Milford H. Crow in the Navy circa WWI.
The story in my family is that my Great Uncle Milford, after whom I am named, was working in the field of his parents’ farm in Alabama when, sometime in the 1910s as a teenager, he either snapped or had an epiphany. He left the plow burrowed in the dirt (hopefully after unhitching the mule), trekked up to the house, and told his parents he could “no longer live like this.” He promptly left Alabama and joined the Navy, settled in Texas, and became a successful union organizer. So successful in fact that it was said he paid cash for each new Cadillac.
Uncle “Milt” was generous with his great nieces and nephews. I purchased my first 16mm movie camera with some of the money he left me years ago. So all of this “put down the plow” business is in his honor, and I think, a great metaphor for stopping, assessing, and following one’s heart.