SEVENTH ANNUAL YEAR BOOK— PART III. 71 



In Missouri, last week, a man came to me witti the following pro- 

 position: "I get the idea, from what you say, that in the East the plan 

 is to get must out of little, while in the West we are so strong and rich 

 in crude material, that it is more like making little out of much." I don't 

 know how true that is of you, but we, in the East, have certainly been 

 forced to utilize waste and make as much as we can out of small resources. 

 This man went on to say that a fool could make little out of much, but 

 that it required hard brains and close planning to make much out of 

 little, and I agree with him in both propositions. Standing at the stock 

 yards in South Omaha last Saturday, a farmer from southewestern Iowa 

 said, as one of those great steers rolled off into the cooling room, "that is 

 the end of our farming." I was obliged to say to him, "it may end your 

 farming, but it is the beginning of ours." We are willing to pay nearly 

 $50 a ton for the dried blood which comes from that steer and we can 

 pay $30 or $40 for the ground bone. We can add potash to these two 

 and with this mixture raise more corn to feed to another animal at a 

 profit; therefore, I was right in saying that where one system of farm- 

 ing ends, another begins, and the margin between the two is wide enough 

 to afford the Eastern farmer a good living. It may seem strange to you 

 that we can utilize the refuse from your animals or buy your grains at 

 exorbitant prices, and yet we get our money back by doing so. You 

 could hardly expect a Yankee to pay out a dollar unless he saw a chance 

 of getting $1.10 back; so with these wide differences, it is impossible 

 for a man to come here from the East and tell you how to conduct your 

 farming. I can only tell you how our farms are developing and leave 

 you to make the true application, for it is my conviction that sooner or 

 later, you will be obliged to follow us in some directions, at least. 



Let me give you, by way of illustration, two instances to show you 

 how life in the East has changed. I talk in this off-hand way just as 

 these things come into my head. Old men have told me how, on the 

 old-fashioned Vermont farms, they used to bring the year's products to 

 the Boston market. There were no railroads at that time and goods 

 were hauled on wagons or sleds. They generally waited until January or 

 February when the snow was deep and sleighing was good, then they 

 hitched up their oxen. You men cannot conceive the idea of working a 

 steer, because he does enough for you in the production of beef; yet, 

 even now, in some parts of New England, the farm work is done by oxen, 

 who work for several years at a profit and are then sold at a good price. 

 But, when the load was ready, they hitched the oxen to the sled, sev- 

 eral yoke at a time, and started off to Boston with their bee's-wax, 

 honey, cheese, hides, or whatever they had to sell. It was a week's trip 

 or more to get there and back. The day before they started the good 

 wife would take a brass kettle and boil a thick bean soup in it. When 

 it was fully boiled, she would put it outside and let it freeze over night 

 into a hard mass. In the morning she turned the kettle over and poured 

 hot water on the bottom, so that the cheese of bean soup dropped out. 

 Then she would bore a hole through the middle and put a little chain 

 through it, put a cloth over it and tie it behind the sled. When dinner 

 time came, instead of going to the inn and paying a quarter for their 



