This is the day

My neighbors’ brush with disaster

A few days ago, I watched in horror from my driveway as my Amish neighbor’s four draft horses took off on their own, dragging their huge produce wagon on a wild and scary adventure.

I had stepped outside with Charlie so he could do his morning business when the excitement began. My neighbors and their many children were busy carrying potted flowers and tomato plants from their greenhouse, loading them onto a massive, horse-drawn farm wagon. Four enormous draft horses were hitched to the wagon, ready to haul a full load of plants to an auction house several miles away.

Suddenly, one of their sons called out, “Whoa!”

And I saw the horses had started to move without a driver. The young man’s voice grew more urgent, shouting “Whoa!” even louder, but it only seemed to spur the horses on. Then all heck broke loose as the horses turned and picked up speed.

Everyone was yelling, “Whoa, whoa!”

The father came tearing out of the greenhouse, chasing the runaway horses, but they only went faster. The wagon clanked and jolted over every bump in the earth, sending plants flying everywhere. The mother called out desperately for help, urging more of her boys to join the chase.

The horses reached the end of the greenhouse and veered sharply, crashing into its corner as they went. The father, and some of his sons, in fast and desperate pursuit, kept yelling, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”—but to no avail. The clanking wagon barreled toward a wooded area, with the cries of “Whoa!” trailing behind.

My heart went out to their family. I cried and prayed none of their children were hurt in the melee. The clanking of the horse-drawn wagon continued for some time until it faded, either because they had stopped or were too far away for the sound to carry.

I knew I couldn’t help, though I wished I could. If I had dashed across the road, I would have been in the way as they navigated the destruction that had just befallen them. Selling flowers, plants, and produce at auction is their primary source of income, so it must have been devastating to see so much of it ruined by the fleeing horses.

Later, I thought of a small way to help: I could spend my flower money buying some of their damaged plants. After the frenzy had settled, I went over to offer my heartfelt sorrow for their losses and to see if I could buy from them directly, which the mama was happy to accept.

As it turned out, they had two huge wagons for auction that morning, and the one that got away was only half-loaded when the incident occurred. They had left the mess where it lay and gone to the auction with the other fully loaded wagon. By the time I arrived, they were well into picking up the damaged plants, salvaging what they could.

I spent my flower money on some lovely begonias and sunflowers, and was relieved to hear that no human or animal had been harmed during the day’s big adventure.

My neighbor and I shared our gratitude that the horses had turned in the yard rather than heading straight for the road and steep riverbank. She admitted their yelling during the chaos had likely made things worse, scaring the horses and fueling their wild flight.

At the same time, it was remarkable—why did the horses turn as they did? They started walking at first, the boy said “Whoa,” which made them quicken their pace, and then they turned at a right angle when they could have gone straight into the road and certain disaster.

And, astonishingly, they made another right-angle turn instead of running into the deep ditch. Then again, at the end of the greenhouse, rather than veering toward the road, they took yet another right-angle turn, leading them into the woods. (Eventually, they got stuck in deep mud, bringing the first phase of the big adventure to an end.)

This experience reminds me of a time when I was living in Los Angeles, driving to Long Beach on one of Southern California’s busy freeways. An erratic driver sped up behind my car, darted into the lane next to me, then swerved back in front of me. In that split second, a powerful presence of mind came over me: stay the course, don’t react, just hold my place.

And I noticed every other driver on that stretch of freeway doing the same thing. We all stayed steady, kept the flow going smoothly, and avoided chaos.

After the danger passed, these words, in a steadfast voice, came clearly in my mind:  “It is our reactions to the events of life that create the chaos.”

Holy smokes. That was a powerful, spiritual moment.  I knew that simple yet powerful message was meant for me to live by in my own life, and to share with others along the way.

I’ve carried those words with me ever since, recalling them often to remind myself, no matter what’s happening around me,  stay the course, don’t react, and avoid creating chaos.

Today, as I sit out on my porch reflecting on all I witnessed that day, this is the image that stands out in my mind:

My neighbors, hardworking farmers—father, mother, and children—working together. The children, alongside parents and neighbors, smiling and laughing, their sun-kissed skin healthy and glowing.

At the end of that day, the story of their adventure was not one of loss and sadness. Rather, they picked up the pieces, salvaged what they could, and felt deeply thankful for this day they had been given, embracing their many blessings and letting go of all losses.

As for me?  Well, now I have another “yarn” to carry in my hat and share with others as need be.  And for you, my friend, may the wind be at your back and the grace of god bless every step you take.

Until next time, this is …  ~firefly, out.