384 



AMERICAN HOMES AND GARDENS 



October, 1908 



A Speculation in Abandoned Farms 



By A. S. Atkinson 



HE possibilities of New England's aban- 

 doned farms are receiving renewed at- 

 tention, and the dawning of an era of 

 prosperity may not be unwisely expected for 

 cheap hillside land in the older deserted 

 portion of our country. Twenty years ago 

 the abandoned farm question worried farm- 

 ers and sociologists. Then arose a man of the Nutmeg State 

 and stoutly advocated the planting of orchards on the rocky 

 hillside, and the Hale orchards of peaches, apples and other 

 fruits, became synonymous with profitable culture of "aban- 

 doned farms." But not all deserted homes of the pioneer 

 settlers could thus be redeemed, and after a temporary rise 

 in land value of a few farms there was a reaction, and the 

 problem became more involved than ever. 



But Yankee ingenuity and American aggressiveness are 

 not easily discouraged. Such problems work out a solution 

 through devious paths. History repeats itself through 

 cycles, and we are now entering upon the third cycle of the 

 "abandoned farm" question. It is a cycle in which common- 

 place observance of past methods has no part or show. It is 

 the era in which ingenious application of new plans for 

 particular cases spells success. There is no cut-and-dried 

 method which can work out salvation for all. What is one 

 man's medicine is poison for another. 



The man from Massachusetts who made an abandoned 

 farm region blossom into a garden was merely one pioneer 

 in the new crusade. He was not a farmer, not even a coun- 

 tryman, and in the city he had made only an indifferent suc- 

 cess as a business man. But he had New England blood in 

 him, was born on a backwoods farm, and always longed to 

 get back to the earth. Not business reverses, but ill health, 

 brought the unexpected to happen. 



He was forty-five when he took up the "abandoned farm" 

 puzzle and sought to solve it, for himself, not for the public. 

 He journeyed back in the Massachusetts hill country until 

 he came to a region where land was at a discount. Farms 

 and neighbors were as scarce as huckleberries in December. 

 There were a few signs of a previous civilization — a dis- 

 jointed shack that 

 looked like a de- 

 molished bee-hive, a 

 wooden inclosure 

 that had done ser- 

 vice as a barn, and 

 a wilderness of 

 abandoned fruit 

 trees, vines, and 

 berry bushes. The 

 latter were still pro- 

 ductive in spite of 

 the lack of culture, 

 and he gathered the 

 luscious fruit to 

 satisfy the demands 

 of a hungry 

 stomach. 



"Here I'll pitch 

 my habitation," he 

 said. "I can at least 

 live and find health. 

 It's life here, but 

 death in the city." 



Broad Fields and Wooded Hills Characterize the Whole Region 



He journeyed back to the city, called up the real estate 

 agent, and after weary hours of map-searching located his 

 place. 



"Oh, that place is of no value," explained the dealer in 

 abandoned farms. "It's twenty-five miles away from a rail- 

 way station, and you could never find a market for anything 

 you raise. Now, here's another place located within five 

 miles — " 



"How much is the land out there?" quietly interrupted 

 the searcher for health, turning a deaf ear to all blandish- 

 ments. . 



"Why? Out there you can get the land at — at five dollars 

 per acre, with the buildings thrown in." 



The latter phrase was accompanied by a cynical smile, for 

 "the buildings thrown in" only disfigured the landscape. 



"All right!" responded the buyer. "I'll take the two 

 hundred acres, half cash down and the balance a year later." 

 Then he hesitated, and finally said thoughtfully, "I should 

 like to make a further agreement with you. I want the 

 option on the surrounding farms at the same price, say at the 

 end of one, two, three, and five years. I'm not rich, but if 

 my experiment succeeds I don't want to be hemmed in later." 

 "By paying fifty dollars down on every hundred acres you 

 can have the option for three years on the whole county," an- 

 swered the shrewd dealer in land. 



"Then I'll take the option on a thousand more acres. It's 

 an experiment with me. I may fail, but it's worth it." 



Thus for a thousand dollars the man came into part pos- 

 session of two hundred acres and secured the option on one 

 thousand more. 



"I'll have a small empire to myself," he grimly remarked 

 as he walked out of the real estate office. "No one can rub 

 elbows with me and say I shall live on a twenty by sixty plot 

 any more. I'll be as free as the birds and wild animals." 



He shipped his few worldly goods out to the farm, pur- 

 chased two horses, two wagons, some tools, seeds, and a 

 number of pets. His wife accompanied him. They repaired 

 the house and barn together and made it livable. They 

 planted fruits, flowers, and vegetables for their own use. 



They started a 

 small chicken farm 

 — eggs and broilers 

 for their own use 

 only. A dozen 

 pairs of pigeons for 

 breeding purposes 

 were installed in a 

 loft. Later followed 

 half a dozen An- 

 gora goats, a pair 

 of breeding pigs, 

 two cows, and a 

 s;ood hunting dog. 

 It was a pioneer 

 procession that 

 wended its way 

 across the hilly 

 country. 



The goats were 

 turned loose near 

 the house to clear 

 the tangled maze of 

 weeds and bushes, 



