MEET ME AT THE FERRIS WHEEL

THE FARM

     Rudy’s horse Mabel pulled the old worn plow as if it had always been a part of her. It was the spring of 1901, and the farm in northern Missouri was beginning to come alive with green sprouts and buzzing insects.

     The young 14-year-old was sweating; it had been a long day of plowing. He liked the smell of the earth as it turned over, and when his father said it was planting time, Rudy was eager and ready to take the horse out to the northeast section of their forty acres.

     He decided he could make about ten more laps down the field; the skies now looked a bit threatening. As he looped the harness straps around the plow handles and called “gee haw” to Mabel, he noticed a large mound of dirt and grass rise up in front of him. Holding firm to the handles, he steadied the plow because he knew he could not stop the horst soon enough. In an instant, baby skunks were running everywhere. They looked like little busy black and white beads scattering from a broken strand.

     Rudy reined the horse, grabbed a gunnysack off the plow handle, and began collecting the skunks. He had already seen the limp body of their mother, and he knew the babies would die if he did not catch them.

     “Hey there!” Frank, Rudy’s older brother, called out from the wood fence along the field. “What are you doing with those smelly little critters?”

     Rudy scurried to pick up the skunks. “It’s a shame, Frank, but I just accidentally killed their mother, and I thought I might raise them myself. Skunk pelts bring a pretty penny these days. Besides, they are so young I don’t think they know how to be stinky yet.”

     Frank held his nose in jest and laughed. He was seventeen, three and a half years older than Rudy. All their lives they have been close, giving each other support. And somehow they both knew they were expected to help care for the farm and their parents. The others had married or left home.

     Frank waited for his brother at the barn door where Mabel was being fed. Rudy came out with the wriggling sack slung over his shoulder.

     “There are eleven of them, Frank. They are so young—but I think I can take care of them with a medicine dropper and some milk.”

     “Where are you going to put them?” asked Frank.

     “I’ll build a pen out of some of that used chicken wire we tore down. When it comes time to sell them, you’ll know this was a great idea. They can go to the chick area in the shed for tonight. I’ll have to fee them though. They are too small to survive long without food.”

     Rudy knew that skunk pelts would bring in money he and his brother needed for winter clothes. On the farm, there was usually plenty to eat but getting cash for clothing was not easy.

     The next day, Rudy repaired the pen near the old chicken house where the skunks were at night. He was faithful to feed them often until they were old enough to feed themselves. The little skunks acted like kittens and ran to Rudy as though he were their mother. He soon became very attached to the young animals he had rescued.

     Frank felt sad because he knew the day was coming when Rudy had to either let the skunks go into the woods or follow through with his plan to sell the pelts.

     One day after a few weeks, Rudy walked into the barn just as Frank finished feeding the young jersey calf. He handed his brother a package.

     “What’s this?” Frank asked, puzzled.

     “Open it,” Rudy replied, his face mildly flushed.