The morning construction began, the animals all stood together.
Hill Country, Texas. The moment construction worker Dan put his drill into the northwest corner of the farm, the cattle behind the fence stood up in unison. Ruby the horse neighs high in the air, Rex the old dog begins to growl low, and the animals, who had never been near this corner in ten years, were frozen over the fence today, looking at us. Dan said, “What’s going on?” Tom had no answer. Why had all the animals on the farm avoided this one corner for ten years?
My father’s words came to mind.
Each time the drill pierced the ground, the animals’ voices grew louder. My daughter Sarah ran out of the farmhouse. ‘Dad, there’s something wrong with the animals.’ As Tom Wheeler, 52, watched the scene, he remembered the words of his father, Edward, who had died two years earlier. Never do anything in there. Why did he say that? He passed away before I could ask him why. What exactly is written in the envelope left on the desk?
The drill hit something.
When the drill had dug about 60 cm into the ground, there was the sound of metal hitting something hard. Dan stopped drilling. ‘It’s not a rock.’ Tom moved closer. From the ground, he began to see something of wood and metal covered in dirt. At that moment, the animals’ cries stopped all together. The farm was engulfed in complete silence. Tom fell to his knees. What lay beneath the ground was about to be revealed.
My Father and Thunder’s Story
Ten years ago. Tom’s father, Edward, was a quiet man who had kept the farm for nearly 50 years. He seldom expressed his emotions and did not speak much to his family. However, he treated his only horse, Thunder, as if he were a different person. Thunder was a chestnut horse born on the farm, and was the first horse my father worked on when he was in his thirties. Tom had wanted to know what had happened between them since he was a child, but he had never been able to ask his father. What exactly was the bond between his father and Thunder?
Every morning at 5am, just the two of us.
Everyone on the farm knew of my father’s relationship with Sander. Every morning at 5:00, Edward went to Sander before any of the other animals. They stood side by side for half an hour alone, doing nothing. Tom’s mother used to say, “It was a conversation. As a child, Tom had no idea what that meant. It was not until long after Sander’s death that he understood.
The spring that Thunder died.
It was ten years ago in the spring that Sander died of old age. Edward was alone at the farm from morning to evening, not letting Sarah or Tom know. When Tom visited him the next day, his father was there as usual. When he asked, “Where’s Thunder?” He said one word: “Gone. He was gone. He said nothing more. But that weekend, the animals on the farm began to change. What was about to happen to the animals?
Animals began to avoid the northwest corner.
The week after Thunder’s death, all the animals on the farm began avoiding the northwest corner. It was Tom’s mother who first noticed. She took him to the vet and soil tests showed nothing wrong. Still, the cows, horses, and dogs would not eat grass from that corner. Edward never once said, “I wonder why. No one questioned the meaning of his silence at the time.
Among my father’s belongings was an envelope.
Edward died two years ago and Tom took over the farm. When he was sorting through his father’s study, he found an envelope with Tom’s name on it in the back of a drawer. But Tom never opened it. I don’t know why. He just felt that it was not the right time yet. The envelope lay in his desk drawer for two years. And now, something was about to emerge from beneath the ground. What “the time” had my father’s envelope been waiting for?
Decision to drill a well
Two years after taking over the farm, a severe lack of water trapped the farm. A check of the groundwater veins showed that the most likely location was in the northwest corner. My daughter Sarah told me. Grandpa’s words are important, but they mean nothing if the farm doesn’t last. Tom was unsure of his decision. That night when he called the contractor, Tom opened the drawer, wondering why the envelope was there. Then he closed it again.
On the first day of construction, the animals’ reactions exceeded expectations.
When construction began, the normally calm Ruby kept neighing violently. Bruno, the cow, did not leave the fence all day. The old dog Rex kept barking low at the excavator. Dan said, “I know what this farm animal is.” It was meant as a joke, but no one laughed. The next morning Tom went out to the farm and all the animals were standing quietly facing the northwest corner. What on earth do the animals know?
What the neighboring rancher saw.
Tom called his father’s old friend Bill Harris. ‘Did you hear anything about the northwest corner?’ . Bill paused for a moment, then said. ‘I didn’t hear anything directly. But one time I saw Ed crying alone in front of that place. I think it was around the time Thunder left. Tom had never seen his father cry.
On the third day, the soil changed color.
Third day of construction. The color of the soil suddenly changed when the drill went over one meter underground. Dan switched to a shovel. After a little digging, a piece of corroded wood appeared. It looked like a box. Tom had everyone stop working and picked up the shovel himself. As he dug carefully, a wooden box about one meter long and wide came into view. Tom’s hands began to shake. What on earth could be lying inside that box?
It was a handmade coffin.
The metal clasps were rusted and nearly assimilated into the soil. It has been here for years. This was a coffin. A handmade coffin, for an animal. My father had made it all by himself. Tom gasped as he traced the words on the inside of the box with his finger, brushing away the dirt.
The name was inscribed on it.
THUNDER 1971-2013.” THUNDER. It was the name of that horse that my father had told me was gone. Sarah crouched down next to me and touched the coffin. You buried Thunder here,” she said. Her voice was trembling. At the same time, Ruby neighs longingly over the fence. The cows made a low noise in response. Dan took off his hat and held it to his chest. Had the animals known the secret of this place all along?
The animals knew all along.
The farm animals did not step on Sander’s grave for ten years. Whether they felt it by instinct or knew it by smell, no one knows. But they had kept it there all these years. Tom kneeled in front of the coffin and couldn’t move for a while. Then he remembered. The envelope at his desk.
The night I opened the envelope
That night Tom went home and pulled an envelope out of his desk drawer, the envelope he’d been waiting for for two years. He thought he could open it now. Inside were two letters, one in his father’s handwriting. The other was an old piece of letterhead. As soon as he read the first line of his father’s letter, something surged in Tom’s chest. What on earth was the father trying to tell his son?
Father’s Letter
Tom, the fact that you are reading this letter means you dug that place. I’m not angry. Thunder will forgive you if you keep the farm going.” My father’s handwriting was his usual rugged style. Thunder has been my whole life on the farm. I almost gave up 50 years ago, but I kept going because I stood in front of Thunder every morning. He never said a word. He was just there. That was enough.
Why my father made the coffin
On the morning of Thunder’s death, I made the coffin alone and buried him without telling anyone. I didn’t want people to think I was pathetic. I didn’t want people to think I was a man who cried so much over one animal. I knew from the beginning that the farm animals would avoid that place. Animals know that kind of thing.” Tom looked away from the letter once here. He looked out the window and saw the farm. Did he finally feel like he knew what his father had seen in the farm for fifty years?
Another letter
At the end of my father’s letter was this. Read the other letter I wrote the day Thunder was born. It was written by me the day Thunder was born and has been in a drawer for thirty years.” Tom unfolded the other letter. It was dated 1983, when Tom was ten years old. Tom was ten years old.
My father’s vow 30 years ago.
Today, a foal was born. I named him Thunder. I will protect him as long as this farm lasts. The day he dies, I will let him stay in the ground with me to protect the farm. That’s my promise. Only five lines. Tom held the letter for a long time, unable to move. For the first time, he felt he understood what his father saw in the farm. Could this vow have been so profound?
Meaning every morning at 5:00 a.m.
Sarah sat down next to me. ‘Grandpa, you always wanted to be around Thunder, didn’t you? Tom nodded. I now understood why my father stood in front of Sander every morning for half an hour. It wasn’t a conversation. It was gratitude. He couldn’t put it into words, so he just stood there beside him.
Changed the location of the well.
The next morning, Tom called Dan. ‘I need you to relocate the well.’ Without asking, Dan replied, “Okay.” He covered the northwest corner with the original soil and leveled it off. The animals watched the scene quietly over the fence. When the work was done, Ruby made a low, single cry. What emotion was expressed in that single cry of Ruby’s?
Ruby approached for the first time.
The next morning I went out to the farm and found Ruby quietly grazing near the northwest corner, the first time in ten years. The cows were also closer to the horns than before. It was as if they knew, in their own way, that the secret had been correctly revealed.
Sign erected by my son
Tom bought some lumber and handcrafted a small sign in the same manner as his father. On it he wrote only one word: THUNDER. He placed the sign on the ground at the northwest corner. Sarah stood beside him. They stayed there for a while. The wind shook the sunflower field. Will the thoughts on this sign continue to live on with the farm?
The night I told Bill.
That night Tom called Bill and told him about the casket and his father’s letter. Bill was silent for a moment and then said. ‘Ed must have kept that envelope all these years to give to you. That’s right. That’s just like him,” Bill said, laughing on the other end of the phone. Tom laughed, too.
The farm my father used to watch.
The next morning Tom woke up earlier than usual and walked around the still dark farm. The animals were still sleeping. He stood in front of the sign at the northwest corner. He stood there without saying a word, just as his father had done with Thunder. The sky was getting a little brighter. What in the world did my father see in this farm?
What Sarah noticed.
I know my dad stands over there every morning,’ Sarah said at dinner. ‘I know Grandpa used to go to Sander’s every morning too. It’s the same thing, isn’t it? Tom did not answer. He did not deny it. Sara said nothing more.
I bound the letter to the farm records.
Tom bound his father’s two letters in the farm’s records file. At the top of the page he wrote, “Sander died in 2013. Buried by Edward Wheeler,” he added. This filled in one blank in the farm’s 50-year history. Will this record be passed on to the next generation?
The grass is greener in the summer.
That summer, the grass grew greener than the rest only in the northwest corner. When Dan came to visit after the construction, he said, “That’s a nice color.” Tom replied, “Yes, it is. That was the only conversation they had, but they both stood there for a while.
Tom stands there every morning.
Tom still stands in front of the sign every morning at the end of his tour of the farm. He doesn’t say anything, just stands there, as his father used to do with Sander. The animals keep a certain distance and graze around the spot. There is a corner of the farm that is protected. It was the only thing that made me feel like I could keep going today.
*This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are fictitious and have no relation to real people or events. Photographs are for illustrative purposes only.
