1902 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
675 
Hope Farm Notes 
Honest Labor. — I seem to have hit what 
is called “a responsive chord” a blow 
right between the eyes when I spoke of 
selling goods from the farm. Here Is a 
letter from a Massachusetts friend: 
“I do not suppose you care one iota 
whether or not I agree with you in the 
lessons you teach your children, and I 
would not think so much of you if you 
did care. But let me have the pleasure of 
assuring you that it is really gratifying 
to hear some one who has the moral 
courage to fling the plain, rough truths at 
the face of those foolish people who take 
it for granted that some of the duties of 
life are homely because they are generally 
performed by paid labor. It is indeed 
enough to tire anyone—and more than that, 
it is criminal on the part of those sap- 
hearts to feed children on the taffy that 
would engender false pride and hypoc¬ 
risy.” L. h. D. 
Is it possible that there are many grown¬ 
up men and women who actually teach 
their children that it is dishonorable to do 
homely work? I know a few such, but I 
have as little to do with them as I can 
help. In my judgment they are the true 
anarchists—doing more harm to society 
than any other so-called respectable class. 
I have always had to work hard. I am 
not ashamed to say that I have been 
obliged to dig and ditch and do dozens of 
the Jobs which these silly people regard 
as menial, if not disgraceful. I see no 
shame about such honest work-in fact, 
I think one should have a feeling of pride 
that he has made of such occupation a 
servant to lift him and carry him on. As 
for picking out the business of farming 
as a special mark for ridicule, the man or 
woman who does that may be safely put 
down as an ignorant and conceited donkey 
—too dull and stupid to be safely entrust¬ 
ed with the training of a child. You may 
call such people any name you like, and 
sign the Hope Farm man’s name to it! 
Cover Crops.— The following questions 
from a Canadian will appeal to many 
farmers right now: 
“I have a piece of land which was 
heavily manured two years ago and raised 
potatoes; was in wheat last year and seed¬ 
ed down to Timothy and clover, but the 
grass was nearly all killed last Winter. 
It grew up to weeds and wild grass. I 
plowed it under and sowed oats July 14; 
they are now about a foot high. Would 
these oats plowed under make a good fer¬ 
tilizer for potatoes? What is the value of 
green oats plowed under for enriching poor 
land? Would peas and oats mixed, plowed 
under green, make a better fertilizer for 
poor land?” 
Briefly answered, the oats add no direct 
fertility to the soil, yet they may benefit 
it in two ways. During late Summer and 
Fall most cultivated land is liable to lose 
nitrogen. The organic nitrogen, which 
was explained on page 563, is changed to 
the soluble form mostly during the warmer 
part of late Summer. If there is no growing 
crop on the land to utilize this nitrogen a 
fair share of it will be washed away, both 
through drains and by surface washing. 
If there is some thrifty crop growing dur¬ 
ing August, September and October most 
of this nitrogen will be utilized and held. 
It is like the swill from a large hotel or 
the waste from a creamery. You may 
pipe them underground into the brook and 
lose them, or run them part of the way 
through an open box with some lively hogs 
at hand and thus save them. The oats 
represent the hogs as they save the nitro¬ 
gen. They add nothing to the soil; in fact, 
if they were cut and carried away they 
would leave the soil worse than they found 
it, since they feed near the surface and 
exhaust the soil quicker than some other 
crops. When plowed under they help the 
soil by opening it up to the air, by holding 
moisture and providing humus or vege¬ 
table matter. 
Would you expect to raise a better crop 
of potatoes because the oats were grown? 
Yes, although I would have cut the 
weeds before they went to seed and left 
them on the ground as a mulch until the 
latter part of August, and then sowed rye. 
I think this mulching would have done 
the soil more good than the oat crop and 
the rye would prevent loss of nitrogen 
through the Fall. 
Does rye plowed under in the Spring 
help potatoes? 
Not always; I have known it to injure 
them. The great mistake is in letting it 
grow too long. It becomes hard and will 
not rot easily when plowed under. Some¬ 
times, in a dry Spring, the rye sucks the 
water out of the soil so fast that when 
you plow it under and leave the soil open 
it dries out so quickly that the potatoes 
can hardly sprout. Before rye is plowed 
under I think it pays to cut it with the 
mower and let the crop lie on the ground 
several days. It will begin to rot and 
mulch the soil so as to leave it in fine con¬ 
dition for plowing. I grant that this means 
more work, but I think it will also mean 
more potatoes. Who wants Nature to 
make him a present of potatoes without 
working for them? 
But what about peas with the oats? 
The peas would have left the soil some¬ 
what better than they found it, especially 
if the ground was not naturally very 
strong. 
How can'the peas help the ground while 
the oats do not? 
Because they are able to do things in the 
soil which the oats cannot do. We have 
had two visitors at our house at one time. 
One took a good sleep every morning, 
turned up smiling at every meal, and gave 
us the benefit of some very agreeable 
conversation. The other sailed in and 
shook out several tangles in the work, 
and put in a helping hand just where help 
was needed. One represented the oat crop 
—the other the clover. Under certain con¬ 
ditions the peas can take nitrogen out of 
the air and add it to the soil. 
So you believe that, do you? 
Certainly! I never saw any bacteria, 
but I consider that the scientific men have 
fully proved that nitrogen is taken but of 
the air and held by such plants as clover 
and peas. 
But how do they know that oats do not 
do something of the same thing? 
They don’t know. All that they can say 
is that in 'the present light of science there 
is no way of proving that oats do or do 
not obtain nitrogen, while it is quite easy 
to prove that peas and clover do. Scien¬ 
tific knowledge is progressive. Take the 
book, “Talks on Manure,” by Harris. 
About 25 years ago it was (is now for that 
matter) a standard publication, yet I 
hunt in vain through it for any informa¬ 
tion about “bacteria,” “germs” or the like. 
When that book was printed no one seemed 
to know how clover was able to improve 
the soil. All these things have come in 
later, and I believe that our scientific men 
will dig out many more secrets for us. 
Will all this why help us to improve the 
how? Man certainly cannot farm on why 
alone! 
Farm Notes. —Fall work generally drags 
in September. The month this yeav is not 
favorable to good work, and we are likely 
to get behind. The potatoes are nearly 
all dug, but there is manure to haul out 
on the orchards, several small pieces of 
rye to cut, apples to pick, corn to cut and 
plenty of other jobs. Not much time to 
stop and look at the change In color of 
the woods—except on Sundays. The color 
is coming, however. Flaming spots of red 
begin to appear in the fence rows, and the 
leaves are nearly ready for frost. 
I hardly know what to report about our 
sugar-beet crop. The tops are fine and 
will make excellent fodder, but the roots 
are much smaller than I expected. I do 
not find any such great monsters as I 
have seen at some of the fairs. That is 
not so discouraging, however, since no one 
takes the poor specimens to a fair. Our 
beets are smaller than I have been led to 
expect they would be. The yellow turnips 
seeded after rye now promise to give a 
larger yield per acre than the beets. Hugh 
thinks the soil is too hard and stony. 
.The sweet potatoes promise a 
fine yield. They were planted on the 
lightest soil we have, yet that is full of 
stones. The potatoes are often dented and 
twisted where they have grown up against 
a stone. They remind me of humans who 
have tried to make growth of mind and 
body when up against hard and hopeless 
conditions. They can’t remove these con¬ 
ditions, so they come out of the conflict 
scarred and twisted. Those who adopt a 
standard based on exterior appearance 
would reject both potatoes and humans— 
but the quality is O. K.—often better than 
when growth was unrestricted. It doesn’t 
make any difference to a potato whether 
its shape is satisfactory or not—but it 
does to the human. It requires what I 
may call an un-natural philosophy to sat¬ 
isfy ourselves with quality alone. 
It seems that my claim to the title of 
champion fly-catcher is to be disputed. 
Here is a man from Illinois: 
“Just read what the Hope Farm man 
said about flies. Would like to tell him to 
screen the porches. Flies gather on the 
screen doors every cool spell, but if porches 
are screened they will not do it because 
there is so much surface. Have inside 
screen door, too. We have tried the above 
and it works well. There is a paddle made 
of wire cloth that will hit them every shot 
(almost). Price 15 cents.” 
Screening the porches seems reasonable. 
As for the paddle I have tried it, but for 
catching flies on the ceiling the stick and 
can is ahead. 
The Fair.—H ope Farm captured 16 pre¬ 
miums at the local fair. It turns some of 
the light off the glory to learn that in 
some classes we had no competition what¬ 
ever! However, that wasn’t our fault. 
The two little girls exhibited their quilts 
and took first and second premiums over 
a big field! I promised the children to 
take them to the fair, but when the day 
came the rain came along with it. We 
all five bundled into the big buggy, and 
wfith old Major in the shafts plodded 
through the mud. The old fellow thought 
it too foul a day to attend a fair, and he 
prepared to take his time. The little folks 
had a great time. The Graft was elected 
chairman. 
“I move,” said the Scion, “that old Major 
go faster!” 
The motion was carried with a roar that 
started the old horse into a shamble which 
he kept up for nearly half a mile. When 
we finally got to the fair grounds we tied 
the horse to the rail outside the race track. 
Just as we got him tied half a dozen horses 
came whirling around in a race. The old 
fellow rolled an eye up under his blinder 
as much as to say: 
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, that I can’t join 
you to-day. If you had called on me 20 
years ago I would have shown you how, 
but now I must content myself with telling 
about it.” 
There the old fellow stood through the 
afternoon with hanging head while the 
light-footed youngsters darted past him. 
They may have the speed, but will they 
have the character to save them from the 
huckster’s wagon when their joints grow 
stiff? 
The children cared little for the horse 
racing. The Graft's mind has a practical 
turn and he wanted to know what sort of 
a prize the first horse got. After I told 
him he watched one old gray that lagged 
far behind the others: 
“What prize does the last one get?” 
I shall have to refer that to some of the 
poor fellows who struggle along In the 
rear of the procession. Who prints the 
record of victory on a leather medal? We 
are told that “the last shall be first.” 
That’s right if the “last” sticks to his 
duty, but the prize he wins will be in an¬ 
other race which he knew little about 
until his name was called as winner. But 
we had little time for sermonizing. We 
left that to old Major. We hunted up 
every Hope Farm representative from 
Billy Berk to the Bud’s quilt. There was 
a real Indian on hand with arrows and a 
toy rifle. We ate our share and perhaps 
a little more of peanuts and pop corn; 
had our picture taken; threw baseballs at 
—but I guess it won’t do for the Hope 
Farm man to tell everything he knows. 
The rain poured as we jogged home behind 
old Major, but what did we care, packed 
into the old buggy with plenty of pop corn 
to eat? Care doesn’t rhyme with fair 
under such circumstances. 
“Oh, mother, we had a fine time!” cried 
the Bud as we drove in through the gate 
and saw the Madame at the door. The 
time we had certainly won first premium! 
h. w. c. 
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