.  These horses are young and strong, and they will only stand around at my place; I don’t have any real work for them.”  Abe looked at me soberly and gave his opinion.  “These horses will stand around no matter where they are.  Even at an Amish place they end up standing around a lot.  If you really like them, they are just as good off at your place as anyone else’s.  If you want, you can take them home and try them out and see if you like them, or I will sell them to you on time, and you can make payments.”
I found myself, hoping against hope, again.  Abe said, “Virgil was thinking that you might want to drive them once more.  You can think about what you want to do.”  With that he headed off to work and left me and Virgil with the horses. Virgil told me to drive the team over to a large load of hay on a hay rack.  He put in a pin as I backed the hitch cart to the wagon.  He climbed up onto the two seated cart beside me pointed at a ramp access into their barn’s hay mow.
“Let’s take this load up there.” He instructed, and I clucked to Karma and Coke.  They leaned into their collars and in a very impressive style and powered their way up a ramp into the dark belly of the haymow.  I had never been behind draft horses pulling that big of a load, uphill!  Needless to say, I was in awe.  Once inside, Virgil told me to unhook the horses from the hay rack and drive the team around behind a load of hay.  The big team of heavy horses nimbly maneuvered, swinging around on a dime, hooves clomping on a wooden floor.
I had no idea of what Virgil had in mind when he took a four-foot, two-by-six board and placed it behind me, between the fore cart I sat on and the back of the load of hay.  “Back the team up while I guide the tongue, I’ll holler when the wagon is where I want it” Virgil explained.
I responded, “You are going to put me to the test, huh?”  Virgil looked at me with a puzzled expression, as if he didn't see that what he was asking me to do was anything difficult.  The horses seemed to know what was going on and backed straight and steady balancing the board between the wagon and the cart.  He had me bring another load up into the mow, as if to imprint thoroughly this experience in my memory.
After both loads were safely stored in the mow, I drove the team back down the hill out of the barn and called “whoa.”  The big black mares gladly took the cue for a much-deserved  break in the warm fall sunlight while Virgil, and I talked about horses.  As he talked, I thought about the fact that I had owned draft horses, about as long as he was old, yet his horse skills way out matched my own.  It sank in, that he had grown up using horses daily in the presence of a horse-whisperer.  How many generations of horsemen before him had passed down their knowledge from father to son?   My own great-grandfather probably could have taught me horsemanship, but our connection was broken when my ancestors moved off the farm to “better their lifestyles!"
Maybe these men where expert salesmen, or possibly it is just that easy to sell someone on exactly what they want, but as I drove back into the future in my little pickup, I found myself talking out loud.  “Tom, I went to Abe’s to tell him that I didn't want the horses!  I left there telling him that I would return in a couple of days with a final answer…now I have to go back again!”  Driving those few miles that take me a hundred years into the future, I couldn't get the smile off my face.  Those horses were awesome and I wanted them in the worst sort of way.

                               Part 3

                     The next Monday, I went in and got a loan from a bank on my mail route, and headed directly to Abe’s place after work.  I found Virgil in the barn doing horse chores.  I glanced over at Karma and Coke fondly thinking they would now belong to me.
“Virgil, I guess I didn't ask your dad the other day if he was willing to come down in price, now that summer is over.”  Virgil gave me a worried look.  “No, he says that he still wants the same.” My heart sank.  Virgil suggested, “You had better talk to him about it.”
Abe walked in and headed over to a cow.  He squatted down putting a milking unit on her.  I was trying to think of what to say to Abe, when Virgil helped me out and told his dad,  “You know that we talked last spring, about how after summer was over, we may take less for the horses.  What were you thinking about that now?”
I was glad that Virgil had put my question into words.  The cows all stood quietly while Abe thought over my question, the milking machine pulsing with a melodious sound.  Finally, Abe looked up and said, “If I am going to take payments I will have to have the full amount.”  I pulled my checkbook out of my pocket and spoke, “What if I write you a check?”  I waved my checkbook, fanning it as though tempting him with money.  He smiled and asked, “Well how much less?”
My heart was pounding, in time with the pulse of the milking machine; I didn't like trying to talk Abe down.  I was actually ashamed to tell him how much less I was going to offer.  First, I explained to him again, “I am not a horse trader; I think your horses are worth all that you are asking. I'm just a guy who really wants to buy these horses, and this is the best I can offer.  If you don’t feel you can accept it, I totally respect that and understand.”
When I gave him my price, he looked down at the black-and-white  Holstein cow he was milking and thought for a moment.  Slowly looking back up at me, he said, “I guess we will help you out.”
Taking that as a yes I quickly answered back, “Abe you don’t have to answer me right away…that is hundreds of dollars difference, maybe you should think about it!  I just don’t want you to feel that I cheated you, I want us to stay friends.”
Abe responded, “Well, I will ask this one thing of you.  If you decide to sell them someday, I would ask that you would give me the first chance at them; especially Karma, I kind of hate to part with her!”

My heart felt light again and yet, bad having talked this kind man down in price.  I determined in my heart, at that moment, not to brag, ever to anyone about how cheap I got these horses!  It was not any skill of mine but the kindness of Abe that made the difference! Virgil seemed as happy as I was, and we started making plans about the day that I would bring my wagon, and we would drive the horses to my place.

For the next three days, I worked at my home place getting everything as ready as I could for two huge horses.  As excited as I had been, I now felt nervous and jittery, stressed and worried about everything.  Was my fence okay?  Did I have the barn ready and what about the water situation?  I thought about my wagon; I hadn't used it since I sold my team of ponies a year ago.  I worried that it may fall apart on the drive home, which I was already intimidated about.  Beyond all this, I had money issues on my mind.  I kept asking myself if had just bit off more than I could chew.  Finally, I was as ready as I could be, and I headed back down the road into the 1800s and my connection to the past.

Virgil was hustling around the farm when I got there, doing the last of his chores, so he could leave for the day.  Abe and Michael were getting ready to head somewhere else.  Everyone seemed busy but yet totally willing to take the time to talk.  Karma and Coke were tied and waiting in the horse stalls of the big barn; the rest of the horses had already been turned out.  I almost pitied the mares, that they were about to leave behind this beautiful farm, barn and the other horses that were friends and relatives.  I reminded myself that at least they would have each other; soon they would come to love my little farm.
I harnessed Coke while Virgil harnessed Karma, in moments, we were leading them out into the unseasonably hot September air. We hitched them onto my wagon and climbed in.  Virgil handed me the lines, and I clucked to my team.  Karma and Coke headed out through that time warp, out of the lane of an eighteen hundreds farm onto a gravel road that led to the future.  At first, they walked so slowly, they seemed to be standing still, possibly reluctant about what work was going to be asked of them.  Maybe they could sense that something new was happening, and their whole world was about to change.  I asked Virgil, “If you were driving would you make them go faster?”
“Yeah!” He grinned.  I made a clucking sound, and they stepped into a slow trot.
“Once they get warmed up, they would almost rather trot,” Virgil explained.  I could see another Amish farmer, off in the distance, coming toward us on the road on a steel-wheeled tractor.  Virgil must have noticed that I was a little apprehensive about how the team would react when the tractor got closer, he asked.  “Do you want me to take the lines?”
“Sure,” I responded with embarrassment.  The tractor passed without the horses even taking much notice.  Just then the gravel road emptied out onto a black-top highway, taking us one more step forward in time.  Virgil surprised me by saying, “I was wondering how the horses would react to all this quiet. All of our wagons have steel wheels and so there are always loud rumbling noises, but Karma and Coke don’t seem to mind.”
I confessed, “I was worried about the same thing, which is one reason I wanted you to help me drive them home.

The horse’s hooves made a happy clip-clop as they trotted down the paved highway.  Soon a car was following close behind us, but didn't pass, because we were going up a hill.  Then, I realized that a motorcycle was following the car.  When we crested the hill, my horses broke into a fast trot down the other side.  The car didn't pass us even though they now had a clear view and were able, this must-have upset the man on the Harley motorcycle.  He opened up the gas and with a thunderous roar passed the car and us!  The sound was enough to scare me half out of my wits, without thinking I reached to help Virgil hold firmly to the driving lines.  Karma and Coke lunged forward momentarily, but Virgil kept his cool and the horses quickly got over the surprise.
Welcome to the modern age Karma and Coke, I thought to myself.  I questioned Virgil about how he felt when we, non-Amish, do rude things like that.  He told me, “Horses have to learn to deal with things like that.”  I felt that he was also saying, “Us Amish must accept that we live surrounded by a modern world.”
I was ashamed to be part of the non-Amish community that this motorcycle madman belonged to.
A little further down the road, we saw an eighteen-wheeler coming toward us.  Coke, which was on the right side was looking down into the ditch, and Virgil pulled the driving lines causing the horses to look toward the semi-truck.  He said out loud, “Coke look over here and see what’s coming.”  The horses watched the big truck and sidestepped a little as it went past.  Virgil said to me, “This is good for them to have these experiences.”  I was glad that Virgil was with me; I had been around horses enough to know, these things could have ended in disaster, with a less-experienced  driver.
When we finally headed down a gravel road that leads to my place the world seemed calm and peaceful again.  The blue sky was softened by fluffy clouds.  Birds singing in nearby trees could be heard between hoof beets on this quiet, softer road.  An unseasonably hot sun warmed our backs and brought out white sweat under the harness of my black mares. I had the lines in my hands again and was just thinking that this was a nearly perfect moment when Virgil spoke up.  “It doesn't get much better than this…riding on a wagon behind a team of horses.”  It surprised me that he thought that too!  I had imagined that it would be boring to an Amish person who was used to riding behind horses every day.

My horses pulled their new, rubber-tired wagon into the drive of my acreage.  Surely, there was no way they could have known that this wasn't just another job Virgil was asking of them.  I bet they fully expected Virgil would be driving them back home, as soon as they finished whatever task he asked of them.  Instead, we opened a gate and drove them into my pasture, unhitched them from the wagon, and led them into their new home.
My little barn is actually an old corn crib.  It has been closed in with stucco and converted into a horse stable.  The big black mares probably thought it strange when we took off their harness and tied them in this unfamiliar place.  I noticed Virgil survey the insides of my barn, and I wondered what he thought about all the antiques.  I keep all contemporary things out of sight so that there is an old-time feel in there.  I was sort of embarrassed, that he might think it strange, that a modern man would try to capture the essence of his old-fashioned world.  I don’t know if he thought about it or if he understood.
          To me, the past holds something wonderful.  It holds something valuable that we have lost, and I try hard to reclaim it.  The past is something he lives in every day and probably takes for granted or even wishes he could leave behind.
We both got into my little S-10 pickup and buzzed out of my drive.  In a fraction of the time, it took the horses, we made the return trip back to Abe’s farm.  I wondered if Virgil enjoyed the ride in my modern vehicle.  Did he hope I would turn on the air conditioner or the radio?  I didn't dare to ask, the subject seemed taboo.  When I had thanked him for all his help, I dropped him off, back in the 1800s.
I rushed my little truck home again.  For the first time, I was happy to be heading back into the future; to my modern world that now had something of the past in it, a beautiful team of black draft horses. Karma and Coke were mine!



Postscript:

Back in Time is a true story, written just as I remember it happening. The voice is 1st person.  
My novels, Under the Heavens and Catbird Singing, are written in third person limited.
(as though I am relaying a story the main character told me.)

I want to mention that I changed the names of my Amish friends who appear in this story.
It is my experience that the Amish do not appreciate public attention.











 




                                               


1 comment: