THE HORSE & THE TRACTOR

I lived on a little farm in the mountains, really an old-timey farm. We didn’t have a car or truck or tractor. We plowed with a horse, kept our milk and butter in the springhouse, that sort of thing.
—Robert Morgan, author of Gap Creek

The horse and the tractor, cherished then neglected, more influential to me now, then when my brother and I unwrapped each during Christmas. The horse, in all its natural beauty, belonged to me, a future teacher of convicted felons (go figure); the tractor—a John Deere or Farm All, depending on the color paint—belonged to my brother, the future engineer in the family. Both gifts seemed appropriate not only to us, but also to the giver, our grandfather, a Michigan farmer.

I’m not sure how much influence a single toy has on a child. It’s the cumulativeness of it all that makes the difference. A constant barrage of Barbie dolls, Madeline Tea Sets, Easy-Bake Ovens, and Nifty Knitters may bring out the femininity in a young male. Not that I ever received such gifts; My beating came in the form of Halloween costume accessories. Other than that, we received Little Tikes Tool Benches, GI Joes, and Bop'em Boxing Gloves. Our young father, looking onward, certainly approved of these choices.

The horse and the tractor. The horse is a more gender-neutral offering. Young mothers, faced with a decision, would choose the horse before the tractor for their daughters. The tractor, on the other hand, seems to be gender specific.

When I look at this picture (it’s the only one where I’m sitting on my grandfather’s lap) I can’t help but think of the Huron Daily Tribune, about my grandfather's tragic accident. I was eight or nine years old at the time. I’m sure my mother still has the article tucked away somewhere. And I’m most certain there’s a newspaper photo of a car being pulled from the frigid waters beyond the pier, the chain taut, neither horse, nor tractor, hauling it away.