Gritting his teeth, Misty Meadow strained hard to drag the heavy stone plow he was hitched to through the field. It slowly bore through the stiff, hard ground and brought up the loamy, black soil to the surface. As the plow made its way across the field, he looked to see if he had somehow finished his plowing.
Misty Meadow had not. He still had half this field left and another two fields after it to complete. A grunt escaped his lips as he continued to till the fields. This would have been much faster if Dad was still here, he thought. The boiling heat of the sun didn’t help either, Misty felt he was cooking out in the field, his sweat not even reaching the bottom of his brow before evaporating away.
He paused for a moment to rub his brow and had to strain hard against the harness to get his plow moving again. The work continued in the mid-morning sun, with the lone farmer continuing to force his way through the earth on a lonely field, protected from the cutting, southerly wind by a dense windrow.
Many hours later, with the sun now directly above him and somehow more sweltering than seemed possible, the call of a mare broke him from his silent work. It was like a trance broke, and he looked around. Three-quarters of the field was plowed, their flat ground is now broken and ready for seeds.
“Misty! Misty! I brought your lunch and lemonade.” called the mare as she set a basket, pitcher, and glass on the ground beside the seeder.
Misty smiled and began to work on unhitching himself from the plow. “Thanks Ma! I’ll be over in a moment.”
After extracting himself from the harness, he sat in the grass beside the field, filling his cup with lemonade as he felt his legs groan at him. His Ma, Lush Meadows, sat with him, setting out three plates. She smiled and said, “Your sister should be here in a moment, Misty. She’s fetching the pears from the cellar.”
Misty nodded and drank deeply from his glass rather than responding. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache already setting in after such a short break. The rest of the week would be a nightmare, just to get the fields plowed. Next week would be worse, as he fought the planter over the freshly tilled earth and had to drag a cart of seeds with him.
Meadow Flower, his sister, quickly got to the field, a jar of cool pears she had canned last fall nestled in her pack. She set them out and began serving them out on the plates, beside the hay and daisy sandwiches Misty’s Ma had prepared.
As the family ate, they drifted idly through conversation, Misty asking about how the garden was, how their fowl were, and the mares asking him how tilling was going. After a while, their idle conversation turned to what Misty was planning on doing later in the week, that Sunday.
“Misty, what are you going to be doing Sunday? I hear that theres a dance at the community center going on…”
“Ma, I’m not gonna go to any stuffy old dance. My friends and I are going explorin’.”
“And where are you five adventurous ponies going this time, hmm?” She gave him a pointed look, her glasses perched on her snout.
“Just out, y'know, ma.” Misty shrugged noncommittally and thought, Like you’d let me go if you knew what I wanted to do.
“You’re goin’ to the old mill, aren’t you? You know how dangerous that can be! Why would you even consider such a thing!” She started out on a rapid fire tirade, belittling Misty and his friends.
“Ma. Ma! MA!” She stopped. “What else is there to do in this town, huh? The movie theater closed down last summer, and I’ve already read every book in their library a dozen times. Goin’ exploring is the next best thing, all right?”
Misty noticed Flower was suddenly very interested in their Mason jar, examining the rim very closely for any rust. His Ma’s pointed look turned stern, and she said, “No. You won’t be going to that deathtrap of a mill, and that’s final. You can go explore the inside of your room every Sunday for the rest of the year if you even try to sneak out to the mill. Why don’t you go to that dance instead. You and your sister might be able to meet some nice ponies to bring home, yeah?”
In a moment, her dour expression was gone, and a smile was on her face once more as she nudged Flower, who giggled and covered her mouth, shying away from the two. Misty sighed, but a small smile still found its way to his face. Well, I suppose that Spring Rain will be there. I could try dancing with her.
After lunch was finished, his family packed up their meal, and Misty trailed back to the plow and began to strap the leather back around his barrel. Once hitched in, he grunted as he returned to work, which dragged on throughout the day, the sun slowly climbing down the sky till it was just above the top of the windrows, and the plow was at the far side of he field, having plowed it entirely.
Misty slowly moved it so it was sitting in the field where he’d begin plowing tomorrow, and then slowly walked his way back to their little one-story farmhouse, taking the moment to rest his tired body. He then joined Flower and Ma in the evening chores. The clothes were brought in, the chicken and duck coop was closed, and dinner was made and eaten.
The bed enveloped his back, gifting Misty ecstasy as he felt his spine finally relax. He drifted off to sleep just before nine, knowing he’d awaken early the next day. The fields needed to be tended, no matter what happened.
