The Farmer's Daughter

You never know what inspires something.

The Farmer’s Daughter

 

            One summer Tuesday morning about ten years ago, the Farmer’s daughter, who was eleven at the time, came walking towards my meadow.  It wasn’t unusual for her to stop by and step up on the lower painted split rail and rest her chin in her folded arms on the top rail.  She had stood there often taking in the warm Mississippi breeze, dreaming whatever it is that young human’s dream about.  But that morning she was wearing her mother’s cowboy boots and her long blonde hair had a special golden sparkle.  Perhaps, I thought, because of where the sun was in the sky at that time of year.  Then I realized that the declination of the sun had nothing to do with it, but that she had always had her hair tied back into what people call a pony tail.  I of course understood that analogy, because we have ponies here on the farm.  I’m not just some dumb Ox fresh out of the yoke, you know.

 

            I knew right away that they were her mother’s cowboy boots, because the old horse had told us stories about her mother who none of us had ever even seen.  The Farmer never talked about her either, so we all just relied on the stories that we were told…. Night after night, back in the barn, the same old stories.  One of the stories that the old horse told us about was about the mother’s grandmother, who would be the daughter’s great-grandmother.   She had been a famous 12 year old female Rodeo personality back in the 1940’s when most of the men were off doing what human men always seem to be doing, fighting a war.

 

            Anyhow, the Farmer’s daughter seemed to be thinking especially hard that day and had a determined look in her eyes.  Along with the Farmer and the other humans, she had gone to the Rodeo on the previous Saturday to watch all the riders and clowns.  I always thought they looked like clowns even without those silly costumes and the thought of some of my brethren tossing those silly humans into the air like rag dolls brought a couple of light tickling snorts to my nostrils.  Watching the Farmer’s daughter, I began to feel that little nervous twitch that I often get on my left front hoof and gently lifted it to lightly paw the ground, without raising any dust however.

 

            All of a sudden, she put her right leg across the top rail, and then the other and jumped into the meadow landing firmly on both feet, her mother’s boots raising a small cloud of Mississippi dust.  Our dust has this slight reddish tint to it and the dust clouds it raised always showed that tint.  Then she stood in front of the fence for a moment or two before starting to walk right towards me.  I could tell that her feet were still not quite big enough to fill her mother’s boots.  Now, I’m probably the gentlest bull you could ever know, but she probably didn’t know that as we had never been near enough to each other to touch.  She had, however, ridden horses since she was able to walk and had seen me in the barn every day.

 

            Without a word, she grabbed my harness, pulled her tummy up onto my back, and swung her right foot across my broad shoulders and within about three seconds; there she was sitting upright on my back.  It startled me for a moment and my massive body moved instinctively until I realized what had just happened.  I faked a couple of more bucks and trotted around the meadow a bit with my new friend right there on my back.  We frolicked for a while longer until we saw the Farmer’s truck approaching and she hopped off, petting me on that little spot on my forehead just below my eyes, and running quickly back to the fence before her Father could even see what we were doing.

 

            I do talk to the Farmer each night as we‘re walking back to the barn, but it’s more of a “We understand each other‘s thoughts.” type of discussion.   He has never told me what happened to his daughter’s mother, but it looks to me like he is starting to see her in the daughter’s bright eyes, especially now that she’s all grow up.

Reviews

[E. L. Foley]

Very interesting perspective--I was startled at the end of the first paragraph to find it was the horse narrating. I think you could take this a bit further, adding a few more "horse perspective" details here and there, but I liked it a lot. It would be interesting to read more about these characters.

[Wicahpi]

mother had a bull named 'sitting bull' and he was
so gentle that he could've been ridden. this story
reminded me of him. i would imagine the father
would constantly be reminded of his wife,
watching his daughter grow up. more so with
daughters I believe. endearing story, sad at the
same time.

[Gandré]

I like how you are targeting an audience with this story, and how you spread information about your home state Mississippi, making us to go there, to experience its beauty, especially in sentences like this: you make it special, this might be just suggestive thought, but it is a great thought.
Our dust has this slight reddish tint to it and the dust clouds it raised always showed that tint.

--- and I like how you are loyal and sticking with your topics farmer's life. And, I like this humorous style, it makes a nice feel-well situation. It's the way how a story is being told, the situation are trivial but a writer makes of each one a special moment. That's what you did. I enjoyed this story a lot.