In Harness

In Harness                                 

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Times come, when we consider the bond between ourselves and those that raised us.  The mechanisms between a child and its parents are as complex as the people themselves.  For many, the home and those that fill it, make up the bulk of the very young’s universe.  Early memories have long lasting effects.  So the fortunate have a deep connection – daughter and son – with father and mother.  A connection begun even before birth.

A big strong man, my father.  My earliest memories of a hardworking, present man.  The family farm of the fifties required long hours of labor, whether in field or barn, but always nearby.  Dad was always available.  That shaped the beginning of the link that built between us.  As I grew I was expected to contribute – chores were assigned that I often considered exceeded my capabilities -- certainly exceeded my desire.  To get up early and help with the milking was not my wish in those first days.  The sweeping of the barn on a warm summer’s morning among my last desires.  I remember walking across the hayfield and “rolling” the bales so they could dry evenly.  And later when I drove the Allis-Chalmers WD pulling the wagon slowly across the land, as we picked up those bales my father skillfully stacked. 

The tasks I was given fit me – though I had doubted it at the time.  Work added as I grew older, stronger.  But our lives were not only labor.  Times, when the freedom and the whole farm was at our feet to wander and explore.  Times when our family would go to the lake or dad took us fishing.  He understood that life was more than work.

 I had not forgotten all these things when I began farming as well.  Perhaps the hardest years were the first when the Vander Veldens bought their own land.  Things went very badly those early years of the seventies.  Years that demanded more than hard work – it required sacrifice.  As we poured our sweat and blood into a dream that seemed stillborn.  Time and again we came to the brink of losing it all.  But the long hours and the doing without, in the end, breathed life into that dream.  The backward steps, at last, no longer exceeded our forward motion.  The farm did more than endure – it prospered.

A lifetime lived and time shared – what does it all mean?  Those that have not had these same experiences might find it hard to understand.  To say that my parents were, and are, important to me, should not seem so unusual.  But there is a difference – the sheer volume of time shared.  For dad and I were a team.  Not like a ball team, a group moving toward a goal.  But like a pair of draft animals – bound together, pulling a common burden.  For thirty-five years we were “in harness” – through blistering summers and subzero winters – spring plantings and difficult muddy harvests.  Shoulder to shoulder each complimenting the other – strength against weakness – confidence against fear – sweat spent on long days -- always straining together toward the objective.

Few can understand.  How many willingly pick up the yoke, to be bound to another, year after year?  Surly changes in society have diminished the need – it certainly has reduced the desire.  But this farmer does not regret the harness – rather like all those that have carried the common yoke, I miss, deeply, the empty space, for the harness is now borne alone…

(580 Words)                5-10-2014