The Yoke

“Easy, Sam.”

He ran his hand down the ox’s ribcage and shuffled toward the front of the trailer. The creature swung his head around, wide-eyed, and his horns hit the metal frame of the trailer.

“How much do they weigh?” called a bystander.

“3,200,” he replied without looking. “Each.”

His assigned stalls were near the far end where the hill sloped down toward the camper village. They were good spots, close enough to the water spicket and far enough from the main door. That evening he sat on an overturned water bucket and tightened the bolts in the yoke as the oxen chewed their cud and barn swallows darted around his head.

“That’s a nice one, isn’t it, Jim?”

He looked up. Rocky Brown stood across the aisle, opening a bale of hay and nodding toward the yoke with raised eyebrows.

“Sure is,” Jim replied.

Rocky tossed hay to his oxen. They were roan Durhams, tall and lean, flecked red and white. “I remember seeing your grandfather with that yoke.”

Jim nodded. His eyes followed the seam that had opened across the end-grain and he ran his hands along the smooth inner roll of the neck-piece.

“Could probably get five hundred bucks out of it if you sold it as a mantlepiece,” said Rocky with a chuckle.

The next morning broke clear and dry. By ten o’clock, the fair was at capacity. Jim sat in the stands with other pullers and watched the lightweights.

“That’s some good driving right there.”

“Nice pair, that.”   

“D’you see that off ox dig in?”

The crowd roared as a team of lightweight Chianina crossbreeds dug into a load four times their size and, with heads swinging and front legs pounding the clay, inched it past the six-foot marker. “Give ‘em a hand, folks, that’s a good pull,” blared the loudspeaker. The group of pullers nodded with approval.

Jim went back to the barn after the lightweights had placed. Watching the other pulls only made him think about tonight and he did not like the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. He sat on an overturned water bucket behind his team and answered fairgoers’ questions.

“Is that the harness?” A woman pointed at the big yoke. A thin leash attached her to a coat-blown Pomeranian. Jim observed to himself that a woman with a Pomeranian is always the kind of woman you assume would have a Pomeranian.

He chuckled. “Sort-of. It’s called a yoke. Harnesses are for horses.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, nodding. “I’d love something like that on my mantle.” Jim glanced across at the aisle and saw Rocky grin at him.

When the sun began to set, the barn buzzed with activity as the teamsters prepared for the heavyweight class. The loudspeaker blared in the distance: “Free-For-All ox pull… you’ve never seen anything like it…”

The lights in the pulling ring were bright. Twelve teams, towering over their teamsters, lined the back of the ring. Jim ran his finger along the seam in the outside edge of the yoke and felt the rough end-wood rattle against his fingernails. The rattle made the butterflies jump in his stomach.

The opening load was 8,000 pounds. All twelve teams easily walked it out to the six-foot mark. The load was increased to 9,000 pounds. Bob Tucker’s team went out on this load, but the others remained. 10,000 pounds saw the departure of Ryan Frazier’s team – they were the smallest in the ring – and 11,000 pounds was the end for Mark Tasker’s Holsteins. By the time the load reached 17,500 pounds, there were three teams left. They drew for the final order. Dan Pratt drew the first, and Toby Clark the second. Jim drew third.

           Dan Pratt didn’t make it. His team strained and struggled, trying to gain another inch of forward progress. Jim flinched as he heard Dan’s yoke creak.

“Give him a good hand, folks. Thirty-six inches was his best,” rang the loudspeaker. “Next up is Toby Clark, with Buck and Tom.”

Toby’s off ox, Tom, was widely admired among the pullers. He was a huge creature, half Holstein and half Chianina, and his front legs trembled with waves of muscle. But even Tom was no match for this load. Toby cut to the right on all three attempts, trying to give Tom the momentum that would result once the load swung toward him on the break. Tom’s tremendous shoulders quivered under the strain, but he and Buck could not reach the six-foot marker.

“Fifty-three inches was his best, folks. Give him a hand.” Jim breathed out slowly. “Jimmy, you’re up next, with Sam and Jake.”

They approached the load. He thought very clearly and there was no crowd, only the team and the load. Clucking quietly with his tongue between his cheek and jaw, he coaxed the team forward until the chain was taught and their heads were down in anticipation of the weight and the yoke was pinned against their shoulders. Sam’s front legs quivered.

Two second passed. He saw Jake blow out through his nostrils.

One more second.

Then he gave the command and stepped back from the team and they surged into the yoke and immediately he knew they would win. Legs pounding the clay. Swinging heads. Horns crashing together, echoing on the steel bleachers. The butterflies melted. The load slid steadily forward and a low hum began in the crowd and now rose to a roar as they neared the six-foot marker –

There was a deafening crack. He saw Jake stumble and fall on his knees. Oh God, he’s broken a leg. Sam tripped and careened away from the load. Jim jumped out of the way as the giant creature tumbled toward him. The crowd gasped.

The yoke lay on the ground, torn in half.

Both ends were ripped off – right through the line where the bolts had been. The seam had opened into a massive slice. Jim knelt beside it and rolled it over to follow the slice. It ran through the bow hole, around the roll of the neck piece and into the base. The staple gave a dull clang when he picked it up.

It was approaching midnight when he arrived home. The oxen leapt out of the trailer and bucked like calves in the moonlight. He carried the yoke into the workshop, reattached the two pieces of the yoke, and set them with clamps. He took out the staple – it was still good for another couple years – and brushed the dust off the bows. Then he grabbed an electric drill and a stud-finder, went inside to the living room, and drilled two holes into the studs above the mantle.