Outside the mule barn at the Jimmy Carter Boyhood Farm

6

• Images

  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
  • 
• The  barn  was  the  center  of  our  attention  on  the  farm  because  all  of  our  work  was  focused  there.  It  was  a  very  exciting  place,  as  a  matter  of  fact.  We  caught  the  mules  and  horses  early  in  the  morning,  took  them  to  the  field  hooked  to  wagons  and  plows.  That’s  where  we  brought  them  back  at  night  for  feed  and  for  watering.
  
  We  also  had  a  good  time  around  the  barn.  For  instance,  when  daddy  thrashed  oats  and  wheat,  we  had  a  thrashing  machine  just  behind  the  barn  and  we  would  have  a  big  pile  of  loose  hay.  We  used  to  get  a  running  start  in  the  loft  of  the  barn  and  leap  out  of  the  window  and  land  on  the  soft  pile  of  hay.  
  
  Throughout  my  young  life  I  worked  and  played  with  my  boyhood  neighbors.  My  neighbors  were  African  American.  And  we  were  equal  to  one  another.  But,  when  I  was  about  fourteen  years  old,  there  was  a  profound  experience  that  I  had,  that  didn’t  seem  to  be  important  at  the  time.  But  later  in  my  life  I  realized  it  was  one  of  the  turning  points  in  my  life.  I  wrote  a  poem  about  it.
  
  The  pasture  gate:
  This  empty  house,  three  miles  from  town
  was  where  I  lived.  Here  I  was  back,
  and  found  most  homes  around  were  gone.
  The  folks  who  stayed  here  now  were  black,
  like  Johnny  and  A.D.,  my  friends.
  
  As  boys  we  worked  in  Daddy’s  fields,
  hunted  rabbits,  squirrels,  and  quail,
  caught  and  cooked  catfish  and  eels,
  searched  the  land  for  arrowheads,
  tried  to  fly  the  smallest  kite,
  steered  barrel  hoops  with  strands  of  wire,
  and  wrestled  hard.  At  times  we’d  fight,
  without  a  thought  of  who  might  be  boss,
  who  was  the  smartest  or  the  best;
  the  leader  for  a  few  brief  hours
  was  who  had  won  the  last  contest.
  
  But  then  –  we  were  fourteen  or  so  –
  as  we  approached  the  pasture  gate,
  they  went  to  open  it,  and  then
  stood  back.  This  made  me  hesitate,
  sure  it  must  have  been  a  joke,
  a  tripwire,  maybe,  they  had  planned.
  I  reckon  they  had  to  obey
  their  parents’  prompting.  Or  command.
  
  We  only  saw  it  vaguely  then,
  but  we  were  transformed  at  that  place.
  A  silent  line  was  drawn  between
  friend  and  friend,  race  and  race.
  

• Audio

• Video

Leave us your comments!