When
I was young, harvesting was a community event. The neighbors and others
would cycle between the farms collectively making it happen. One of the
'others' was Marion Mull. Mr. Mull was a very hard working and
wonderful soul that always gave the farmer a good feeling when he showed
up. He had a very imposing appearance that would really jolt you when
you first met him. His piercing steel
blue eyes appear to see through you. He was over six feet tall with
flowing white hair and beard under either a toboggan or floppy hat
(straw in the summer) and usually bare foot (I personally saw him pull a
nettle string between his toes to tear off the briars). He wore an old
Army trench coat practically year round. In spite of being invited into
the homes, he always insisted in sleeping in the barn or shed. He ate
heartedly and accepted gifts, but I never saw him take money.
A
man from Lebanon IN bought a local farm that had been idle for a few
years. He labored long days cutting the brush from the fields and fence
rows into massive piles. Late in the evening, he set one on fire. As he
was staring into the flames, his eyes focused on Mr Mull standing on the
other side of the fire staring at him. The man let out a scream and
started booking it toward his house. He doubled his speed when he looked
over his shoulder and saw Mr Mull taking long strides gaining on him.
He crashed through the door and tried to no avail to shut and lock it,
but Mr Mull squeezed through it. Expecting imminent demise, he could
only moan. Mr Mull said "What is after us?"
I heard the farmer tell that story many times during harvests after that, and Mr Mull always laughed and loved hearing it.
What a wonderful time to be be a Hoosier kid.
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