254 IOWA DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE 



where is thy brother?" and Cain answered that by asking another 

 question, "Am I my brother's keeper?" and that question has been 

 ringing down the ages ever since. You are your brother's keeper, 

 and you cannot possibly avoid that responsibility. Bees live in 

 swarms, buffaloes range in herds, but the jackal hunts and howls 

 alone, and so did Robinson Crusoe. You know the old ditty: 



Robinson Crusoe lived alone; 



No bills to pay, no friends to loan; 

 He wore the same clothes all the while, 



A string of beads, a pleasant smile 



And there you have it in a nutshell. Modern civilization demands 

 its penalties, and you cannot find the simplicity of a Robinson Cru- 

 soe existence in the divine plan of modern civilization. Bills must 

 be paid, friends must be loaned, and the progress of a forward- 

 looking and forward-stepping humanity has never been characterized 

 by a failure or refusal to change clothes whenever a change was 

 needed. Iowa has changed her clothes a hundred times, and it is 

 still changing its clothes whenever a need demands. My father 

 came to the state of Iowa seventy-five years ago, and at that time 

 caravans and prairie schooners were headed eastward, warning all 

 comers that if they ever expected to get back to civilization they 

 had better start, because nothing could exist in Iowa except mos- 

 quitoes and ague. Look at us today ! During the decade of 1900- 

 1910 — and that is not so long ago — during that decade, every single 

 state of the American union increased in population with one soli- 

 tary exception, and that lonely exception was the state of Iowa. 

 People have been trying to solve that puzzle ever since. The trouble 

 is the people didn't realize the greatness of this state, and they don't 

 fully realize it yet. You know, they heard about the wonderful 

 wheat fields in Saskatchewan and Medicine Hat. They heard of 

 the wonderful possibilities of the Panhandle, and they were lured 

 by the vari-colored descriptive folders that showed plums grown in 

 Washington seven times as big as they actually were, and away 

 they went to the North Yakima valley. I am reminded by that 

 situation of the mute farmer who called his hogs to feed by tapping 

 on the fence with his cane. Finally the old man died, just when the 

 hogs were in good flesh, and they fell into other hands. In spite 

 of an abundance of feed, they grew poorer and poorer and no one 

 could find out what the trouble was. They dipped them and doped 

 them, but the hogs kept getting thinner. Finally the secret was dis- 

 covered, they observed that those fool hogs were chasing themselves 



