820 
Vht RURAL NEW-YORKER 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
The Old-fashioned Hired Man 
Tart I. 
We hear much in these days about the 
buying power of ibe farmer's dollar and 
the share of the consumer’s dollar which 
finds its way back to the farm. 1 do not 
hear so much about the length of the 
hired man’s day as compared with old 
times. This day of service 1ms been 
dipped at both ends, and this shortening 
is one of the causes for farm troubles. 
The full tendency of recent years has 
leen to demand more hours of loafing or 
recreation for labor. The coming of the 
cheap car has helped this along, for a 
surprising number of farm employees now 
o n cars, and they naturally demand the 
t.me needed to explode good quantities of 
gasoline. Those of us who own farms 
located anywhere near factory towns find 
that wo must regulate our working hours 
by the factory whistle, and we pay dearly 
for this whistle, too. Day hands rarely 
if ever work over nine hours, and regular 
farm hands quit early so as to have a.I 
the chores done before dark. The ten¬ 
dency now is to demand shorter hours. I 
see that various labor unions are calling 
for a six-hour day. I notice that as the 
working day grows shorter labor is in¬ 
clined to become less efficient, for work¬ 
men are constantly flunking of what they 
are to do when quitting time comes. As 
th<» working hours arc shut oil. piny no- 
comes the chief object of life; work 
comes to take second place in the mind. 
The job is something to shed as early as 
possible so as to have the mind fully pre¬ 
pared for some form of pleasure. < >t 
course, there are exceptions to this, but 
mv observation is that shorter hours ol 
labor, "daylight saving” and all the other 
devices for gaining more play time, have 
had a demoralizing effect upon our young 
people. The big corporations and busi¬ 
ness houses can boost prices lor their 
good* in order to make up for a combina¬ 
tion of shorter hours, less attentive labor 
and high wages. 1 think much of the 
heavy cost of retail goods today is due to 
the successful efforts of labor to cut down 
working hours and maintain high wages. 
While big trade combinations can keep 
up prices so as to overcome these troubles, 
the individual farmer cannot do so. The 
changes in labor have hurl him luully. I 
realize fully that we are now living in a 
new age. as different from my boyhood s 
time as day is from night, and I am mak¬ 
ing no complaint, as I can remember bow 
1 used to smile at the dismal prophesies 
of elderly men when 1 was a boy. They 
said the world could not survive the mild 
changes that were then coming upon us. 
Yet here in 1!>22 the world is still going 
on. and you cannot convince my children 
that it is not a good world to live in. 
* * * * * 
I have told ‘‘The Story of a Day at 
Hope Farm at various seasons. Now I 
think I may well tell the story of another 
farm day, far buck in 1S(S! Not long 
ago I ran upon a few notes made at that 
time, and memory supplies the details. 
Some of our modern farm workmen who 
think they have a bard time may consider 
these things. In 1STS I went to Colorado 
to Work on a dairy ranch. It was located 
on the outskirts of a little town in North¬ 
ern Colorado. It is quite a city now, hut. 
in those days it was just a little group 
of box-like houses clustered on the raw 
prairie, with an irrigating ditch running 
through it, and little cottonwood trees 
just beginning to feel that they might 
possibly live when taken away from the 
river banks up to the dry hot prairie. 
And the people? Ill truth, it was a 
strange combination of "cranks” who 
had planted themselves amid the cactus 
in the hope of founding a model town. It 
wtis to be a town absolutely free from 
any sale of liquor, and a place where 
men and women were to be free to think 
and worship as they saw fit. These peo¬ 
ple had pulled themselves by the roots out 
of old and well-established Eastern com¬ 
munities. where family relations and pre¬ 
judices were strong. They were the more 
adventurous of all the dwellers in these 
old. well-regulated towns, each one of 
them. I think, with something of the old 
primitive wildness which had forced them 
to break away from the cage of habit 
which had long held their ancestors. And 
here they were on the raw prairie, a col¬ 
lection of "cranks,” or people with strong 
convictions, trying to hold together until 
they could find some common point of in¬ 
terest. They Used to make me think of 
Ifie little cottonwood trees taken from the 
river banks and planted on the cactus 
plains. The roots seemed to approach 
the water in the irrigation ditch with 
some suspicion, though it was river water 
after all. At that time the people in this 
town used to speak of the land east of 
the Mississippi as "Clod’s country.’’ 
“Wait till I get two good crops of 
wheat,” they would say. "Then I’ll go 
buck to God’s country.” 
Hut somehow they never got two good 
crops together, and by and by. through 
their work and common suffering, they 
came to love this land of sunshine and 
clear air, and God made it their own 
country. Now, after two generations, 
should one of the younger people move 
back Fast to the town from which grand¬ 
father came, there would come to him a 
vision of great mountains lifting their 
snowy heads far into the upper sunshine, 
or of sparkling rivers and wind-blown 
plains, and he. would say in his heart. "1 
wish I was hack in God's-count ry .” For 
I have learned a great lesson in my wan¬ 
derings. and it is this: God’s country is 
home, whether it be in the sandy desert 
or in ibe salt marsh. So that the great 
aim of life, if one would try to be an in¬ 
habitant of God’s country, is to know 
what really makes a home. At any rate. 
Ibis little town was where we sold our 
milk. There was very Hilo competition. 
At one time a man at the other side of 
town started to run a milk route and 
had his wagon pointed with "/'arc 1/ ilk” 
in big letters at the side. My boss was 
ready to consult a lawyer to see if this 
announcement did not constitute a ease 
of libel by insinuating that our milk was 
not pure! 
* * * * * 
Hut the day I am to tell about started 
ai -I o’clock on a bright June morning in 
L S 7S. Dawn came on the plains with a 
crimson glow to the east and a sparkle cm 
the snowy mountain lops to the west. The 
old bull in his little lien beside the straw 
stack awoke us with a loud roar. That 
bull must have had what they call an 
operatic throat. lie did not bellow like 
an ordinary bovine, but he roared like a 
lion at least we. who had never limited a 
lion, used to imagine so. We were sleep¬ 
ing on the top of the hay stack. During 
the Summer wc went indoors only when 
necessity called us there. The days were 
rainless, and there was no dew at night. 
I understand that now, in that dry coun¬ 
try. after years of constant irrigation, 
the soil is so charged with moisture that 
there is often quite a respectable dew, 
but in those days nature rarely washed 
her face, and seemed all the prettier for 
it. So we slept on the stack with a quilt 
thrown over us, That bull let out his 
roar within six feet of mo, and 1 started 
lip on my elbow to view the coming of 
another day. John and Lonzo still lay 
under tlioir quilts John was a "lunger” 
from Vermont, lie had stayed too long 
among the cold Green Mountains, so that 
even the healing air of Colorado could not 
cure him. Yet, like most of the "lungers,” 
he lived a life of fit) per cent hope and 10 
per cent despair, The afflicted man is 
never fully normal. How can he be when 
life is determined by moods and manners, 
rather than by material things? < »f course 
today a consumptive could have no place 
on a farm from which milk is retailed, 
but in those days milk was milk and noth¬ 
ing more. Lonzo came from Western 
Massachusetts, where his father had 
struggled to raise a big family on a small 
farm. The pic proved too big for the 
plate, and T.oiizo was part of the trim¬ 
ming which fell off when the knife ran 
around the picplale. lie could do almost 
anything—butcher, play in the hand, 
farm, do a carpenter’s job, or train a 
horse, lie was milking cows with us 
waiting for a better job. Su«-lj were the 
handy men who made the West, and they 
built it on a strong foundation. With 
many a grunt and groan John and Lortzo 
finally rolled out from under the quilts 
and we were ready for the day’s work. 
***** 
The roar of the old bull had started up 
the rows in the dusty corral. They had 
no greater lilting for the burn at night 
than we had for the house, and they slept 
(if a cow ever does sleep) outdoors. We 
never did have a burn. There was noth¬ 
ing hut a low shed, the hay being stacked 
outside. In Winter we cut down the end 
of the slack with a lia.v knife and poled 
it in. In response to the hull’s morning 
song they slowly lifted themselves upon 
their feet and arched their hacks as they 
stretched in the great comfort which fol¬ 
lows a night’s rest. There was nothing 
that you could call a dairy room on the 
place. The milk pa ls had been rinsed the 
night before and now they hung on a set 
of horse posts just outside the corral. In 
the dim morning light they looked to me 
like a row of sentinels with shining head¬ 
pieces, like the old Frenchmen and Span¬ 
iards who marched along the river eeri- 
tnries before, 1 confess that I was hun¬ 
gry, hut there would be no signs of break¬ 
fast. for Hours, so l went to the grain bin 
and filled my pocket with wheat bran. 
That was the day of the old-fashioned 
bran which contained all of the wheat, 
kernel except, the flour. A good handful 
of such bran with a drink of warm milk 
will stay your stomach until breakfast 
time. We had no rules about bathing 
the hands and putting on white coats in 
those days. Wc rounded up a cow in the 
corral, brushed off wliat dust we conve¬ 
niently could, sat on a milking stool and 
went at it. Most of the cows were fairly 
gentle, and would stand, hut half a dozen 
were wild, ami those we drove into the 
barn for milking. The cans stood just 
outside tile corral and wc strained the 
milk into them through a common wire 
strainer. When a can was filled wc put 
it in a barrel and poured in cold water 
from the well—the cover of the can off! 
Of course some dust blew in, hut everyone 
who bought our milk knew that each 
must "eat a peek of dirt." and not. one of 
them had ever heard of bacteria or germs. 
***** 
Wc milked about 15 cows that morning. 
Of course, you realize that there were no 
•10-quart animals among them. They were 
mostly grade Short horns or scrubs. I 
doubt if there was a got d Holstein cow 
in the State at that time. It was nearly 
7 when we went in to breakfast. I can¬ 
not say that the boss was a good feeder. 
That morning we had pancakes and wlmt: 
might be called a "mystery." It was a 
hash containing a small amount of roast 
pork, considerable potato, a few cold pan¬ 
cakes and a little cold stew chopped up 
together and fried. After breakfast there 
was the usual division of labor. John 
saddled the mustang and drove the herd 
out on the range for pasture. Lonzo 
was to work on the farm, and I started 
to peddle milk. No, the milk was not 
certified, and wc had no glass bottles. I 
just dipped I lie milk out of the cans with 
a long-handled dipper and delivered it in 
a quart measure. 1 drove from house to 
house, ringing a bell to call out the cus¬ 
tomers. At one lonely place a desperate 
looking individual started up by the side 
of the road and held out his hand, I 
knew him ; he was an old patron, trying 
the milk cure for drunkenness. This tem¬ 
perance town came to have more cases of 
near-delirium tremens than any other spot 
in tlic State. The fait that liquor could not 
he obtained there induced dozens of hard 
drinkers to come in an effort to sober up 
gracefully after a spree. And many of 
them believed that fresh, warm milk was 
the best "medicine” they could take. So 
here was a man taking the milk cure. 1 
had no glass in which to serve such eus- 
tomers, so I dipped out a quart measure 
full and the patient stood in the road and 
slowly drank it down. Then 1 rinsed the 
measure in a nearby irrigating ditch arid 
On we went to the next customer. 1 
sold out the milk and then went to the 
icehouse and dug out n wagon load of ice. 
There used In he a popular song entitled 
“Ilow’d You Like to be the Iceman?’’ I 
can answer the question. The iceman 
earns all his money. The stirring event 
of that morning was a "call-down” from a 
woman. 
"I want to know why you always give 
my neighbor. Mrs. Brown, a good piece of 
solid ice, while I have a piece of snow? 
M.v money’s just, as good as hers. ! know 
I don’t keep a minx of a servant girl like 
Mrs. Brown hut then!” 
I was not as diplomatic in those days 
as T am now. and there certainly was 
very little ice about that servant girl. 
Usually the iceman and the janitor can 
afford to be independent. 
“Don’t you get gay with me, young 
man. or I’ll call out rny husband ” 
The husband was a mild little man 
who was shelling peas on the front porch. 
r-Lmm 
This picture was originally printed in Australia. It has gone all over the world— 
one of the most appealing presentments of a farm problem that ever was printed. 
For this vision of the great city, as viewed from the plow handles, is probably doing 
more to depopulate farm homes and unsettle agriculture than anything else under the 
sun. It is therefore one of the great world problems. It cannot, be solved by legis¬ 
lation. for it is a part of wliat we may call human psychology. How shall we make 
the faov realize that the city of bis dreams lies in the clouds and is not on earth? 
June 24, 1922 
I wanted to paraphrase what Shakespeare 
puls into Hotspur’s mouth ; 
"I can call husbands from their safe re¬ 
treat ! 
So can I—so can any man! 
But will they come when I do call for 
them 
Ajud see the iceman with his lifted 
tongs?” 
It was a warm day, and the ice business 
was good, so that, it was after 11 when I 
got home. Then Ihc pans and pails had 
to be washed. No steam jets or boilers 
for us. 1 heated water over the kitchcu 
fire and washed those pans outdoors at a 
bench, standing in the boiling sun, with 
the mercury at about 100 degrees. 
H. W. C. 
(To Be Continued) 
New Notes on Poison Ivy 
Regarding a cure for poison ivy, I note 
your article in (he last number, and while) 
I believe this will he a help and possible) 
chic in many cases, would wish to add a 
little that possibly may he a help lo some 
of those who are “bothered” with this 
trouble. There seems to he two at least 
kinds of ivy poison ; that is. all are not 
troubled in the same manner. In my 
case, it breaks out wherever my body 
conies in contact with the poison. Chop¬ 
ping out brush in the woods with my 
right arm exposed. I get it all over the 
exposed part. Gathering up the brush in 
both arms, 1 get it on both, as well as in 
the face. My arms, body ir face never 
seem to swell from this, but all parts 
break out in little blisters. I have 
worked in this for over 10 years at our 
place on Long Island ; the work must be 
done and we now have it well cleaned 
upon parts of the place. As a rule the 
work has only been done at week ends. 
On the start it took from two to three 
weeks for a case to develop and cure. It 
was worse in the Summer than in the cold 
weather. I tried everything. As the 
years went on I found that Ihc time re¬ 
quired to develop and cure was less. Now 
I can he there one week.end. work in it 
Saturday, have it show on Sunday, an I 
he all over it by the next week Saturday. 
I tried every "cure” that 1 ever heard of. 
and. until the last, the best thing 1 found 
was to wash all exposed parts as soon as 
1 came in from work in the hottest water 
I could stand, using the strongest kitchen 
soap we lmd. (lien alcohol to kill the dis¬ 
charge from ibe blisters that came out. I 
can sav (hat there never was a time that 
I did not show these blisters if I worked 
at all in (lie ivy; this means that I had it 
more or less all of the season, if not year. 
Now for the cure (?l. Not more than 
two mouths ago I read in one of the New 
York evening papers a sure cure. It was 
easy and I tried it. I can only say that 
the weeks I did try it I had no poison. I 
wish others would try it. As I came in 
from work, noon or night, I took a bottle 
filled with gasoline, went to a safe dis¬ 
tance from any fire, and “washed” the 
exposed parts with the gasoline. Then 
went on to the house and washed in the 
regular way. There was no poison ivy 
those weeks or days. T do not pretend 
this will he a cure for everyone. I may 
he the only one, hut it has bit my case 
and done the work. I have seen people 
that would swell to twice the size, blit I 
believe this conies from the-condition of 
the person. It may be some combination 
of poisons, hut for the person who sim¬ 
ply blisters, I think it will help. In my 
Case there can he no combination of poi¬ 
sons; at least I think not, for I am now 
well <>n to 5N years old, and have not lost 
a day for sickness since I was five years 
old. This may make an easy cure for 
my case. I do not know how it will work 
after the blisters are there. I shall try 
it the first time there are any to try it 
upon. The only reason T would think of 
advancing for this cure is that possibly 
the poison of the ivy is an oil. and Ihat 
the gasoline cleans this up. just as it 
will "ther oils, and before it gets a chance 
In gel going. I might, add that the best 
way lo clean up poison ivy is to let the 
pigs do it. 1 cleaned up a piece of woods 
about 2tiO ft. square with three pigs in 
one season; just i’eneeil it and let them 
run. They eat it and we had no harm; 
the pork was voted of the best. They 
will eat every leaf in sight, and. of • ottrse, 
root out the roots as the work goes oil. 
Tile work I'osts nothing; that was the 
profit of the pigs. william f. kip. 
Now York. 
A Will in Poetry 
Our people are still interested in wills, 
though not as much so as they should be. 
We have printed several brief wills; now 
we give one in verse, which it is said was 
recently admitted to probate in Newark, 
N. ,1. It was made by F. E. Castle: 
“All ray earthly goods I have in store. 
To my dear wife I leave for evermore. 
I freely give—no limit do 1 fix. 
This is my will, and she the executrix.” 
Wc have record of another case where 
a man simply wrote on a piece of paper, 
“T leave till to Mary,” and signed it. It 
was admitted as a will. We do not ad¬ 
vise you to try writing poetry or to see 
how many words you can save. State 
clearly what you want done with your 
property, and if you have any doubts 
whatever get some good attorney to draw 
the Avill for you. 
