Lingering Love for the Balkiest Beast of Burden : Nostalgia: Some youngsters fall head over heels for horses, but one young girl finds beauty and grace in the guise of the lowly mule.
Jonathanâs mule-drawn wagon arriving at the house was as sure a sign of spring as the first robins. Heâd come to plow on a day when the wild plum trees showed tiny white blossoms and âseven sistersâ narcissus honeyed the air.
Jonathan, who owned the finest mule in Wilcox County, Ala., plowed small fields for folks who had a bit of property but were not really farmers. The day he arrived at my uncleâs house was special and one to be enjoyed.
Each spring, Jonathan showed up driving Joshua, the mule that everybody else said was the âstubbornest mule in the entire county.â But according to Jonathan, there was no such thing as a stubborn mule--just smart ones that refused to do things that didnât come naturally to them.
Before the sun was high, Jonathan was walking behind Joshua, the plow cutting into rich Alabama soil the color of heart pine. I watched from the wagon that was parked in the shade of the big oak tree.
âHow come you named him Joshua?â I once asked.
â âCause Joshua fought the battle of Jericho,â replied Jonathan. âAnd I fight it every time I plows a field.â
Jonathan knew everything there was to know about mules and how they worked. Or didnât.
âThe father of our country brought mules to the United States of America,â I told Jonathan one day, proud of my newly gained knowledge of mules.
âSo they say,â he said, sitting next to me in the wagon while we ate cat-head biscuits filled with syrup. âBut it ainât so. They was mules here before that.â
âWell, I read it in a book,â I said righteously. âSo it must be true.â
âShould be,â said Jonathan softly. His voice seemed to come from somewhere low in his throat and kind of vibrated. âI expect mules was here before the President, though. How you think folks plowed before all those folks signed the Declaration?â
I hadnât given it much thought. âI donât know.â
âWell, folks was raisinâ cotton for a long time even before that and I donât reckon they was using horses, do you?â
Unhitched from the wagon, Joshua was cropping hay nearby. He flicked a long ear as if he knew we were talking about him.
âHow old is Joshua?â I asked. Jonathan had told me, but Iâd forgotten.
âYounger than me and older than you, but younger than you and me,â Jonathan replied. Well, that didnât mean much. I knew Jonathan was old; he was at least as old as my daddy and that seemed ancient.
âWill he live to be old?â I asked, following Jonathan over to the fence. âI hope so,â Jonathan said. âMules live a long time. My wifeâs brotherâs mule is 30 years old.â
I couldnât imagine an animal being that old. âCan he work?â
â âCourse he can work,â said Jonathan. âWhen he canât, heâll quit. Mules is jest naturally smart that way. Canât run âem too hard, canât work âem too hard. Thatâs why they got a bad reputation âbout being stubborn. All that means is that they can figure out if somethingâs gonna hurt, and they wonât do it. Mule gets caught in barbed wire, heâll stay still âtil somebody come to help. A horse will get hisself all tangled up and cut up.
âFolks that canât work mules donât give mules credit,â he said. âA mule ainât gonna cross a bridge lessân he figures heâs safe. And he ainât gonna work so hard in hot weather that he gets sick. Folks that try to make âem are the same folks than canât figure âem out.â
âWell, if George Washington didnât bring âem over here, where did they come from?â
âDo you mean where do they hail from or where do they come from?â asked Jonathan. Heâd tried to explain about mules being born a dozen times before, but I still didnât understand it.
âTell me again,â I said. I had a reason for needing to know. I wanted my own mule.
âMules donât reproduce themselves. So, if you cross a male jackass with a female horse, you get a mule, or a John mule. If you cross a male horse with a female jackass, called a Jenny, you get a female mule called a Hinny.â He walked down to where heâd stopped plowing and I followed him.
âSometimes, you canât tell much difference between a Hinny and a Jenny. Some mules look more like horses, and some more like mules. Remember, a male donkey is a jackass and a female donkey is a Jenny. Whatâd I tell you?â
âThat only a ninny canât tell the difference between a Hinny and a Jenny,â I repeated.
Joshua whuffled.
âWeâd best get back to work,â said Jonathan, going over to put the harness back on his mule. He always took it off at noon and evening to let Joshua feed and take water.
At the dinner table that night, I decided to approach the subject of mules.
âHow come we donât have any mules?â I asked.
Uncle Doyle was buttering a corn bread muffin. â âCause I lack two of the qualities necessary for working mules,â he said. âPatience and fortitude.â
âWell,â I said, âI think theyâre beautiful.â
âBeauty is in the eye of the beholder,â said my uncle.
âJonathan said that mules helped win the war. He said that we sent mules to England and that without âem, Hitler would have won.â
âHeâs probably right,â said my uncle. âI do know that the Armyâs been using mules since the Revolutionary War. Draft mules can do what a truck canât do. Why all this interest in mules?â
âThatâs what I want for my birthday,â I said.
âA mule?â said Uncle Doyle, helping himself to blackberry cobbler.
âYessir,â I replied. âA mule.â
âHow old will you be on your birthday?â he asked.
âEleven,â I replied. âIn November.â
âWell, Iâll tell you what,â he said. âIf you still want one in 10 years, Iâll give you one.â
âTen years? Iâll be old in 10 years.â
âI kind of doubt that,â he said. âBut I donât think youâll be wantinâ to go to proms behind a mule. Think about that.â
I didnât want to think about that. I wanted to think about mules. I wanted to think about their soft, floppy ears and beautiful eyes. I wanted a mule of my own.
âHow about if I save my allowance?â I asked.
âYou canât save that much money,â said my aunt. âBesides, you wonât be here all the time. What would you do with a mule back in Savannah?â
She was right. I hadnât thought about that part. I donât think they let you keep mules in courtyards. âI reckon thatâs a no, huh?â
âI reckon so,â said Uncle Doyle.
But I never got over my love of mules. And evidently, a lot of other people feel the same way.
Melvin Bradley wrote in âJack Stock and Mules in Missouri,â âMules farmed our land, harvested our timber, drained our swamps, and built our roads. Mules took us to church and to war.â
The mule population peaked in the United States in 1920 when there were an estimated 5.4 million mules at work, mostly on farms. They have decreased every year since. But mules are still a much-loved animal. They work in state parks, on farms, in Amish country, and in the South and West.
And today there are some 150 mule clubs across the country, including the American Donkey and Mule Society in Texas. Mule shows and races bring mule lovers together to promote these wonderful animals.
The father of our country imported animals that were known as âan excellent race of mules . . . a race of extraordinary goodness.â The best mules in the world descended from the Andalusian Ass, and up until the time of George Washington their export had been prohibited. But Washington knew the right people and was given two fine Spanish Jacks by Charles III, âKing of Castile, Leon, Aragon, and Navarre.â
The first mule, named âRoyal Jack,â arrived in December of 1785. That year, the estate livestock inventory at Mt. Vernon listed 130 working horses and no mule. By 1799, the year that Washington died, the count was 25 horses and 58 mules.
Over time, mules have become as American as apple pie. They have truly taken us to church and to war. And back home.
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