VOL. L. NO. 2 156. 
NEW YORK, MAY 23, i89i 
PRICE, FIVE CENTS. 
$2.00 PER YEAR. 
FARMING ON MANHATTAN ISLAND. 
THEORETICALLY PERFECT AGRICULTURAL LOCATIONS. 
GREAT many worthy men throughout the country 
seem to think that the famous bulls and bears of 
Wall Street have a monopoly of New York City 
farming. It is true that they get the most of the money 
out of agriculture, but there are still a few soil tillers left 
on the island. If theory goes 
for anything, the Manhattan 
farmer ought to be a highly 
prosperous individual. He 
lives on an island where there 
are more non producers to the 
square inch than can be found 
on any other island in the 
world. His is the best “ home 
market ” that ever was made. 
Add to this the fact that he 
pays no rent or taxes and one 
would think his lot an ideal 
one. The census reports for 
1880 gravely inform us that 
the Manhattan farmers grew 
in that year $52,000 worth of 
farm produce. Multiply it 
by 10 and the figure would be 
nearer the value of the stuff 
taken out of the curious 
mixture of sand, tin cans, 
rubbish and manure that go 
to make up the average Man¬ 
hattan farm. 
We have often told our 
readers something about the 
strange class of people who 
hold “squatter sovereignty ” 
on the sands of Harlem. Let us now get a little nearer to 
them and show bow they live and have their being. The 
pictures accompanying this sketch are taken from life. In 
these little huts or shanties great families are crowded— 
giving more humanity to the square inch than one likes to 
think about, unless he is vitally interested in the increase 
of city population. The surroundings are about as rude 
and rough as they well can 
be. There is a big discount 
on improvements. How else 
can it be ? Who wants to im¬ 
prove property that is liable 
at any day to be taken by 
outsiders and covered with 
great piles of mortar and 
brick ? Spending money on 
the future without perma¬ 
nency of title in the present 
is a foolish business. The 
Manhattan farmer is a squat¬ 
ter. In the upper part of the 
city are many vacant lots— 
deep holes which represent 
the cellars of coming houses. 
Sometimes a street is filled in 
and graded and all the houses 
on one side built before the 
other side is touched. Fre¬ 
quently whole blocks are left 
open in this way—sometimes 
only space for two or three 
houses, These vacant lots 
are mostly p.aced in the 
hands of real estate dealers 
for sale. Many of them are 
on “made land,” that is, 
holes or low places that have 
been filled in with the dump¬ 
ings of ash carts, etc. These 
lots will all be soid in time. 
They will remain on the mar¬ 
ket till buyer and seller can 
agree upon prices. Since the 
elevated roads were completed, the population of New 
York has grown rapidly towards the north. It is only a 
question of time when all these vacant lots will be de¬ 
manded by house builders and house renters. 
While the times are ripening, the Manhattan farmer 
takes his innings. He squats on the vacant lot, puts up 
his little shanty and grows his crop of truck, He cannot 
possibly injure the premises and he takes all the risk of 
being driven out by the builders, so he can hardly be ex¬ 
pected to pay much rent. Sometimes he pays a small sum 
for the privelege of being warned a few months before 
building is to be started, and in a few instances he pays 
regular rent, but in most cases he simply squats on the 
land with his belongings in the most portable shape, ready 
to move at a day’s notice. Friendly policemen or carpen¬ 
ters generally keep him posted about building news, but 
sometimes the first intimation of removal he gets is when 
a gang of men and teams descend upon him and begin to 
clean out his property. Then he “ hustles ” day and night 
with all the help he can get and carries all he can save of 
plants and fixtures into some other lot. Having no title 
to his land, he has to provide his own defense for his 
property. Thieves might with some reason claim the same 
right to the vegetables that he claims for the land. The 
Manhattan farmer believes in diversified industry. There 
are no drones in his hive. Witness the display of wash- 
tubs around his back door 1 The wife and girls wash and 
iron clothes for the richer neighbors—there are houses 
costing thousands of dollars within a stone’s throw of 
either of these shanties. The father and the larger boys 
beat carpets in the spring—any job that comes to hand is 
accepted. 
In t he early spring days these “ lot farms ” present a busy 
spectacle. The mother and the larger girls at the back 
door over the washtubs, the father at work on his hot-bed, 
the big boys beating carpets 
with switches and rawhides, 
one youngster watching the 
geese and another minding 
the goat or cow. The farm 
stock is limited. Some 
spavined old horse is general¬ 
ly to be found in a sl ed and 
perhaps a cow or two. Goats 
and geese are always kept— 
the former roaming about the 
stre9ts fumbling about the 
ash barrels and garbige, 
picking up a living—nobody 
knows how. Why t hese goats 
are kept is a mystery. Pos¬ 
sibly our Manhattan farmers 
believe in the new theory that 
goats have prophylactic 
properties and that “ goat- 
iness” is the cheapest medi¬ 
cine they can carry. Any¬ 
way these farmers seem to be 
in perfect health in spite of 
the big display of leer bar¬ 
rels seen around the back 
doors. Such farmers, how¬ 
ever. seem to regard the beer 
barrel as an emblem of health. 
It indicates a diseased appearance of the back yard any¬ 
way I 
We said these farmers occupied “ made soil.” Uncon¬ 
sciously, those who made It hit upon a good model First, 
we find a layer of old tin cans, then boots, old paper, rags 
and sticks, then broken bricks and coarse sand, with 
broken bottles and crockery, then coal ashes and cinders, 
then black heavy street 
sweepings, heavily mixed 
with manure, which the 
farmer hauled in wheelbar¬ 
row and wagon, or carried in 
baskets from the nearby 
livery stable. The tin cans 
and broken crockery give the 
best possible drainage, the 
coal ashes absorb and hold 
the water, the sand and the 
street sweepings give the 
manure the best possible 
chance to work. Such a soil 
cannot be too wet and it need 
not be too dry for the Man¬ 
hattan farmer is an irrigator. 
He can tap one of the big 
water hydrants near him and 
wet down his whole farm in 
a jiffy. 
As might be expected, these 
men sell water for their ma'n 
crop. Cabbage, onions, celery, 
peas, tomatoes and lettuce of 
excellent q mlity are pro¬ 
duced. A. I have cheap hot¬ 
beds, and get their produce 
on the market early in the 
season—in fact they have 
something growing every 
month in the year. Many do 
their own marketing, hawk¬ 
ing their vegetables about in 
biokendown wagoi s, shout- 
ingear piercingcriesthat few 
can understand. A good trade Is done in growing and sell¬ 
ing plants for transplanting—like geraniums, verbenas, 
tomatoes, etc. Many city people with a little back yard 
like to set out a fe v flowers or a half dozen tomato plants 
They watch them with more care than they give their 
children and estimate the probable profits of a large farm 
from the crops taken from these few pjapts, The C-ity lot 
A TYPICAL RESIDENCE IN SHANTYTOWN. Fig. 139. 
