14. LIVE, LEARN, AND MILK IT By James Osmond If ever there is a sad case of personnel misplacement, it Is the "city feller," who for some good reason, or bad reason, as the case may be, decides to try his doubtful luck as a farm hand. "What experience do you need to work on a farm?" asks the dude. You can't really blame the greenhorn, though. The person who has been proclaimed a shellback of the soil would never make such a silly statement; but the poor, uninformed greenhorn well, he just doesn't know any better. During the labor shortage I patriotically donated my summer vacation to my uncle and his dry farm. I had spent a number of my adolescent years on a somewhat similar ranch and the vague memories of my youthful on-looking seemed to warrant at least in my opinion, some sort of pre-initiation or standing acquaintance with the wide open spaces, and all therein. I say onlooking because I was still a bit damp behind the ears when our family left the ranch and took to the city. Of course, there are those who roll up their sleeves and seize a pitchfork, or think a halter is a line you pull to make a horse halt, or that a cow is to be milked by placing the bucket under her and then proceed to pump the tail. I, however, didn't believe myself to be a member of this group. Of course not, had I not lived on a farm before? It would be a snap. As near as I can recall, I found my first snap (or snaps, I should say) the morning after my arrival. They were attached to a harness and there seemed to be dozens of them. My uncle had asked me if I could harness a team, and. I had confidently replied, "Of course I can." At that time I had not the slightest doubt of my ability. After all, had I not seen it done hundred of times? With no more questions asked, I had been assigned a harness, a team to match,and a hay rake for them to pull. I now stood in the stables, looking first at the harness, then at the sleepy team of horses. Was that mess of leather 15. straps, snaps, and hardware supposed to fit the nags? It looked to me as though there was enough harness for two or three teams. I had not, however, completely lest my self-confidence and knowing that the bridle was to be one of the first adornments, I lifted it from the peg that protruded from the wall and proceeded to creep gingerly between the two plugs. Now, these horses were very old,and during their many years of service, they had acquired a few trade marks and secrets. Since they were tied In a stall with their posteriers toward me I naturally had to go around or between them. The stall was a tight squeeze and they knew it. I had a bridle, and a bridle meant work. Their also knew that. With the advantage they had I was at a hopeless loss, so I proceeded around through the hay barn and attacked from the front. I found I couldn't do anything this way either, as the manger was just too small for a major battle with a team of stubborn horses; so I untied them and took them outside where I could have elbow room. I was still at a disadvantage, though, because the horses also had elbow room. No matter what position I would take the horses simplay would take a stance that would place their noses to the end of their bodies farthest removed from the point I had access to. They just could-not stand up and face me like horses, or perhaps that was just what they were doing. I was still playing the game of merry-go-round with the equines when my cousin came to see how I was making out. He uproariously laughed at my futile attempts, and then out of the kindness of his heart, harnessed the plugs for me. Having been defeated by the incongenial beasts of burden to which I had before been assigned, I found myself the tail end of the early morning pilgrimage to the hay field. My uncle had given me instructions before he departed. I was to proceed to a designated tract of land where tall Timothy Hay had been cut two days prior to the present time. I was to rake it into windrows. I seated myself as comfortably as possible on the iron seat of the rake and timidly cooed, "giddap." No response. I