l62 WE FARM FOR A HOBBY 



too close to the fact I find good, rural illustrations 

 of this simple declarative hard to find. But I re- 

 call that several years ago we went away one week- 

 end, leaving the children with their grandparents. 

 They came back to the house Sunday afternoon to 

 wash the milk buckets, strainer and separator. In- 

 cidentally, tearing down, cleaning, and re-assem- 

 bling a cream-separator is an education in itself; 

 it embodies most of the mechanical lessons that 

 were denied me until I went off to the wars, and 

 to the Infantry School of Arms at Fort Sill. 



On this occasion the girls noticed a wet spot 

 on the ceiling of the first-floor hall. They traced 

 it to a broken-down piece of bathroom plumbing, 

 and cut off the water at the basement valve. Since 

 in so doing they restricted the whole household 

 water supply, they called the plumber, and told 

 him what needed fixing. Catastrophic damage was 

 prevented. And by that I mean not only water 

 damage to the house, but that unless checked such 

 a leak might have run the well dry. Certainly not 

 spectacular; yet what could the apartment-bred 

 child do, faced with the same situation? Call the 

 janitor. Which would be swell if we could in- 

 variably call the janitor. Or, as my cousin used 

 to say when as children we debated what we should 

 do when the earth got as cold as the moon: "Live 

 on canned goods." Life abounds with situations in 

 which neither janitors nor canned goods are on 



