In 1957 my family moved from the stretch of the Seneca River in New York State where I had lived for my first seven years. We moved a total of three miles. When we lived in Jack's reef I would walk across our lawn then up the bank to watch the combines on the fields when the hay was harvested. These were huge noisy machines pulled by iron wheeled tractors.

When we moved we past a farm that had 60 acres in wheat. But of those acres there was a plot near the barn that was fenced but still planted in wheat. When the time came to bring in the wheat the combines arrived and did their hired job. But the farmer brought out a team of drays for the fenced in plot. My Dad and I watched him mow those two acres. As the horses and the mower went by I remember hearing the fall of the feet and the vibration in the ground as they stepped in perfect rhyme. I remember to this the sing of the teeth in the cutter bar and the rustle of the wheat as the straws fell behind.

My Dad knew the farmer and I was introduced. I aked why the horses cut that one plot and the combines cut the rest. He said the horses were his friends and that they were old but still wanted to work and that they missed it if they didn't.

I know the farmer passed away a few years later about the time I turned 10. The farm was sold at auction and along with it the horses.


Every time I hear The Last Trip Home or Heavy Horses I am reminded of that day in 1957. I wasn't aware then that I was witness to a change in the world.


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