Team Runaway

We boys loved Wellington. It was a wonderful town to me. Cowboys! I liked this, everyone rode a horse, or a team and wagon, or a nice buggy! And I loved horses! The kids living on farms, out of town, came to school in a buggy or rode a horse.

I loved the farm. Every morning you could hear the beautiful meadow lark singing. There were a lot of, what us kids called, king birds. I don’t ever see them anymore. Man has destroyed many kinds of birds. It always made me feel good, and still does, to see and hear beautiful birds.

When dad or Dell and Andy were plowing, dad had a twelve inch walking plow and one of these three were always plowing, there were always a large number of different kinds of birds following behind the walking plow getting worms out of the fresh, new turned over, earth. This was exciting to me. I used to say, “I’ll sure be glad when I get old enough to be able to handle the walking plow.” Dad kept three teams of horses and he would change teams, but the plow kept going. When the plow shear became dull, it was taken off, another shear put on, but the plow kept going. The dull shear was taken to town to the blacksmith, George Milner. He would sharpen the shear, then it was ready to be put back on the plow when the other shear became dull.

When enough ground was plowed, dad took another team of horses, a very high spirited team called Bess and Nelly, hooked them to a harrow and either Dell or Andy would harrow the newly plowed ground, breaking all the clods and making the ground very nice for planting.

Well, I figured I could drive Bess and Nelly with the harrow and I kept after father to let me do so. Dad would say, “No, son, you’re still too young, besides Bess and Nelly are very high spirited and if anything went wrong, they would run away. You’re too young to handle them.” “No, no Dad, I know I can handle them. I know I can.” I had driven old Ted and Nig on a wagon behind dad in another wagon, clear over to Castle Dale, Emery County, after a load of grain. They were a plumb gentle team. If anything went wrong, all you had to do was say “Whoa” and they would stop. I was seven years old, I suppose. At this age, I figured I was a teamster.

Well, dad said, “Ok, but you got to be real careful.” He took me along with Bess and Nell over to the harrow. There was a long 2x12 plank on the harrow. Dad helped me hook the team onto the harrow. He said, “You can ride on the plank, but when you come to the end of the plowed ground, whatever you do, get off the harrow when turning around! Be sure! Whatever you do, you get off the harrow each time you turn around! Also, be sure to make a big turn! Now don’t forget this. Be sure to get off each time you turn around and number two don’t forget to make a big turn each time you turn around. If you turn too short, the harrow will stand up on its edge and, if this happens, the harrow teeth will touch the horses and off they’ll go. They’ll run away.” Again, dad emphasized, number one “get off” and number two “make big turn.”

“Ok, I said, I’ll remember!” Father even followed me a couple of rounds to be sure I would be ok and doing it right. Then he went to a alfalfa field close by where he was tending irrigation water. Everything went fine for about an hour. I was proud and about as happy as salt and pepper would be in the same shaker. For the first time, I was driving old Bess and Nelly, a very high spirited team and doing a good job of it.

At the end of the plowed ground, I would get off. I would make a big turn, but in making the big turn, I would leave a small piece of unharrowed ground. This bothered me. I learned afterwards, when turning the harrow around, there is suppose to be a small spot not yet harrowed, then when the plowed ground is finished, you’re suppose to make one round on each end and in doing this, you get all those little spots missed when turning. Well, I didn’t know this. I kept turning the team in a smaller circle, and then it happened.

I turned old Bess and Nelly too short and cramped the harrow, and the harrow did just as father told me it would do. The harrow tipped straight up on its edge, the butt end of the harrow teeth touched old Bess and Nelly on the heels and, being high spirited, they were on their way - runaway. Boy howdy! The lines were long, I wrapped them around my hands and held on, pulling back as hard as I could, at the same time hollering out “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Old Bess and Nelly wouldn’t stop. Faster and faster they went, I couldn’t keep up. I fell, but held onto the lines calling “Whoa, whoa!” The horses kept going, gaining speed, across the plowed ground we went, pulling me, and me laying flat on my stomach.

Father seen what was a happening. He was running toward me and the horses just as fast as his legs would carry him. He never was very far away where he was irrigating. Dad could see he couldn’t get to me in time to stop the horses. The harrow had dropped back onto the ground. It wasn’t bumping or touching the horses in any way. We learned later, this team had runaway with several adult people. Anyway, father was running as hard as he could toward me, at the same time calling out “Let go the lines Cloye, let go, let them go!”

By this time, Bess and Nell had reached hard ground. They were running hard. They had taken the bits in their teeth, and I was seven years old, didn’t weigh enough to make a fly track. Dad had trusted me. He told me again and again this team would runaway. I was young and just wouldn’t get the message, and now I didn’t want to let father down! But, I couldn’t hold onto the lines any longer! All these thoughts running through my mind, as the team kept dragging me across the field. Dad hollering, “Let them go! Let them go!” I couldn’t help it, I had to let them go! Boy howdy, go they did! What I mean they really did pack the mail! It was about a hundred acre field. We were in the upper left corner of the farm. The team went down along the side to the bottom, across the bottom of the field, up the other side, passed and circled the house, out into the middle of the field, and then to the corral and stock yard. Here they stopped, winded and excited, the harrow was new, all iron, it seemed to me it spent most of its time in the air.

Dad was at my side almost immediately before I could get up. He helped me up and said, “Are you ok?” I said, “Yes.” Dad said, “Are you sure?” I said, “Yes, I am sure.” Then I said, “Gee, Dad, I’m real sorry. I really am.” Dad put his strong arm around me and said, “It’s ok. It’s all my fault. I knew better than to let you drive that team of horses! In a year or two from now, you’ll be ok, but not now! It’s all my fault, son.” This kind of talking completely surprised me. I had expected dad to get after me.

I know now, why dad was so strict about me getting off the harrow while turning around at the end of the patch each time. I would have been killed, for sure, if I had stayed on the harrow. When we got to the corral, the team was still breathing hard because of running and being so excited. However, they were ok, but it was a different story with the new green harrow. The iron frame that held the teeth, were broken in a couple places, plus some of the teeth were gone. We found them later by following the path of the runaway team.

About this time, our neighbor, Bill Jones, a very good man, showed up. Mr. Jones had been working in his field, which joined our farm, and he saw the runaway. He said to dad, “Al, looks like you had a little excitement.” Dad said, “Yes, Bill, and I feel real bad. I have broken your new harrow. I’ll hook up to the wagon and go to Price (about six miles away) and buy you a new harrow.” Bill Jones said, “No, you won’t. Let’s look it over.” They looked it over and Mr. Jones said, “All you need to do, Al, is to take it to Wellington to the blacksmith. He’ll weld it and it will be as good as before.” So this is what father did. I remember it cost him $3.00. There is a lot to be said about Bill Jones, which I intend to do later. How he helped the family after dad died.

This about covers the territory of the runaway with the harrow. Since that time, I have harrowed hundreds of acres of plowed ground and, one thing for sure, I never did make another too short a turn. I was just a short horn, beginning to spread out in th world. I loved my daddy. There was no one like him, and I felt that I had let him down by letting Bess and old Nelly run away.