NONE SHALL PASS
Growing up on a farm there were a lot of instances where I learned things the hard way.
Things such as if you sit and touch an electric fence for an extended period of time, eventually the small electric ‘flick’ builds up it’s strength and boots you in the ass hard enough to knock you off your feet. Or if you’re picking up rocks in a field near a farmhouse make sure to place your lunch inside the cab of the truck versus the uncovered bed. Otherwise, a farm cat will find your Pop-Tarts, eat them and leave the shredded wrapper just to mock you. Also, Pop-Tarts are not a meal.
One of my favorite “learning things the hard way” stories from my younger years is a story that includes my dad, seven year-old myself and a barn full of sheep. It goes as follows:
It was a beautiful September evening in Iowa. The most stunning sunsets take place when they are stretched across harvest-ready fields. Brush strokes of vibrant pink, orange and yellow provide a backdrop to the silhouettes of scavenging deer and Canadian geese high above the horizon. My dad and I were rounding up sheep inside the barn. For what reason I don’t recall, but I remember we needed to sort a handful of them from one side of the barn to the other. There were about twenty or so ewes (grown, female sheep) total and my dad, with some fancy footwork, was going to direct those that needed to be moved to the open doorway on the far side of the barn. My job was to act as the gatekeeper and fend off all who had not received a ticket to the other side. According to my dad’s strategy, my presence in the doorway was enough to relay the message “this is not an exit” and result in the unwanted sheep turning away. I still don’t quite understand how a 4 ft tall, 50 pound boy in an oversized Carhartt jacket is supposed to look intimidating to a 180+ pound sheep, but I stood there as told.
If you’ve ever worked with livestock you will know that most of the time they don’t like to follow orders. It’s not as if you’re herding a room full of puppies where you can pick one up, give it a soft squeeze and then gently set it aside. Most of the time with livestock, with the exception of feeding time, it causes mild panic.
Anyway, things are starting to get a little rowdy. There’s a flurry of dust kicked up in the air and sheep are leaping over one another as if someone had let loose a rampant weasel. [Note: Leaping sheep are not as peaceful as mattress companies make them out to be. Those hooves are sharp and can be swung with a mighty force.]
Little ol’ me is guarding the doorway with terror painted all over my face. I finally worked up the courage to chirp out “They’re gonna run me over!” to which my dad replied with “No they’re not, keep standing there.” As if that was the phrase to which the sheep were waiting on to initiate their attack, or they finally got a whiff of the fear that was permeating from my body, one ewe turned on me and charged. Fear-stricken, I clung to the frame of the door and braced for impact. Wilma Wallace, as I will now refer to her as, picked up speed and launched off the ground just a few feet in front of me. I’m not sure if she was trying to go over me and through me but mid-jump her wooly body collided with mine and sent me sprawling. “Collided with” is putting it gently; she rag-dolled me.
I don’t remember what happened after that. Not because I was knocked out or anything, but I’m sure my mind has worked hard to block out the memory of me lying on a manure-sprinkled ground sobbing. The best part of this story is that the very next day was school picture day! So, for my first grade picture I have a nice little raspberry where the ewe clipped me right between my eyes!
I hobbled away from this fiasco having learned a lesson. This was probably my first life experience where I encountered a “trust your gut” moment. I knew I was too frail to play the part of the gatekeeper, those beasts were over three times my size. Plus I didn’t even have a sword! I should’ve politely resigned from my position and ran to the house before my dad could catch me. Regardless, I knew the shoe didn’t fit and that I shouldn’t be there. Turns out I was right! It also turns out that it took me getting trampled by a warmongering sheep to realize I was right. Here folks, is where we reach our lesson of the story. A lesson that was clearly learned the hard way.
I have since moved forward in my life never trusting anything my parents have ever told me. No, I’m only kidding. They are right some of the times.