SOLID COMFORT IN A MINNESOTA ORCHARD. 381 



fused in ineinory, but that one bright year with the dear old iolks 

 stands forth as clear in mind as yesterday. The well in the hollow 

 with its "old oaken bucket," that was drawn up from mysterious 

 depths dripping- with the coolest waters; the barn with its great 

 bays of scented hay and clover and such glorious places to climb 

 and jump; the sweet, loving face of the dear old lady; and mj^ grand- 

 father with the bible on his knee. But oh, the orchard! Just think 

 of a boy who had scarcely known the taste of apples turned loose in 

 an old fashioned farm orchard. The garden of Eden held not more 

 joy. How eagerly I watched the fruit grow and ripen! It is thirty- 

 five years since I plucked that first ripe apple, but were the tree stand- 

 ing today I could go and point it out to you at once.a broad.recumb- 

 ent tree with round fruit of richest red. Then there followed a great 

 variety of all sizes, shapes and colors; the spicy red app]es,that were 

 borne on tall trees in the centre of the orchard, and my favorites, the 

 sweets, that grew next the house. And then when winter's cold and 

 snow have shut us up indoors, what a luxury to take my pan down 

 into that aromatic cellar and fill it from the bins of reds and yellows. 

 Pippins and Greenings, stored up for winter use! But the year rolled 

 round, and I was back again at home spending the days wrestling 

 with Robinson's practical arithmetic and the nights dreaming of 

 the time when I might again visit at grandfather's. 



Very soon after my return home to Minnesota, about 1864, my 

 father planted out an orchard of moderate size. That there was not 

 the fullest faith in this venture was shown by his planting a 

 row of wild crabs at the same time. An incident in the setting of 

 that orchard is most clear in memory. One tree of the lot was very 

 inferior and gave small promise of living; my father looked it over 

 criticall}^ and then handing it to me said, "There, Clarence, if you 

 can make that tree live, you can have it for your own." A place was 

 selected for it, and there, with such gentle, earnest care as children's 

 hours can give, I planted my first apple tree. It lived; but those 

 who began their orcharding in our state at that time need not be 

 told the fate of that tree or of that orchard, or the general discour- 

 agement that set in when all failed and one by one were gathered 

 to the wood pile. Years passed, railroads came nearer, fruit from 

 the east began to be used, and it became current among our wise- 

 acres that we could buj'^ our apples cheaper than we could raise 

 them; and as we look back upon it now we shall have to agree that 

 it was and is far better to buy our Spys and Baldwins and Greenings 

 than it is to attempt to grow them in this uncongenial climate. But 

 this plan, with apples at $5.00 to $8.00 per barrel, did not give us boys 

 much satisfaction. I remember that my allowance was one apple 

 per day and an extra one for special good behaviour. 



Still my father kept on planting in a desultorj' way. Siberian 

 crabs, the very little, very crabbed ones, were the first trees that bore 

 any fruit of any consequence with us; then the H3^slop and Trans- 

 cendent, with abundant crops of something more like apples, and, 

 finally, some traveling tree man, for whoin father had done a favor 

 left with us as a present, a very high-priced and wonderful tree? 

 which, as an old Tetofsky, is standing today, the sole survivor of 

 my father's orchard. 



