Vol.9, No.52, 2006
Mission Aborted
By Susanna Voth Wiebe

It is odd that I remember so few details of that experience. It must have been my anxiety, with, however, more than a touch of excitement for the challenge that confronted me, that erased them from my mind.

Saturdays had a flavour all their own. No morning rush to get ready for school. No homework in the evenings. Usually my sisters and I were kept in the house to help our mother with the cleaning, baking, and cooking, occasionally ironing or mending, that prepared our family and our house for Sunday.

On Saturday evenings there was time to read or listen to the radio. The house smelled of freshly baked Zwieback and frying sausages, of waxed floors, of hot starch and shoe polish, and, in appropriate seasons, of lilacs or wild roses.

This particular Saturday was in early autumn, after the harvest. I was, I believe, fourteen years old.

It was late afternoon. Rain had fallen earlier in the day. The westering sun shone with a watery light, puddles glistened, the washed air was clear and delicious.

After the combining was done, the farmers’ cattle were freed to roam, to glean leftover stalks and kernels. They collected in herds, wandering far afield. Before supper each farmer sent out a son or two to round his cows up for milking and to spend the night safe in the farmyard.

But on this Saturday Father and my brothers were not at home when the time came to get the cows. We fully expected them. I don’t remember where they had gone and why they were delayed. Mother rather tensely watched the clock. Finally she spoke to me, “Susie, you will have to get the cows. If we wait, it will get too dark.”

I stared at her. This assignment seemed beyond my capabilities.

But necessity ruled.

Horses had always been part of the farm and of my life. I loved the beautiful, gallant, powerful creatures. But, strange though it may seem, I had seldom ridden. There had always been older brothers to do the work that necessitated riding.

Now I was supposed to ride out to who knows where, sort our cows out of a huge bunch of cattle, and bring them home?

Nancy was the best horse for the job. Jimmy was too high-strung.

This is where I draw a complete blank.

How did I catch her? She was gentle and tractable, she must have come at my call. Halter, bit, reins. I had watched often enough how they were put on, I coped. We didn’t use saddles, but burlap sacks. Nancy was a tall horse, how did I get on her?

That morning the cows had been chased through the western gap of our windbreak. They could have wandered for miles as there were acres and acres of open fields, no forms, no windbreaks, not even the usual section road. Would I find them?

Just as I turned Nancy towards the gap I heard Mother calling me. She stood outside the door of the house, her apron fluttering in her hands.

When I rode up to her, I saw that she was extremely agitated.

“You can’t go!” she cried. “Mr. Penner just phoned. The bull is with the cows. He was mad, he charged the horse and tried to lift it up. Mr. Penner is a good rider, he got away. He said, ‘Don’t let the children go.’”

She shivered. “What if you had gone before he phoned?”

For a moment I sat very still. Then I shakily slid off Nancy’s back, removed the halter and sack, and led her into the night pasture.

I don’t remember how or when the cows came home that evening. Sometimes they did it on their own.