I wish I knew more about my family. My goal here is to record everything I DO know so it won't get totally lost.

Monday, April 21, 2014

My Lucky Day

My mother, Helen Lindberg, grew up a farm girl from Illinois. She never talked much about it but wrote this in 1989.

In the early years of the twentieth century, an important source of energy on midwestern farms was equine. Our small farm depended most on a team of big mules, Tom and Jerry. As in all animal communities, the pecking order had been quickly established and Jerry Mule was undisputed king of our barnyard. Any animal arguing with his right to drink first or eat first would be immediately reminded by the dynamite in his two hind legs.

As a three year old, I loved to meet my father when he returned from the fields. One sunny day, escaping my mother's vigilance, I toddled into the barnyard carrying a few stalks of timothy hay. Going up behind the drinking mule, I proceeded to tickle him above the hind hocks. My father emerged from the stable fifty feet away just in time to see Jerry squat to release that powerful kick. Then the mule paused long enough to look around. Seeing that his annoyer was a child, he relaxed and went on drinking.

Because Jerry Mule had "horse sense", I lived seventy three years to tell the tale!


Helen Lindberg was the youngest, seventeen years younger than her next older sister. The picture is from about 1910.

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