THE EXPECTATION OF PLENTY 37 



by tornadoes but by late and early frosts. There 

 was a July day when ten minutes* hail cut the 

 corn to ribbons, stripped the grape arbor and peach 

 trees, and laid the half-grown onions down as neatly 

 as though cut back with giant shears. In the sub- 

 sequent half hour, while the sun got to work, we 

 made highballs with hailstones: I could have shov- 

 eled a ton of ice off the lawn. Another autumn 

 the cold rains rotted the corn stover before we got 

 it in the barn. That winter was so severe it killed 

 most of the bearing asparagus. In the last decade 

 two new scourges, the Japanese beetle and the 

 Mexican bean beetle, have come to plague us. One 

 intent on his own misfortunes might say with 

 England's Richard II: 



"Of comfort no man speak. . . . 

 For God's sake let us sit upon the ground 

 And tell sad stories of the death of kings." 



But why do it? Why dwell on misfortunes? The 

 way to insure defeat is thus to invite it. Yet the 

 truth, so apparent it should be obvious to the most 

 disgruntled farmer, is that in the long run nature 

 must give man the breaks. 



If that were not so we should still be living 

 in caves. 



Talk to the farmer overwhelmed by the expec- 

 tation of plenty and you will realize no one could 

 long be subjected to the rain of misfortunes he de- 



