When I was a little boy, my granddad had a mule he called "Pet." By the time I came along, Pet was long in the tooth and granddad had replaced her with a tractor to do work in the fields, but there was a time when he would hitch her up to a plow like the one in the picture, or maybe one even more primitive, without a seat or wheels.
We got this one where it had been abandoned at a house we bought in Anniston. No telling when it last got hitched to a horse or mule and dug its disks or plowshares into the soil. My granddad used to say that the land he farmed "grew rocks." I haven't done much plowing, but a good bit of mowing on that old farm and I can attest to the way rocks seem to sprout everywhere.
I imagine it was pretty frustrating--to granddad, if not to Pet--to have to remove all those plowed up rocks by hand, or worse yet, fix a broken plow. Couldn't just jump in the pickup and make a quick run to the local Co-op or Tractor Supply. Sometimes it's amazing to realize that sort of life was lived by someone I knew.
Anyway, lil' white cabin has a brand new piece of old lawn art now. Adds a little historical texture to the place, don't you think?