1902 
Hope Farm Notes 
Farm Notes.— Not a shock of corn was 
cut up to October 1. The last week of Sep¬ 
tember was wet enough to contribute its 
full 17 per cent of Noah’s flood! There was 
one drenching downpour after another, 
with dull drizzles in between, during which 
the rain got breath for another drencher. 
The farm was turned into a great mud 
puddle. Some neighbors on the lower 
ground had their corn cut, but I would 
rather have mine uncut during such a 
storm. It will not lose much while on its 
own roots, but a good share of its value, 
will be washed out in the shock. I would 
rather risk a light frost on our hills than 
such a soaking rain.The corn is 
late this year—green and soft when it 
ought to be firm and hard. Some - of it will 
not ripen at all. I believe we must dis¬ 
count this in figuring on the total crop of 
the country. While the stalks have been 
green and vigorous the grain has ripened 
slowly and a frost within the next few days 
will do great damage. I am not so sure 
yet that feed is to be much cheaper. . . . 
The crows have done great damage in the 
corn this Fall. Great flocks of them settle 
on the field and dig into the ears just as 
they begin to hardep. They have never 
stolen so much grain before. Must be that 
they want a taste of revenge to take the 
taste of the tarred seed corn out of their 
mouths. I am satisfied that Hope Farm 
would be better off if we never had a crow 
inside the fence.Young apple 
trees were set last Spring in about half 
our cornfield. I expect to finish out the 
field this Fall. In cutting the corn we will 
set the shocks on the rows where the trees 
are to stand—the long way of the field. 
The ground between these rows of shocks 
will be seeded to rye and grass. After the 
corn is hauled away the trees can be 
planted—with a mulch of manure around 
each one. We can seed the narrow strip 
around them when we are ready. 
The potatoes are ail dug. We never had 
them out so early before, and as this rain 
pours down I am glad to see them under 
the dry shed. The yic-ld was light, and I 
am now convinced that our soil is not suit¬ 
able for potato culture. This is the last 
crop that I shall try to raise for sale. It 
takes me longer to learn such things than 
it does some folks, but I think I know now 
that we should let others raise potatoes 
and devote every energy to our fruit! 
“I told you so!” you will say. 
You may have all the glory that goes 
with that fact, but after all you wouldn’t 
have had much respect for me if I had 
taken your word for it without digging out 
the truth myself! 
“But what about the advice you give so 
freely?” 
Why, I don’t intend to give advice unless 
I am asked to do so. I have lived long 
enough to know that there is something 
in every strong man’s make-up which 
prompts him to shed advice as a duck 
sheds water off its back! Such a man may 
listen to you and know in his heart that 
what you say is probably true, and yet he 
feels that he must strike out for himself 
and test his own way. I carry a few 
bruises and scars all the way from shin to 
soul where I have run such an obstinate 
course, and hit the very things my good 
friends saw ahead of me! So I don’t feel 
like scolding those who won't be advised. 
I only hope they will go ahead on the 
wrong course gently, and not break a bone 
when they strike! 
A Woman Hunt.— The Hope Farm man 
has had a hand at almost every form of 
industry, but he never went out hunting 
for a woman until last Sunday night. 
“That’s pretty business!”—you will say— 
but the Madame sent me out, and I took 
my little daughter along with me! It was 
at the close of a dull, grey day. You know' 
how on some of these September days, 
now and then. Nature really seems to give 
way to her grief—just like some human 
who has become discouraged. I had been 
walking over the hills with the children. 
We came back to find poor Grandmother 
in terrible pain—weak with suffering. The 
Madame had driven Nellie Bly to take a 
sick friend home. She came back just as 
the darkness fell, and we agreed that 1 
ought to go at once and hunt a nurse for 
Grandmother. No—the doctor was not 
necessary, but a nurse was. Aunt Jennie 
and the Cutting had been called away, and 
the Madame was left alone. Those who 
have pictured her as some great strong 
woman tossing off work as a ball player 
handles flies will have to revise their 
mental drawing. Some of you good house¬ 
keepers will know what it means to throw 
school, housework and care of the sick all 
upon 115 pounds of woman made nervous 
by a long siege and strain! Aunt Hustle 
out of pure goodness of heart, came to 
help, but Grandmother had reached the 
point where some stout nurse was needed. 
The little Bud went along as “ears for 
father!” We had a light supper and car¬ 
ried some crackers with us. It was dark 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
691 
and close to a drizzle, but Nellie Bly went 
trotting on—through the woods, over the 
hill and along by the river. First we knew 
we were singing: 
“Bring forth the royal diadem 
And crown Him Lord of all!” 
There wasn’t anything very appropriate 
in this song, and I don’t know how it start¬ 
ed, but we sang it over and over in the 
dark. No doubt some of the listeners in 
quiet homes heard this strange combina¬ 
tion of halting bass and hopeful treble, 
and knew not what to make of it. When¬ 
ever our throats gave out we stopped to 
eat a cracker. We sang our song, but our 
journey was not crowned with success. 
Nobody knows how many miles we drove, 
or what dark yards we entered. Our hunt 
was fruitless, for all the women who might 
come were busy. We felt sad enough to 
drive back late at night to tell Mother that 
we could not find help. 
A Hard Situation.— We started out 
again in the morning—chasing down one 
clue after another. I had to think of the 
bov who tried to find the pot of gold at the 
end of the rainbow! Surely hunting a 
nurse in our country was about as satis¬ 
factory. At one place a big, stout girl was 
doing some fancy work while her mother 
came in from the washtub drying her arms 
on her apron. I’ll guarantee to pick up 50 
girls or women who will “accept a posi¬ 
tion” at writing with a pen or acting as 
“saleslady” where I can’t get one to come 
to a good home and do really helpful work! 
You may tell me that this is the result of 
evolution—a desire for better and brainy 
work—but what is to become of us if this 
thing keeps on? Pens and typewriters are 
well enough in their way, but they don’t 
provide food or care for the sick. I can 
remember the time when the daughters of 
a farmer would go out and do homely work 
for neighbors who wanted to hire them 
without losing a bit of self-respect. Now, 
it seems, that we must put up with for¬ 
eigners or go without. Before I got a wo¬ 
man to come by the day and help us I 
learned a whole volume about the modern 
woman It wouldn't make so much dif¬ 
ference if people- were so prosperous that 
the girls did not need to work. The 
truth is that almost every family of mod¬ 
erate means needs an income from the 
girls. Instead of trying to do really useful 
labor they all want to sit on a chair and 
do some light work. They claim they are 
doing brainwork! What nonsense! It 
doesn’t require half the brains that it does 
to prepare a good meal or nurse a sick per¬ 
son back to health. 
“Do you mean to say that you would 
rather have your own child learn what you 
call ‘useful work?’ ” 
Certainly! I would much rather have her 
become a skilled cook or trained nurse, and 
if my influence goes for anything she will 
be competent to step in and make a success 
of homely things. I found one satisfactory 
woman in my hunt at least—that is a clear 
idea of the sort of woman I don’t want my 
daughter to be. 
Fruit Notes.— Our Baldwin apples never 
were better. We shall have a big crop, and 
we intend to handle them as well as we 
can. We sprayed and cared for the trees 
the best we knew how, and now we begin 
to get results.We have about 50 
seedling plum trees from Japan seeds. The 
trees are now in the nursery, but we in¬ 
tend to plant them out this Fall and give 
them a good showing. One good limb will 
be left to develop its natural fruit, while 
the other branches will be top-worked to 
some good late variety. Out of the 50 
trees we hope to get a “new variety” worth 
talking about. I am often advised by 
friends to plant early varieties of fruits. 
That seems to me just what we should not 
do. Ours is a late location. The soil is cold 
and slow to warm up in the Spring. On 
our hills the frost usually holds off two 
weeks after tender plants in the valley are 
killed. Our best prices are for late fruits, 
for Jack Frost kills off leagues of compe¬ 
tition in a single night. So we plant the 
latest varieties we can find for market. 
.... We have discovered a seedling 
peach and several seedling apples on the 
farm which give good promise. One apple 
in particular is a good one—perhaps good 
enough to represent us in the market. 
Unless these fruits turn out to be far above 
the average I shall certainly make fuel 
out of the trees. What nonsense it is to 
distribute fine fruit just because it happens 
to be yours. The peach must be good 
enough to cary the Madame’s name and 
the apple must advertise the Bud. 
All Sorts.— These might be gloomy 
times at Hope Farm if we were willing to 
let them go that way. We are not—if we 
can help it. Farm life isn’t all sunshine 
by a good deal—neither is town life or 
any other sort of life that amounts to any¬ 
thing. Some of these good folks who pic¬ 
ture the ideal farm life know as much 
about it as our children do of Bible char¬ 
acters. The Scion undertook to tell who 
Moses was. 
“He took off his hat and went through 
jthe woods and the bears ate the children 
up.” 
“Oh, no,” said the Bud. “That wasn’t 
Moses—it was Eliza!” 
I had no idea when I talked about our 
fly-killing that I had hit a popular job for 
many portly men. I get all sorts of ad¬ 
vice and big stories by mail. I won’t say 
how many thousands I h.ave put out of 
business but they still crowd in. It must 
be that some of us in times past made a 
boasting remark about there being “no 
flies on me.” Our flies have evidently 
heard about this boaster, and came 
swarming in to shame him. No man boosts 
himself by boasting.There are 
sick folks at the barn as well as in the 
house. The other night we found poor little 
Johnnie stretched out on the ground with 
the colic. There is something pathetic 
about a sick horse—they are almost human 
in their griefs and pains. Charlie left the 
sentiment to those of us who cared to in¬ 
dulge in it. He got a bottle and gave 
John a dose of oil. After all I think most 
of us care more for oil than for senti¬ 
ment when we are sick! Frank too has 
been a cripple for the past week. He felt 
too gay one morning, and when his har¬ 
ness was put on ran out in the road and 
tried to mount a stone wall. His hind leg 
is badly wrenched and swollen. It will be 
weeks before he can do a full job again. 
The farm engine nearly stands still when 
old Frank cannot work. It may be he ran 
away because he thought the harness 
meant a pull at the potato digger! He is 
not the first one to shirk duty and be 
punished for it. The discouraging thing 
is that most shirkers preserve rather than 
jam their legs._ h. w. c. 
When you write advertisers mention The 
R. N.-Y. and you will get a quick reply and 
“a square deal.” See our guarantee 8th page. 
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