When I talk (every chance I get) about the workshop I’m going to attend this summer, my listening victim often orders, “Take pictures!” Well, someone did at the one held in June.
I’ve also received the “curriculum” for the workshop. The primary instructor also happens to teach high school, so my educator mindset is comfortable with how things will unfold. At the risk of bragging, I was also pleased at how much of the content I’m familiar with after years of watching ox pulls.
Stay tuned!
“Don’t ever be ashamed of loving the strange things that make your weird little heart happy.”
Elizabeth Gilbert
I suppose it goes with the territory of “aging,” but for some reason, this past week, I noticed some strange things that make me happy. One was stumbling onto Elizabeth’s quote and realizing my heart is weird.
One thing that’s making me happy is my email inbox is approaching a record low of under 100 emails. The delete button is showing signs of wear. That also makes me happy.
Late yesterday afternoon I went to Nightengale’s Dairy to pick up milk. I always stop to say “thanks” to the girls and scratch the interested ones behind the ears and under the chin. Seeing them look expectantly at the truck when I drive in makes me happy. I like to think seeing the truck makes them happy.
If I seem a bit obsessed with bovines, I can offer “We’re Already Here” as an explanation that a summer road trip to Michigan includes a four-day commitment to learning how to train and drive a team of oxen. That will make my weird little heart happy.
Speaking of cows, my Amish friend Rachel in Pennsylvania made a sign for us: “Money can’t buy happiness. But it can buy cows. Cows give milk. Ice cream is made from milk. Ice cream makes me happy.” We gifted it to a friend who loves cows even more than I do, but I think I love ice cream more than she does.
And speaking of Amish, I love my occasional visits with my Swartzentruber friends in Corinth. During a recent stop, the boys and I compared suspenders. It started when they found mine with clips fascinating (weird?). It became a bit of a “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” Their suspenders come from a harness maker, are made from leather, and button inside their trousers. That we can share our differences makes my weird little heart happy.
The oldest boy just finished his first year of school, so he now speaks English well, although his Mom had to help us with the word horse–“paard” in Pennsylvania Dutch. I like to think we are learning to celebrate–to love–our sometimes strange differences.
After all, we don’t all love the same kind of ice cream.
Regular readers are at least familiar with my dear friend and colleague, Jack Falvey. I recently shared some plans with him and was not surprised by his response. Since I’m about to share those plans publicly, I’ll start with part of his response.
“We spend our whole lives trying to make it. For better or worse, we are already here.”
Jack Falvey
Ironically, as I prepared to write this, Seth Godin, in his daily blog post, notes that what we’re doing influences where we are. He asks the rhetorical question, “What happens when we are here and now?”
All these thoughts about where we are and what we’re doing are a good introduction to a few thoughts about where I am, where I’m going, and what I’m doing. I think some of you will be surprised.
This is not going to be a typical summer in our household. For one thing, we won’t be here for three weeks. How this all came about could be an interesting tale that might include karma and coincidence for those who believe in that sort of stuff.
Our extended road trip includes some time in Holmes County, Ohio, often referred to as Amish Country. On the return trip, we’ll also visit Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and connect with some Amish friends there.
However, a primary goal of the trip is Scotts, Michigan, which is the home of Tillers International. Here, I’ll spend four days learning to train and drive oxen.
As some know, I’m a huge fan of oxen and ox pulls or draws. I can spot a poorly trained team or a teamster that doesn’t understand them. Tiller’s isn’t training for competition–they have a mission that includes preserving our rural heritage and skills. “We attract many people to our classes that are interested in history, the use of hand tools, nostalgia, and a sense of accomplishment of doing something ‘the old-school way.'”
While I’m going to Michigan, in another sense, I’ll be somewhere else. Maybe even a different time when things were more straightforward and we lived closer to the earth.
I’ve joked that this may qualify as one of the more useless things I’ve done in my life. I have no intention of acquiring a team. But as an educator, I suspect I’ll be conscious of how I’m trained and how I, in turn, train and manage these furry fellows.
Jack’s cryptic writing style is reassuring: “I love the oxen adventure. That is you. Oxen are real. You are in a good place.”
Some of my other thoughts on oxen:
Gee Haw! Meet four-year-old Julia and her two large friends. She had the fine distinction of being the youngest and smallest driver in a special class of oxen pulling…
Thanks, Julia! Seven years ago, Julia had the fine distinction of being the youngest and smallest driver in a special class of oxen pulling I watched. It was both entertaining and impressive.
Seven years ago, Julia had the fine distinction of being the youngest and smallest driver in a special class of oxen pulling I watched. It was both entertaining and impressive. I snapped some photos and wrote an article in the hopes people would appreciate her skill and accomplishment.
Over the years since, I’ve always kept an eye out for her whenever I attend a pulling. So even though we only had one day to take in the Fryeburg Fair this year, much of it was spent sitting on the bleachers in the pulling barn and wandering through the barns where oxen were kept for viewing.
About halfway through Barn 15, I was a bit surprised to see that article and the photos I took laminated and stapled to a post near several teams. I scribbled a note on the back of a business card and tucked it into the article. “We are only here for the day… hope to bump into you!”
And we did—although our conversation took place leaning over the rail between the stands and “pit” between events. We met Grandpa Steve first—he assured us that Julia is, in fact, still driving oxen and horses. He pointed out that she’s still on the petite side, so when she arrives home from school, he must harness the horses for her, but then she’s off breaking trails in the winter and helping him with chores. She’s also managing fourteen beehives in her spare time.
Dad and Mom soon joined our conversation. That’s when I learned how that pull seven years ago changed the face of pulling at fairs by demonstrating that kids (youth—not necessarily preschoolers) could safely manage teams. I confess hearing that made me feel a bit smug because the conclusion of that article was “Never underestimate a kid.”
Maybe another truth is “never underestimate the power of words.” While it was Julia and not my words that changed pulling at fairs, I am proud and humbled that those words I wrote seven years ago had significant meaning to Julia’s family. And who knows how many others? A lot of people were at the Fryeburg Fair. I want to think a few stopped to read the article stapled to the post. Apparently, the family found meaning in those words, and I gather the words travel with them to fairs.
It is equally apparent that Julia is a kid who would be easy to underestimate. She has a lot going on for her in terms of enthusiasm and determination. That’s just as apparent as it was seven years ago. Like many kids, it’s easy to be surprised by their potential. We didn’t get to watch her pull—that wasn’t happening until later in the week–but we did enjoy watching her serve as hitcher for her grandfather. Her parents were only too happy to share some of her many accomplishments. Julia also has achieved a rite of passage—during a pull a while back, she and her team broke a yoke. That demonstration of power is an achievement for both the team and the teamster.
While discussing Julia’s beehives, her Dad noted that Julia considers anything her grandfather does as “good.” Based on the way he said it, I think it falls into the category of an “open secret”—something everyone knows but doesn’t acknowledge openly.
When Julia arrived during our conversation, she of course had no idea who I was. She also didn’t realize how important she’s become to me. So, if she reads this, she’ll now know an “open secret.” I think a lot of her and admire her greatly!
You see, I drove to Fryeburg as much out of necessity as want. There’s been too much talk and thought about some “new normal” that seems to be about uncertainty with an unhealthy dose of pessimism stirred in. I needed to “center” and experience something reassuring and optimistic. I needed to be reminded that some things are certain, including the energy and enthusiasm of the kids we tend to underestimate. We often lament the world that we are going to leave for them and, in so doing, forget they will likely be better at managing it than we have been. For that reminder, thanks, Julia.