Young Doris Helps With the Horses–1920s
Dad drives the horses in from the field
to the water tank, where they guzzle
and snort. Smarter than tractors,
they head to the barn on their own.
I follow Dad to the barn.
Leather slaps as he unstraps harnesses
from the big creatures,
takes metal bits from muzzles.
He adds halters, flings flynets over,
their strings with knots at the ends.
Aroma of dust, leather,
and horse sweat.
Dad gives me a three-pound coffee can
to measure corn for the manger,
room for six to eight horses,
teams double-stalled down the center.
I help with double handfuls of oats,
counting from the bushel basket, while
Dad pitches hay, with its sweet dusty smell,
down from the mow and into the manger.
The munching is comforting.
I feel safe with my dad,
helping him with the big horses
at Mr. Hemphill’s farm.
After they eat, Dad lets them out of the barn,
into the pasture, where they lie down,
feet flailing, rolling to scratch their backs
while Dad and I head to the house for supper.
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Beautiful hat!
“ Smarter than tractors” is a good phrase.
“Smarter than tractors” brought a smile for me.
Young Doris is adorable in her hat!
Easter Sunday 1925, green pongee dress sewn by her mother. Here’s how she lost those cherries on that darling hat: https://joynealkidney.com/2017/03/13/easter-1925/
I was immediately taken with the hat as well.
When I was 4-5 my dad still had his team of horses. They were ‘retired’ by then. The mare was blind in one eye. He was moving them to a different pasture and put me on the male’s back. He opened the large farm gate and I rode on him to the horse barn. A memory I can still picture.
Gary, what a winsome memory!
His dad was well known for his stud horses. My dad loved his team and sometimes pastured the two retirees near a creek. Not long after my ride the mare stepped off a bank and broke her foreleg. Broke my dad’s heart. Her mate died a short time later. My mom told me he died of a broken heart.
lump in throat
That’s such a sweet father and daughter memory.