Animal Power

Ferme de la Chabotte - Châtillon, France

Julien and Céline have been here for 7 years now. Having started out just the two of them and a yurt on 2 ½ acres of land, they soon had two boys and a mule and began to envision a house. Now they’re working that land with two greenhouses, animal power and tractor, permanent burms, 20 chickens, and a consistent flow of WWOOFers during the growing season. I spent ten days with them in August.

9am. My host, Julien, is sending off his wife and youngest son for three days of vacation. Meanwhile, I head up the hill, calling the mule. “Mona! (Whistle whistle whistle)” I can see her, up in the trees, staring at me. She’s not coming. I squish and squash through the muddy pen and further up, still calling. Finally, she and Upie, the other mule, start down.

Once I’ve put the halter on Mona, I go to open the electric fence. I don’t know how to maneuver the animal out without shocking one of us. How does this work? Upie, Mona’s companion, a young mule, is eager to get out and work, but she’s not trained yet. She weasels her way next to the fence, and I see that if I lay down the wire, she’ll be easily able to hop it. “No,” I think, “She knows better…” I guess you can’t reason that way about mules. Of course, she hops it and goes happily trotting down the hill, free and happy as a bird, and proud of herself, too. Mona goes to follow her friend, and I’m barely able to detain her while closing the fence. I feel a jolt of panic and a rush of adrenaline. What if Upie runs away? What if Mona goes after her? At once afraid and ashamed of my small failure, I breathe deeply to keep calm.

One eye on Upie and the other on Mona, I awkwardly tie her up to be groomed—once again realizing that I don’t know the right gesture. It’s been years and years since I worked with horses. Meanwhile, I yell to Julien to alert him of Upie’s escape. He’s not worried, and arrives several minutes later with Upie. Soon, he’s at our side, reminding me of basic horse skills as he cleans Mona’s hooves. I respond, piece by piece: “Oh yes, I remember… Yes, that makes sense… Can you show me that again?” My heart is still beating fast.

I help Julien to put on Mona’s tack. There are long, leather straps and thick metal buckles. The smells and feel of the sturdy, dirty leather remind me of my childhood and adolescence, when I rode with my cousins in Nebraska and in the corral at summer camp. I always loved the ritual of grooming and saddling a horse, and I love it now, even though I’m frustrated.

Julien and I walk Mona down to the field below the house, where the towing equipment is leaning ramshackle in the grass just off the side of the road. As Julien toggles blades into place, his older son, Rémi, who is 8, joins us. Though he’d rather have permission to watch cartoons, Rémi agrees to participate in the work with the mule. He’s never done it before—therefore, Julien finds himself with two novices and a riled-up mule on his hands.

Several days before, I had worked with Julien and Mona in a different field. In my mind, working with an animal would be slow-paced, earthy, and peaceful. While it was a joy, I found it to be much more challenging than I had anticipated. Guiding her required me to be tuned in to her attention level and direction, to give clear and timely directives in the right tone of voice, and to quickly respond if she turned to snack. When it was Julien guiding her, I was responsible for holding the equipment, heavy and not set for my small stature, and so difficult to manipulate. In either case, I had to walk in between the narrow furrows, “like a dancer,” Julien said, one booted foot in front of the other. It had required a great deal of concentration and we nicked quite a few vegetables in the process.

So, this morning, as we begin, I anticipate challenge. We start with Rémi guiding the mule from behind Julien. He’s just one row over from me as I man the hoe, walking alongside. I am aware that he’s not concentrated, and that the animal is distracted. The next row, we try a different combination. Rémi is too close to Mona this time, and it makes me nervous. As I watch him, my balance gets off and I step on a lettuce. We go back and forth like this several times, and with each go my chest tightens. It’s too much to pay attention to. Finally, I say, simply, “I feel pretty stressed, here.” Julien understands, and sends Rémi inside. Rémi, deflated, lopes off, crying. 

Compassion wells up in me and melds with the stress; I know he will be bored, that he’d rather be swimming with his dad. But, as Julien reminded him, this is a job that must be done today. “The challenge of working where you live,” he says to me, taking back the reins. I set my eyes back on the row and my hands back on the hoe, and Julien gives the command: “Mona, walk!”