I’m not talking about Equine Therapy, folks. A few weeks ago, I was at an old-fashioned country fair in Ellsworth, Michigan and they had what was billed as a “horse pull” in a park on the outskirts of town. If you have never seen a horse pull before, it involves teams of enormous, draft horses; a stone sleigh; blocks of cement; and farmer-type horse handlers who look like they could pull the sled themselves with a little encouragement.
It was hot. I was sitting in a camp chair and watching the action. Here’s the way a horse pull works: the handlers bring out their team of two horses (tricked out in fancy yokes and head gear) and hook them to a flat slab of concrete. A pay-loader grinds up and drops a block of weighted stone onto the “sled” and the horses pull it for a short distance. The teams take turns doing this, with additional blocks of stone added at each trial. The winners are the team that pulls the most weight.
Built for Strength…
I have to tell you, it’s kind of hard to watch. I know these horses are built for strength and have been bred to drag plows around an untilled field, but the blocks of concrete start at 1,500 pounds and go up from there. And we had one of those small town barkers who narrated the obvious action with a microphone from a highchair, and I swear the horses looked at him with a rolled eyed drollness that seemed to say, “Could you please shut up? We’re trying to pull concrete blocks here…”
Anyway, back to the therapy part. When I sit for very long, no matter what I’m watching, my mind wanders. Or more like trudges purposefully in one direction until I get bored and then it turns and trudges in another, picking up ideas along the way. The interesting thing about a horse pull, is that the teams have different techniques. Some work together, some just dig in and do their own thing – dragging their burden in spite of themselves… my mind started working…
The team that won worked together with a kind of determined resign. No baubles, or fancy irons (my ‘favorite team” had red pompoms bobbing) – they were muscled and mean. When the going got tough, they just looked forward, used their back legs as catapults until they got going and then they ran, pulling together as if the job was difficult, but doable. No big deal.
Sober Plow Horses…
And that’s when I thought about all the people I know who have gotten sober. There’s a kind of doggedness to sobriety when you think about it – each new challenge is like a block of stone on a concrete sleigh. I don’t want to get too metaphorical here, just to say that my favorite people are those who never give up. Those folks who are determined and resigned and basic as plow horses.
There was a time when I would have watched the belabored animals with a snootful of wine and a bad attitude. I would not have made any analogies to myself, because there were none to be made. It takes pulling the heavy load a time or two yourself, to appreciate the stamina it requires – to admire what was considered “plodding” in a former life…
