270 



THE GUIDE TO NATURE 



Not Wholly Lost but Getting Scarce. 



The reader is familiar with the edi- 

 tor's lamentations over the things of 

 the past that are disappearing. Life 

 on the farm is rapidly changing, not 

 only indoors but out, not only among 

 men, but among the things of nature. 

 We have lamented the disappearance 

 of the potato's seed balls, and have 

 noted the fact that after fourteen sum- 

 mers' search not one seed ball has been 

 found in Connecticut, and nearly, if 

 not quite, the same scarcity has been 

 reported from some other states Yet 

 only a generation ago they were as 

 plentiful as acorns under an oak tree. 

 We have more recently deplored the 

 loss from the kitchen of the old-fash- 

 ioned hominy, or the coarser form 

 known as samp so pleasingly described 

 by John Greenleaf Whittier. We have 

 also noted the disappearance of apple 

 turnovers, and have incidentally re- 

 ferred to huckleberry hollow. A gen- 

 eration ago a variety of dishes made 

 from hominy were common, and 

 apple turnovers and huckleberry hol- 

 low at certain seasons of the year were 

 made about as regularly as bread is 

 now made. 



From the naturalist's point of view, 

 we have lamented the passing of the 

 passenger pigeon, until not one is left 

 in all the United States, the death of 

 the last one having taken place at the 

 Cincinnati Zoological Park. 



It is a curious fact that, within a life- 

 time, oxen were used on almost every 

 farm but are now found only on a few 

 in certain parts of the state. These 



were supplanted by horses, and now 

 the horse is fast being supplanted by 

 the automobile. Beef cattle are also 

 disappearing with the advance of such 

 concerns as Swift & Company and Ar- 

 mour Company of Chicago. I have 

 been told by several farmers that it is 

 almost impossible to market beef cat- 

 tle or to get them killed. The slaugh- 

 terhouse is a thing of long ago. Forty 

 years ago flocks of sheep might be 

 seen in almost any pasture. Their 

 enemy has been the dog. It seemed 

 to be a plain, simple question, for at 

 least the state of Connecticut, to de- 

 cide whether we should have sheep or 

 dogs. The decision seems to be in 

 favor of dogs. Dogs are coming in, 

 .<heep are going out. Any one that 

 doubts this should take a magazine 

 like "Country Life in America," and 

 note the increasing number of pages 

 devoted to dog advertisements. Then 

 take a drive through the country ; not 

 a sheep in any pasture. The human 

 race does things queerly. The only 

 meat producing animal thoroughly 

 well adapted to the stony pastures of 

 Connecticut is the sheep. But the 

 people have said, "Sick 'em. Let's 

 have dogs." They drove out the sheep, 

 and then united in a unanimous howl 

 at the high price of meat. Queer 

 things, these human beings, aren't 

 they? 



The scarcity of oxen was emphasized 

 emphatically at the seventy-fifth 

 autumnal celebration of the town of 

 Portland, Connecticut. Cattle for so 

 many decades were there used so 

 plentifully in the development of the 



I'.XIinWTlON (Jl' (JXK.X AT l'(.)RTLAXI), CONNECTICUT. 



