Trying out a new beginning
Alek Ostergaard trudged behind a heavy plow hitched to a pair of oxen with thick leather traces. Above him the sky’s blue expanse shimmered with heat, outlining the feathery edges of a few clouds. The sun was a molten puddle of brilliance.
The young man swept his sleeve across his streaming face and replaced his hands firmly on the plow. The oxen continued on, seemingly unaffected by the heat or the long hours they had already spent plodding along. Behind them, the row they had just plowed stretched dark and damp in contrast to the dry and dusty half of the field that had not yet been turned under.
The ground was full of stones, as it had been newly cleared for planting. Alek grunted with the effort of guiding the heavy plow around the rocks as best he could. Earlier he had tediously gone over the field with an ox and a cart, removing most of the large rocks and piling them along the edge of the field, forming a low wall.
The ox on the right staggered and then fell forward, his right front leg sunk in the den of a small animal. Alek heard a sickening crack. Both oxen bellowed, the uninjured one standing with its head wrenched close to the ground by the yoke.
Dread crept over Alek as he threw himself at the downed ox’s side. He had heard that sound before, when a friend’s horse broke its leg. The poor animal had to be killed.
Jerking his gloves off, he freed the ox from the yoke. It lowed and struggled, and Alek settled the beast as best he could with firm hands and soft words. He swept his fingers along its shuddering leg.
Alek’s heart sank. Broken ends of bone protruded from the skin.
Alek was young, only eighteen years, but well he knew what the death of this ox would mean to his family. Without a team, plowing would be next to impossible. He pressed his lips together in frustration, his hands clenching the loose soil. He knelt there a moment, his thoughts rushing to his young brother, sister and parents. What would happen to them? He stroked the ox sadly.
He noticed a tingling sensation in his hands as they moved across the ox’s coarse hair. A hot, prickly feeling shot out his fingertips, and he jerked his hands away. What was that?
The ox lowed, and struggled to its feet. Alek grimaced. No doubt it would have to be killed here in the field and dragged back to the cottage. With a break like that, it certainly could not walk.
As the ox stood, Alek’s eyes flicked to its leg. Where was the broken place? Alek couldn’t see it now.
He scrambled close, still on his knees. The break-it had been right there, and now it was gone. He carefully felt the ox’s leg, but could find nothing. No jagged bones, not even a mark. He shook his head in puzzlement.
Thankfulness washed over him, and as he knelt there, his knees digging into the soft earth, he prayed. “Dear God,” he said quietly, bowing his head. Pale hair like a sheaf of wheat fell across his face. “Thank you for watching over us-again.” Several long moments went by as he prayed, and finally, he sat back on his heels, looking again in wonderment at the ox. Then he stood, picked up the traces, and led the oxen from the field, leaving the plow where it lay.
They walked towards the house, with Alek casting frequent glances at the pair of oxen beside him. The injured ox ambled along much as he ever had, without a trace of limp.