The Real Yankee Doodle

Answering the Call

Enfield, Connecticut

Thursday, April 20, 1775

John grunted "ho" to the team of oxen tugging the heavy plow through the rocky soil.  Chest heaving in the crisp, morning air, he leaned upon the handles and allowed the reins to fall slack in his calloused and dirt-crusted hands.  With each pass of the plow across the uneven field, he'd stopped every few yards to lift and toss aside the large stones that sprang up like stumbling blocks.  "Blasted rocks," he swore softly, as the furrow lengthened behind him, "I truly believe some devil seeded these fields just for spite!"

The strong-armed, sturdy young farmer looked around to gauge his morning's progress.  Satisfaction with the number of furrows striping the land added to the pleasure he took in the scene spread out before him.  Cleared fields interspersed with stands of newly-budding maples, the sturdy house with its tidy out-buildings glistening in the morning light still damp with dew, the pale blue sky filled with high cirrus clouds tinged rosy gold, all mingled to delight his senses as he inhaled deeply and savored the contented feeling swelling in his chest.  "Home," he thought aloud, "ours...this place that we have wrought with our own hands."

In his mind's eye, he traveled back to his boyhood and smiled at the sight of his younger self, trudging along ahead of his father's plow, bending and tossing aside the cursed rocks just as he still did today.  Even then his arms and back had ached with the labor, but his heart had beat happily at his father's words of praise.  He remembered his older brothers, David and Ephraim, busy at their own tasks and his unmarried sister Mary, in the house helping their mother; but, he smiled again, he was helping his father...always, he wanted to be helping his father.  Working beside that patient, doughty man, earning his smile of approval, was more satisfying to him than any of his other tasks in some way he couldn't put into words.  He just knew it made him feel good.

Turning his deep blue eyes away from the panorama of broad valley spread out before him with its ribbon of river curving gently away both north and south, he reminded himself, a bit wistfully, that the others were gone now; his sister, Roselle, married and now dead from childbirth, sister Mary and brother David, also married with homes of their own.  Margaret and Ephraim had not been heard from for some time.  No one seemed to know just where they had taken themselves. Then he remembered the little sister, Esther, dead at age ten, long before he was born. His mother still mourned her loss.

Well, he shook himself, coming back to the present, I'm still here and this place is still ours!  Putting his hands to the plow handles, aching muscles and tired feet forgotten, he clucked to the yoked oxen and finished the field before heading home for the meal he knew was waiting.

After removing his mucky boots, he washed up in the still chilly water from the bucket on the water bench by the back door.  He ran his long fingers through his tangled hair, then ducked his head and entered the warm room filled with the aroma of hot cider and freshly baked scones.  His father, David, broad shoulders hunched, grey head bent, sat stolidly behind the heavy pine table.  He grunted, motioning John to a seat without looking up.  Steaming cup in her hand, his mother, Thankful, smiled and placed it before him. He nodded his appreciation, noticing her sleek silver hair in its customary twist under the crisp white cap.  She never seems to change, he thought, always serene, accepting of each new day and its joys or sorrows.

Her bright blue eyes twinkled as she said, "Thee has done well this morning, John.  The field looks ready for the seed and your rock wall seems well laid up."  She took a seat beside him then added, "Will thee be able to attend Thursday meeting in town with us this afternoon, John?  I'm most anxious to be there."

John raised his eyes from the bowl of hasty pudding he was devouring.  "Have no fear, dear mother.  Your carriage will await you at the proper time.  Your servant will be ready and waiting."  He reached across the table for the stick of maple sugar and shaved a generous portion onto his pudding.

 His father looked up and grinned. "Will ye be carrying the sire as well as the dam, my good man, or will the "Old Corporal" have to walk?"

John took a big swallow of cider.  Trying to keep his beaming face straight, he answered, "I don't exactly know, sir.  Seems like one the town calls " Old Corporal" ought to be still fit for marching, wouldn't you say?"

"Ur-umph!" said his father. "Get on with ye now.  It'll be you doin' the marching soon enough, I fear, what with all this talk of trouble.