~ Look What the Storm Brought In ~
I never liked her. She gave me no reason to. For the short time we were around each other, Kate seemed to find a way to turn everything upside down to the point Charles and Lillian, Kate’s parents, would carry the weight of her emotional outbursts in their frames and faces.
I was brought to Charles’ farm by his brother. The time of my training with wagon, cutter, and plow paralleled Kate’s growing unhappiness that seemed to be on full display outside the house, often after Charles and I returned from the woods or field.
One morning, Kate got Charles so upset after a hot disagreement that I had to snap Charles attention back to his work before one or both of us got hurt.
After we were deep in the woods loading rocks for the stone walls, he discovered an axle hub was dry. In short order Charles had the corner lifted and blocked, wheel off, grease applied, wheel replaced, and the wagon back down. After that exertion, Charles walked away a bit and sat on a granite rock.
Quietly talking to himself for a bit, he fell silent, then walked back to our work at hand. Tears were cutting a trail through the dust on his face while he hitched me back to the wagon.
Even though I was more muscle than brains back then, I knew Charles hadn’t tightened the axle hub. When he grabbed the reins, I had to do something that I didn’t want to do.
Charles had been good to me through all my training, and he had my respect after watching him work as hard as five men day after day. So back in the wagon, when he raised his hands with the reins, I raised my hindquarters and kicked.
Taken aback, Charles used the reins and his commanding voice to insist we move forward and NOW!
I resisted again, much to my shame at distressing Charles. My second kick stretched and loosened my harness, and almost breaking the trace with my kick.
Charles shot off the wagon in one leap and gave me a heated lecture, all the while checking and re-adjusting all the many straps of my harness. When he was satisfied, he turned to light up into the wagon.
I took that moment to step forward one stride. The loose rear wheel angled outward under the weight of the rocks Charles had loaded.
I felt a wave of recognition from him as he stoically and silently unloaded enough of the wagon to tighten the axle nut with the wheel off the ground. Brushing the dirt off his knees, he brought the reins off the wagon and tucked them under my collar.
Putting his hand on my withers, he apologized in his own way, then walked in front of me and quietly said, “With me, Samson.”
We had practiced “With me” in the pasture and around the barn, but never under harness with a half-loaded wagon on the winding forest road.
Moments ago, everything was tainted with fear of danger, misunderstanding, anger, and shame. Then, suddenly, everything became about understanding and trust.
I was proud to rise to the occasion. I strode with full focus and power behind the walking man who trained and trusted me.
As the path leveled near the dirt road across from the house, we could hear strident voices.
Even though Charles and Lilian’s house was the last one on a dirt road, the rule was always stop before crossing. That wasn’t easy for Charles or me. An unfamiliar car (any visiting car was rare back then) sat askew in front of the house, and an unfamiliar gentleman was guiding Kate towards the car while Lillian followed.
Charles gave a low, “With me,” and as our approach was noticed, Kate came running towards her Dad. Stranger-man tried to interject, but Kate raised a hand to him.
She explained to her Dad, as I was being tethered to the fence line, that she was leaving with Erwin, and nothing could stop her.
Charles began unhitching the wagon but paused to look at Lillian across the way. Turning back to his work, he sighed and said, “You do what you think is best, Kate.”
I think she was taken aback at the lack of an argument or at least a lecture. She spun on her heels with the often spoken, “I hate this place!”
Charles abruptly stood and yelled across driveway “Mr. Erwin, if I ever hear you’ve laid a hand to my daughter….”
His next words were in Gaelic. Erwin gave Kate a puzzled look as she entered the car.
“You don’t want to know,” she said, kicking dust off her shoes and swinging her legs in. “Big city, here I come.”
The car lumbered slowly out and away as Lillian went into the house and slammed the door. Twice.
“My mother is gone, rest her soul. And now, the only two women in my life probably wish me ill about now, Samson.” He looked back at the house, “Kate was getting too much for Lill. Just too much.”
The next Spring brought the arrival of Neoma. She was Percheron stock, as am I; 17½ hands to my 19½, beloved partner and friend for many years after that first Spring.
Her arrival, the rigors of training, and the good crop years brought a lighter spirit to the land, the livestock, and to Charles and Lill. I would hear Kate’s name now and then, and sometimes Lill would bring papers to the stables and speak from them to Charles, while the scent of saddle soap and neatsfoot oil was thick in the air.
Five hard-won years have gone by now, and this year was a tough one from early spring on.
Neoma, now Ommi as everyone calls her, became weak and unsteady while we were gathering maple sap. She went down in the stall two nights later, and after week of medicine and long watchful nights, she came up strong and sassy but had lost something in her battle for recovery. Ommi had lost her sight.
If she hadn’t worked this land with me for a number of years, we might not have been able to continue on as a team. I had to learn—as Charles did too—that when Ommi abruptly stopped and refused to move, she had lost her bearings. When that happened, she would lean hard against me, and Charles and I would wait.
When scent and sound and Charles’ quiet assurances brought her focus back, her tail would swish impatiently from side to side as if to say, “What are we waiting for, gentlemen? Let’s get to work!”
This morning, I could feel the barometer drop fast: a storm was coming. Ommi and I were anxiously waiting for Charles, knowing this special day’s task. A fair amount of snow was already on the ground, and Ommi and I were sure more was coming.
Late morning brought increasing wind and flurries when Charles finally came out with his shotgun. He hurriedly brought down our harnesses and in quick fashion had us outfitted and hitched to the wagon.
The snow was falling heavy now in waving curtains as we crossed the road. We headed into the woods to find what Charles called, “The proper one.”
The farther down the wood row we went, the deeper the snow got. Ommi and I must have looked like Belgian High Steppers navigating slowly while Charles stood in the wagon and scanned the tops of the tall fir trees until we heard a quiet, “Whoa.”
Charles leapt down and got out his shotgun. He held it in front of Ommi so she got its scent and remembered what we were doing. She nickered in recognition, and with that Charles waded through the thigh-high snow, stopped, and aimed high.
One shot, reload, second shot, reload, third… And with that, the top of a spruce tree leaned and broke away to roll and fall through thirty feet of boughs below until it hit the snow.
Charles approached his quarry and affirmed to both of us that Lill would be pleased with this one. Our prize now loaded in the wagon and heading back, Ommi alerted to something as we got to the clearing in view of the house. I heard it, too.
A car was coming—or trying to—through the deepening snow. Straining and sliding, it almost made the driveway but slid past and came to a slow stop with the front wheels in the ditch beyond.
Charles had brought us to a stop a bit back from the road. He set the brake on the wagon and ran across the road to help the two occupants. I snorted when I saw who it was: a woman and a young boy. The boy, on seeing us ran across the road while Charles and the woman followed.
“What do you think of this one, Kate?” Charles asked, pointing at the six-foot treetop in the wagon.
“Mom will love it, Dad. That’s a beautiful one.”
“So, what’s your name, young man?”
The boy, who had been rubbing and patting my side, answered, “Charles, but everyone calls me Charlie.”
“Well Charlie, let’s get this rig across the road, and you can help me and the team get your Mom’s car to a better place. Then we’ll see what kind of fixin’s Grandma has for Christmas Eve dinner.”
Kate gave her Dad a quick hug and bounded off. “I’m going to go help Mom, you boys hurry and get your work done and get out of this weather.”
Ommi pressed against me as her way of asking, “Who is that woman?”
“That would be Kate, their daughter. And at the moment, I think she’s something akin to a miracle.”
~ Samson ~
