Monday Blues: Farmer John's Lost Wheelbarrow

 I caught up today with local mountain biker extraordinaire, Mic the Pique (name changed for identity protection) to discuss the particulars of his extraordinary and quite unexpected discovery - the unearthing of farmer John's missing wheelbarrow. What led up to this monumental find? Were you actively searching for the wheelbarrow at the time? What is the story behind the discovery, I wanted to know?

Mic: "What? What do you mean monumental? It's just some old rusted wheelbarrow I stumbled upon out in the wash is all! I can't imagine anyone lost it recently, it's all twisted and bent to hell. Not to mention folded up and rusted out. But hey look, if some dude named Farmer John thinks its his and wants it back, I might be able to lead him to where I left it."

So, you did just leave it where you found it?

"Well, yeah! What the heck kind of stupid question is that? You think I was going to haul that thing out on my back, or maybe my handlebars? Heck no; thing's a piece of junk, not even scrap metal. I did think of breaking off the wheel, you know, as a souvenir, but decided naw. I figured i'd leave it for someone else to discover."

So then, how did you find it?

some washes are sandy, this one is rocky

following the deer trail...

and where there is a deer trail, there is deer tracks...

and deer droppings

"Well, I was just out riding, like usual, out in the wash. I thought I'd leave the road and walk down this part of wash that I'd never been before, you know? It was rocky and big boulders and I couldn't ride it, so I was walking. I thought I saw some of these water control gates that I look for out there, and was tryin' to get to 'em. So I was just heading down the wash, looking around for these gates I thought I saw. I wasn't having any luck, but then I found this place where the ground was all chewed up like someone had been walking there, and I thought, huh, someone else has been here. I followed the trail. There was deer poop everywhere, and I knew it was just a deer trail, but figured I'd follow it and see where it went. Well, I still wasn't seeing them gates, so after awhile of exploring I decided to turn around and get back to my ride. Well, somewhere along the way I missed a turn and ended up somewhere I hadn't been before. There was an embankment there and I thought I could climb up and see what I could see. As I laid my bike down I saw this big hunk of rusty metal and thought, huh, there's something. I thought it was just a big piece of folded over metal, but thought to pull it out and have a look. It was kind of stuck, or something, so it took more than one pull. More than a few pulls in fact, but I got it loose. There on the other end where it had been buried in the dirt was a wheel, and I thought, oh man, it's an old wheelbarrow. Cool. And that's really all I thought about it. Are you telling me it's famous?"

Ha, ha. Well, not exactly famous, but there is a story behind it, sure.

Farmer John, like many of his contemporaries, came to this country from the old northwest states. He was a farmer, like his father before him, and his grandfather before them both. Since his last name was also Farmer, he was possessed of one of those occupationally accurate names which limited his options in life - and thus John Farmer became farmer John Farmer. Saving a little money, just enough to buy some land out away from the cold winters, he moved his small family to the edge of the wash. Folks would always ask him why he chose that place to make his home, wasn't he afraid of being flooded out. "Naw," he'd say. "Just means i'll be closer t' the water is all."

John Farmer, also known as farmer John, worked his little bit of land with a love and devotion that few of his neighbors could match, even if they had wanted to. The rocky soil wouldn't allow him to grow a profitable harvest of vegetables, just enough truck crops to keep his little family fed. The orchard though, that was another matter, and he tended his fruit trees every day rain or shine. Then came the day, a day of exceptional rains. It started light and easy enough, farmer John working right through the drizzle, picking the ripened fruit and putting them in his brand new wheelbarrow, carting the load to the barn, then going back for more. Soon though, the rain came down much more deliberately until it was a cascade out of the black and perilous sky. That was too much, even for farmer John, and he retreated to the house, leaving the wheelbarrow in the cover of trees. An hour later John Farmer stepped out onto his porch and saw that the water in the wash was grown threateningly high. He rushed his family out to safety.

The next day farmer John Farmer returned to his land only to discover his little house gone, the plot of truck crops completely destroyed, and three quarters of his prized orchard (along with one brand new wheelbarrow) disappeared from existence. 

Years passed, decades in fact. Generations came and went. Farmer John Farmer, or so it is told, moved to the desert hoping to never see a drop of rain again. His wheelbarrow was long forgotten until, by pure happenstance, a local mountain biker out for his usual Sunday ride discovered its long-since flattened bed sticking out of the now dry, rocky wash where it had been left by one old time farmer named John.

The author wishes to express special thanks to Mic the Pique, not only for taking the time to answer questions, but also for providing the accompanying photos.

The Monday Blues has been an occasional feature here at the blog since inception; the blues, an emotion, a color, a genre of music, with a cycling twist.