The ruptured mule

In 1943 when I was just 5 years old my dad (mother wanted nothing to do with it) bought a small 26 acre farm a few miles southwest of Garrett, Indiana.  The price was $100 per acre which was the going price for acreage at the time.  I think my dad thought he could make money as a farmer on that small piece of land.  He was wrong.

The house had just had lights installed by the REMC.  There were no other improvements to the property.  The barn was a 20’ X 30’ structure that had a serious tilt to the southwest.  The machine shed/granary had no doors and the tool shop had a seriously leaking roof.  The hen house (it later burned down) had a rotten floor.  The woodshed had long ago disappeared and all that was left was a partial foundation.  This made a perfect place for the coal pile.  All in all, it would be fair to say the place needed some work.

The house had no plumbing.  The only well was in the barnyard and the outhouse was about 50 yards from the house.  Drinking water was carried in by the bucket full and a common dipper was used by all.  Heat was furnished by a coal burning Warm Morning stove in the living room.  Mom had a coal burning cook stove that she used in the winter and a propane stove she used in the summer.

  The folks believed in recycling.  They would attend neighboring farm sales.  If they found a piece of furniture that was marginally better than what we had and could be purchased for 75 cents or a dollar, it made its way home with us.  The old item was promptly reduced to kindling wood and used in the cookstove.  I shudder to think of what, today would be considered valuable antiques, went through the cookstove. 

  Now for the mule.  Dad needed a horse to do the farming.  A horse cost about $50 which was over a weeks pay at the time and way over the budget.  On the way to the feed store in LaOtto one day, dad spotted an old mule being pastured along the railroad track.  A few days later he saw the mule again. The mule was Doing nothing except chowing down grass.  Dad found the owner and offered to “mulekeep” the mule in exchange for the services of the mule.  The owner pointed out that the mule had a rupture about the size of a grapefruit on its abdomen.  That did not deter dad as he saw the mule as a solution to the horse problem.  Lucky us, the owner even loaned dad an old driving harness for the mule.  We were all set to farm.  In order to properly house the mule dad built a “mule shed” attached to the rear of the barn.  The mule shed helped to correct the tilt of the barn as well as keeping the mule out of the elements.

  Dad had the neighbor plant several acres of corn for us.  Somewhere along the line dad had obtained a one horse, one row, corn cultivator. Dad, the mule, and I sallied forth to cultivate corn.  My job was to sit on the front of the cultivator and push stones away from the cultivator hoes.  I was also tasked with tapping the mule with a stick if he slowed down.  “Bud him up son” was my cue to urge the mule forward.  What fun to be a farming apprentice.

  I don’t know what happened to the mule or his rupture.  One day the mule and harness were gone from our farm.  I do not recall seeing him pastured along the railroad track after that.  Perhaps he went to that great glue factory in the sky.  What happened next was worse. 

  The year was 1948. Tom Dewey, the republican, was running for president against the incumbent democrat, Harry Truman.  Allis Chalmers had just introduced a new tractor, the model G.  It was a truck farm tractor of very small horsepower.  It was orange and had a rear mounted engine.  It looked like a short “funny car”, sort of.  Dad and I went to the local Allis dealer, Earl Brindle, in LaOtto to see the tractor because dad had had enough of horses.  Yea !  Mr. Brindle was the local county republican chairman and dad was a stiff Roosevelt democrat.  Mr. Brindle had huge banner type pictures of Tom Dewey and Earl Warren, the VP candidate, in the sales window of his dealership.  After a short chat about the tractor dad said, “If your guy gets elected, we will surely have a depression”.  Mr. Brindle took umbrage at that statement and some “friendly banter” ensued.  I turned around and went back to the car.  I knew there was no Allis Chalmers tractor in my future.