Vol. LXIII, No. 2825. 
NEW YORK, MARCH 19, 1904. 
SI PER YEAR. 
THE STORT OF A SUMMER DAY. 
ON A NEW YORK DAIRY FARM. 
What Ten Little Jerseys Did. 
Whir-r-r-r goes the alarm clock; then it stops for 
a minute, then again whir-r-r-r! There is no use pre¬ 
tending we don’t hear it, for it happens to be one of 
those everlasting intermittant alarms that keeps right 
at it until you get up and choke it off. So I scramble 
out of bed, slip into a few clothes and stumble out to 
the horse barn, rubbing my eyes open when on the way. 
Old Duke, the big St. Bernard, meets me at the door 
ready to make believe go after the cows, so after the 
team is fed we climb the 
“pinnacle” whose round 
flat top, shaded around the 
sides with hickories makes 
the night pasture for 
the cows, and gives char¬ 
acter to the farm, for 
which it is named “Hick¬ 
ory Hill.” Arrived at the 
top, Duke makes a great 
bluff at biting the heels 
and flanks of the Jerseys, 
but every one of them has 
long ago learned that he 
would not bite them for 
anything, so they leisurely 
proceed towards the barn, 
or occasionally one turns 
and chases the dog just for 
fun. At the barn the cows 
are given a feed of bran, 
and are then milked. There 
are 10 of them, and about 
an hour is consumed in 
the milking. By the time 
the last one is done the lit¬ 
tle boys appear to turn 
them down to the day pas¬ 
ture, where there is plenty 
of shade and pure water 
and some grass. I start 
the separator as soon as 
milking is finished, and 
the boys begin feeding the 
calves the warm skim- 
milk direct from the ma¬ 
chine. Then the pigs are 
fed and we are ready for 
breakfast, and we have a 
good appetite for it, too. 
No little dish of patent 
breakfast food does for us. 
It takes a good substantial 
meal to fill the void under 
our waistcoats. 
It is not “churning day,” 
so after breakfast I am 
ready for the team. They 
do not get much brushing 
these days, and are soon ready for the cornfield. 
When one man cares for 10 acres of corn, and is able 
to give it but seven or eight hours’ time in a day, and 
it rains a good share of the days, he must “do busi¬ 
ness” when he does work. With that idea in view I 
hitch my pair, that weigh together 2,700 pounds (the 
only horses I have), to the “little boy” cultivator 
(which was so named because it needs a good team 
and a good man to run it), and we start for the field. 
The corn lies on a side hill, not very steep, and the 
rows run up and down the hill because the cultivator 
works better that way, and Maje and Mike don’t care 
whether a little thing like a cultivator is going up a 
hill or not. 
By dinner time we have quite a strip stirred up, and 
the weeds and thistles are wilting in the sun, for no 
thistle can escape the “little boy” cultivator. His 
long sharp knives or scrapers running slantwise along 
the rows cut them clean. I am not hot at dinner time, 
nor so very tired. The umbrella has kept off the sun, 
and I have not had to walk. Fig. 95 shows how we 
do it. But the team has hustled that cultivator right 
along, and it has taken constant watching and some 
degree of strength and skill to keep from cutting up 
the corn. The horses are ready for a drink and their 
feed, for they are not hot either. They would laugh at 
you if you should ask them whether they ever get 
tired and hot drawing a cultivator. Maje would give 
his head a toss and kick up his heels and say: “Do I 
look tired? Maybe those little trotting-bred fellows 
over the fence are tired, but me, pshaw!” And up 
would go his heels again. 
After dinner The R. N.-Y. needs looking at for a 
few minutes, and the hammock under the porch is a 
good place from which to look at it. It is such a very 
good place that before I am aware that I have been 
there hardly a minute, the “better half” says: “Grant, 
have you forgotten that it is a good day for culti¬ 
vating?” So down goes The R. N.-Y., and the horses 
are taken back to the field. Half-past four is the time 
to quit, but it is a very good day and I really did read 
that paper a little longer than I ought, so we cultivate 
just a few more rows. Maje looks anxiously towards 
the house and whinnies (or laughs) like a boy when 
he sees the traces unfastened. But he kicks up a few 
times on the way to the barn just to show that he is 
not tired, but very glad that his day’s work is done. 
Supper is now ready and the cows are waiting near 
the gate. After supper they are milked and turned 
up on the pinnacle again, for though there is no water 
up there, they do very well when the dew is on. 
The milk is again separated and the calves and pigs 
fed. Then the horses are brought out and the dirt 
brushed out of their coats. While one is being 
cleaned the other likes to nibble a little grass in the 
yard and roll over a few times to scratch that spot 
where the harness was so 
hot to-day. The day’s work 
is done and I can look 
over the papers a little 
while, unless some letter 
needs answering or there 
is other writing to do. Not 
much of a day’s work 
spent in the shade of an 
umbrella, you say, but you 
must remember that there 
are 365 days in a year, and 
sometimes 366. There is 
work on a dairy farm 
every one of them, and the 
man who comes out in 
good condition at the end 
of one, to say nothing of 
hoping to last several, 
must work in the shade all 
he can. There are plenty 
of times when he cannot. 
“TEN LITTLE JER¬ 
SEYS.”—For the year end¬ 
ing February 1, 1904, I 
have milked 10 registered 
Jersey cows. These cows 
vary in age from three to 
11 years, and come fresh 
at all seasons. Our family 
consists of six persons at 
all times, and sometimes 
more. No account was 
made of the milk, cream 
and butter used in the 
family. I have sold 3,315% 
pounds of butter, which 
brought $823.11. The but¬ 
ter was sold to customers 
in the nearby village, and 
to farmers who sell their 
milk. February 1, 1903, I 
had on hand five shotes 
valued at $50. I have sold 
during the year $80.17 in 
pigs and fat hogs, killed 
three pigs, worth $11, and 
have on hand February 1, 
1904, one sow worth $20 
and three shotes worth $41.50, making a gain of 
$102.67 on hogs, which were mostly fed on skim-milk. 
I sold one veal calf for $5, two registered bull calves 
for breeding purposes for $50 each; one for $35 and 
one to a neighbor for $10; two heifer calves together 
for $75, and one for $70, making $295 for calves. 1 
also showed the herd at two county fairs and won $68 
in premiums. If I have made no mistake it ail 
amounts to $1,288.78 income from the 10 cows in one 
year. Last Spring I saw the statement that some 
strawberry man would rather have the profit from an 
acre of strawberries than from the 10 best cows in 
the State. Now, I do not claim to have the 10 best 
cows in the State or even one of the best mixed with 
the other nine. They are just “10 little Jerseys.” Fig. 
TEN LITTLE JERSEYS THAT PRODUCED $1,288.78 IN ONE YEAR. Fio. 94. 
A WHEEL CULTIVATOR IN CORNFIELD. Fig. 95. 
