720 
Ihe RURAL NEW-YORKER 
May 27, 1022 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
The Story of a Day 
Part II. 
Cherry-top and Uncle George started 
planting while I trimmed. The sun was 
now bright and warm, and a good breeze 
had starred blowing. The birch trees 
were swaying and the bloom was falling 
fiom tLe apple trees like snow. It was 
a kindly day. You know how it is when 
some friend sulks and pouts for a time 
ami then suddenly takes a new turn and 
breaks into smiles and laughter. Clip¬ 
ping away at the trees I permitted nay 
mind to run back over the long years at 
Hope Farm, and then on into the future. 
I may not see these McIntosh trees come 
into full bearing. When the Hudson tun¬ 
nel is built these bills may be in such de¬ 
mand that I shall be taxed away from 
my orchard. Well, what of it? I shall 
not deprive myself of the joy of planning 
for the future, and if these trees are to 
be pulled out to make room for houses I 
will, at least, prune them so that it will 
require an engine to pull them out. My 
eye runs along a row of those little El- 
berta peach trees. They will live—they 
have started to leaf out. What a history 
that peach has had. Years ago, as the 
story goes, a negro cook in Georgia made 
a peach pwidding or pie and threw the 
pits and peelings out at the back door 
into the garden. Seedlings canoe up from 
this careless planting, and it is said that 
one of them bore a big yellow peach, 
which at once attracted attention. It 
was named Elbertn, and here ir is grow¬ 
ing with us now. From this bumble be¬ 
ginning the Elberta peach has grown 
along to fame. It has done more for 
Georgia and the nation than half the 
statesmen who ever came from that 
State. And it is strange, too, that all the 
scientific men, with all their skill, have 
never yet been able to develop a peach 
which can compare in popularity with 
Elberta—the bumble child of a dishpan. 
We have two seedling peaches at Hope 
Farm which have the quality but lack 
the size aud hardiness of Elberta. I 
am frank to say that I regard the 
Elberta among peaches just about like 
the Ben Davis is among apples. There is 
no disputing the fact that Elberta is the 
most popular peach. Our folks prefer it 
to any other, l don’t think much of their 
taste, but a fruit grower would soon go 
out of business if he spent his life trying 
to educate his customers, when habit and 
prejudice have made their selection. 
* * * * * 
Btit., watch them planting those frees. 
If the land had not been plowed I should 
be willing to Lave them take a stout 
spade and drive it down straight into the 
ground, working it back and forth so as 
to make a fair opening. Then they could 
simply stick the roots of the tree down 
behind the spade, jerk the latter out and 
leave the roots in this small hole. Then 
throw In loose dirt and stamp the ground 
solidly so as to press the soil close around 
the roots. I know such trees will grow 
and do well, and Torn and Broker under¬ 
stand how the roots are clinched to the 
earth. Ho I believe, then, that all this 
work of digging a great hole and “aim¬ 
ing” the long roots out is useless labor? 
I do. hut I havp found it a useless task to 
convince the "big holer-.” and I let them 
do as they please, without comment. The 
digging does not injure my back. As this 
field was plowed and furrowed, we work 
differently. Cherry-top digs a small bole 
where the tree is to go. and T’ndc George 
holds the tree in place while the boy 
“sights” to the range until the align¬ 
ment is perfect. Then they throw in 
dirt and »tamp it down hard. That is 
the great need in tree planting—to pack 
the earth firmly around the roots. It 
will often pay to take a big maul and 
pound the soil firmly. The work went on 
at a lively pace, but I missed someiking. 
With all its beauty, the day was not as 
bright ns it should be. Little Rose ought 
to he sitting under those birch trees, 
making a very fine sample of rnud pie for 
her doll. But little Rose has been taken 
from us. just when she was blooming 
out like the flower for which she is 
named. It is hard, but one of the things 
we cannot talk about. We just wait. 
^ * # * ‘ii 
We got those trees all in by 11 o’clock 
and then started down the hill where 
Thomas was planting strawberries. We 
have selected a place half way up the 
east hill for this year’s planting. The 
fruiting plants this year are lower down 
on a damp hillside. At first I thought to 
plant on the low fields this year. but. 
again and again these low spots will he 
white with frost of a morning, while the 
hills will be free. Frost and a strawber¬ 
ry flower cannot safely occupy the same 
s’sll. This piece of ground was in po¬ 
tatoes last year. It. was plowed and 
thoroughly fitted, but just as we were 
ready to plant there came a dry spell, 
and we concluded to wait for a rain. 
Now comes the rain, and the ground is 
just right. Thomas is down on his knees, 
putting in plants. I help him finish the 
supply on hand, and we go down, just 
in time for dinner. The “fairly prosper¬ 
ous farmer” might call for something 
better, but we have fried meat balls with 
onions, potatoes, stewed tomatoes, as¬ 
paragus. whole wheat bread and butter, 
all the milk you can drink, and rhubarb 
sauce if you want it. There were 11 of 
us at dinner —one little girl upstairs with 
chicken pox to make the full dozen. There 
was little style about this dinner. The 
women put it on the table and we all sat 
down to it. Any needed “waiting" was 
done by one of the girls. The women had 
been busy all day cleaning house, and you 
should have seen the pile of rubbish they 
accumulated. 
Potato vines 
makes the last 
5 weeks count 
After dinner Thomas and I went at 
those strawberries. We dug plants out 
of the fruiting bed, getting down on our 
knees, with trowels, and taking plants 
which suited us here and there. Each 
plant had a little ball of dirt around the 
roots. We dug about 300 at a time, and 
put them in baskets. Then they were 
carried to the field and put into the dump 
ground before they had any chance to 
think of wilting. I could not buy such 
plants anywhere. The ground had been 
marked off in rows *1 ft. apart, and the 
plants were set 2 ft. apart in the row. 
Usually I like to plant with it spade— 
about as I have described in planting trees. 
In this ease we used trowels, putting the 
plants in quite deep and smoothing (he 
ground around them. I have seen people 
set plants in wet soil and end up by pinch¬ 
ing the dirt hard around the plant. They 
thought they were doing a fine job. but it 
was really the worst thing they could do, 
for this pinched soil will usually bake 
like a brick around the plant, and often 
choke it. After the pinching, a little 
loose dirt should be scratched around the 
plant. We were careful to pinch off the 
blooms and fruit stems. It would not 
hurt my feelings (or the plants) to pinch 
off practically all of the top and plant 
the roots. We crawled along on our 
hands and knees until the job was done. 
In a few days now the cultivators will 
run up and down these rows and kill off 
the young weeds. Then we expect to 
scatter chicken manure and chemicals 
along the rows, and work the mixture- 
into the soil. It is about a quarter of a 
mile from this strawberry field to tin 
bouse, and it took me all that distance 
to straighten out my back as a result of 
that knee service. 1 was about ready to 
walk upright once more when we readied 
the house. There were my folks just 
starting off in the car for a little errand. 
“Come on and go with us,” they 
called. But did they want a “fairly 
prosperous farmer” in brown overalls, an 
old gray sweater and cap, and hands 
thick with mud, to accompany those tine 
ladies? Finally Mother compromised and 
I washed my hands, put on a coat and 
hat and went along with the understand¬ 
ing that I was to stay in the car. We 
were back in time for supper, and all 
hands helped demolish the contents of a 
pot of baked beans, a dish of cottage 
cheese, bread and butter and the inev¬ 
itable. rhubarb sauce. 
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I was tired enough to sit down after 
supper, but that was a hearty meal, and 
I felt the need of a little exercise. So T 
walked down to our lower field to look at 
the potato planting. We have planted in 
hills this year. They will be worked both 
ways and fertilized by dropping chicken 
manure on top of the hills. I see that 
part of them have already been fertilized 
TllC men drove through with a load of 
chicken manure, and with their shovels 
dropped about 2 lbs. on top of each bill 
Now \ve will take a small plow and 
(brow a furrow over the manure and then 
level off with the big harrow. This soil 
is naturally poor, and this manure ought 
to make big vines, at least. Will it make 
big tubers and make them scabby? That 
is what we are trying to find out. It will 
give a good chance to try that inoculated 
sulpha) - remedy. 
The lower orchard is alive with bloom. 
I never saw il better. East year we seed¬ 
ed this field to oats and Alsike clover. The 
oats were cut for hay and now the clover 
is thick as a mat. Here and there scat¬ 
tered through it, I saw little clumps of a 
bright yellow flower. Mustard, I fear— 
perhaps brought to us in the clover seed. 
There, is not much of it, and there being 
no time like the present for such work, I 
pull all the yellow plants I can see. In 
the house our folks have the lights going; 
it is too warm to have a lire. The boys 
bought their battery today, and this com¬ 
pleted their wireless outfit. They are 
testing it out and there is it great outcry 
as it begins to “work.” They surely got 
tiie concert ju Newark. It is wonderful 
this tapping the air for sound waves. 
And so we end the day around our light. 
All are here but. little Rose. She is hack 
in the tenements. As I go out and take 
another little walk beneath the stars, L 
wonder if the little girl is thinking of us. 
Enter.—T wrote this about two weeks 
ago. Since then several start ling things 
have happened. Little Rose is with us 
once more, tr id her smaller sister along 
with her. The home in the tenement 
seems to he brolwu. and as I write these 
two little girls are running about on the 
lawn, bareheaded and in blue overalls, as 
happy as birds. 1 will tell you tile story 
later. It will appeal to those of you 
who are interested in little children. To¬ 
day we had 15 people at dinner—all the 
way from little Rita of five, to Uncle 
George of nearly SO. It must have been, 
as you can imagine, very largely a dinner 
of herbs from asparagus to rhubarb— 
but then, “better is a dinner of herbs 
where love is than-” H. w. c. 
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