Last week we discussed and reviewed the history of the mule and how and why they were bred. We got up until the time our first president, George Washington, moved into Mt Vernon. It seems after the war Mr. Washington started farming on a larger and more diversified scale. It was during this time that he recognized the value of mules in agriculture.
Although there were mules already in our new country Washington decided that he needed a bigger and stronger breed of mule. Through his research and connections throughout the world, Washington decided that Spain and its King Charles had the perfect breed of donkey he needed to breed to his mares. It was called the Andalusian donkey.
Wasting no time, Washington wrote to the King of Spain requesting permission to purchase two of these Andalusian donkeys. But, at that time the Spanish government prohibited the sale or exportation of the animal. So, what could Washington do to purchase a pair of these donkeys?
Some folks always said that Mr. Washington always had a horseshoe up his butt but this time he used his connections, never mind that he and his country were just about broke after winning the war.
As fate would have it in 1785 a ship from Spain docked in Boston Harbor carrying a gift from King Charles to Mr. Washington. On that ship were two fine jennies and a four-year-old Spanish Jack named appropriately “Royal Gift.” This mixture of animals began a dynasty that in many ways reshaped the very landscape of our country. Thus Mr. Washington also became “The Father of the American Mule.”
In 1808 America had an estimated 855,000 mules. In this time, mules just didn’t catch on in our northern states, who mostly used horses and oxen, but farmers in the southern states took a big liking to them. Why one farmer, with two healthy mules, could easily plow sixteen acres per day. Not only were mules good for pulling the plow but were handy around harvest time and pulling wagons loaded with crops to market.
By 1840, a quality jack used for breeding would fetch $5,000 in Kentucky, a mule breeding state.
During the Civil War mules and horses were used for the war effort on both sides. During Reconstruction Period, in the south, a skinny and worn-out mule might mean life or death for a destitute farm family.
By 1887 times had gotten somewhat better in the south and the whole country. There was a boom in farming, folks moving west, mining, and timber production and the mule population exploded to 2.2 million all over this great country of ours.
During World War I some mules were still used on battlefields and in agriculture but with the invention of the combustion engines things were quickly going downhill for the mule population. Only for a short while during gas rationing of World War II did the mules make a comeback on the farms. By the late fifties, the small farms in our country started to disappear and so did the mules.
I reckon I was somewhat lucky cause we used mules along with a small tractor on our small tobacco and corn farm up until the late fifties. Granddaddy kept two mules by the name of Pearl and Nubbin. I was taught to bridle each mule by placing a bit in the mule’s mouth where your plow line was attached to be able to guide the mule and then place a collar on their neck which was to protect the mule’s shoulders. A set of hames made to fit around the collar was used to secure the trace chains which were connected to the singletree, place the backstrap to the back of the mule to prevent the collar from sliding back and forth, a belly band strap was placed under the mule, then we would hook the singletree which helped balance the load to the plow, and if need be place a mussel over the mules mouth to keep him from nibbling on the crops.
Won’t no easy job plowing behind a mule. No-sir-re. Why you had to dodge stumps, keep the plow standing up straight, keep your furrows straight, keep the horse flies off you and the mule, tell the mule to gee or haw and either put the plow line around your neck or hold them one on each side of the plow handles all-the while keeping in step with the mule with your bare feet or a shoe full of dirt.
Folks, they call these the ‘Good Old Days.” I wonder about that statement, but I wouldn’t trade a golden guinea for my memories and the lessons that I learned from following the back side of a north bound mule.