148 MINNESOTA STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 



HOW FARMER BROWN GREW AN ORCHARD. 



D. F, HARRINGTON, SIOUX FALLS, S. D. 



(Read at the 1903 winter meeting. South Dakota State Horticultural Society.) 



It ar' nigh to forty year now sence me and M'randy Jane 



Left our ol' hum in Ohio to take'r South Dakoter claim. 



We've had our shar' o' hardships, as ev'rybody will. 



But by pullin' both together at las' we climbed ther hill. 



We war lackin' though in one thing ter make our hum complete, 



For we didn't hev no fruit'er tall, thet war fit ter cook or eat, 



An' ev'rybody tol' us, tew, (it sort o' made 'me glum) 



Thet out here in South Dakoter yer can't ev'n raise a plum. 



But M'randy, she got spunky-like an' sed she'd like ter try, 



An' when M'randy's dead in arnes' yer can read it in her eye. 



So, jes' ter ile life's wheels a bit (I hed' no faith 'er tall), 



I tol' her we would buy some trees an' plant 'em in ther fall. 



Hed we but known the trouble then that promis' held in store — 



But life ar' so unsartin, we see better aft than fore ! 



One day in airly summer we war workin' with a will, 



Ter finish cultivatin', afore we went ter mill, 



"OV Bill" war in the harnes' an' a steppin' down ther row, 



He seem'd ter know perzac'ly where ter stop an' how ter go — 



An' ever senc the day he died, I've allers felt his los' — 



No human fr'en's more faithful than a knowin' kin' o' hoss! 



But, jes' as I war sayin', we war comin' down ther row 



When all 'tonce Ol' Bill stood still — an' I hadn't tol' him whoa — 



An' peerin' 'hed ter find tlier cause, I sed ter Bill, "Git ap," 



When I spied a hos' an' kirrige, an' nigh it stood a chap. 



He came right out ter meet me with the fr'ndl'st sort o' smile 



An' perlit'ly interjuc'd himself, 'er talkin' al' ther while. 



He pra'sd my corn an' taters an' vowed he never see 



Sech crops afor' in al' his life — 'cept one' — in Tennessee. 



He sed our sile war perfec', our climat' simply grand — 



Thar war only jes' one question he couldn't understand. 



He sed thet ev'ry farmer roun' here, if they would only try. 



Could rais' ther very best o' fruits, ter sell instead o' buy. 



An' then he out an tol' me he war sellin' Russian trees, 



Thet nev'r fail'd ter bear a crop an' nev'r known ter freeze. 



Thar war one partic'ler apple, Yeller 'Sparant war its name. 



It would keep its fruit all winter, or 'til apples came again. 



That war jest what I war wantin', so I tol' him, "See here, boss, 



Jes stop yer mill a runnin' 'til I onhitch this hoss. 



An' go with me ter dinner, an' then M'randy tew 



Can jine me in this bis'nes', ther way we allers dew." 



The stranger stayed ter dinner, an' he war so chipper tew, 



An' kept us all a laffin' with his stories, which war new. 



We couldn't help o' like him — with sech 'ones' lookin' eye 



As he hed he mus' be hones', so we tol' him we would buy. 



He then bro't out his plate book — the pict'rs. they war fin', 



He hed apples big as pumpkins, an' grapes hangin' on ther vine. 



