1904. 
TII E RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
523 
FARMING FROM ANOTHER VIEW. 
There are some things in C. F. C.’s article, page 475. 
to which 1 take exception; in fact, there was only one 
sentence that I agree with, and that was that the condi¬ 
tion of the average farmer is improving. There are 
some men who do not own farms who are capable of 
managing one, just as there are men capable of man¬ 
aging a factory who do not own it, because it is safer 
to work for a salary, provided there is more than a 
bare living in it, than it is to go in debt for a farm or 
work one on shares for a term of years. I know of but 
few farms worked entirely by hired help, hut I do know 
that two or three of them arc more than paying ex¬ 
penses. As for difference in hours, very recently 1 
heard one of the best farmers in the town, and a self- 
made man say that if a man could not do a day’s work 
in 10 hours he could not do it at all. Hired help in 
this community are only expected to work 10 hours, and 
as for Sundays and holidays, no farmer or hired help 
docs more than necessary chores. In my own case, 
1 do chores every third Sunday, which takes 1 J /2 hour 
in morning and from 15 to 30 minutes noon and night. 
As for recreation, if we lake advantage of our oppor¬ 
tunities we are ahead of the city man. We have a 
trolley road within V /2 mile, with cars every thirty 
minutes on Sundays and holidays; macadam road to 
both cities within seven or eight miles of 11 s, besides the 
use of horses and carriages, which is a luxury few 
city folks can enjoy. Only last Thursday a city friend 
took dinner with me, and after dinner offered me his 
morning paper, which I accepted, and in turn took mine 
off the desk and offered it to him. You should have 
seen the look on his face, for mine was the same paper 
and same date as his. I had received mine within 
three hours of the time it was out in the city. I'll admit 
that dairy farming is more confining, but even that has 
its advantages. What we as farmers need more than 
anything else is more “vim’’ and fewer hours. 
Stanley, N. Y. 0. j. B. 
A FARM DAY'S WORK 
Willi Dairy and Poultry. 
"Chirr-r-r-ling-a-ling-ling-ling,” and I sleepily realize 
that the hour of labor has arrived, and the work ot 
another day demands our attention, but as a love of 
early rising was never counted among my virtues 1 do 
not hasten to repair to my allotted station. My husband 
calls: “Come, Susan, it’s time to be stirring,” and three 
minutes later 1 hear the jingle of the milkpails, the 
rattle of the bars, and his voice calling: “Come, bossy! 
Come, bossy! Iley, there!” I lie still five minutes 
longer, then get up, make a quick toilet, draw the cov¬ 
ers closer around the shoulders of our small daughter, 
sleeping in her own little bed, pull down the shade, 
to keep the sun from shining in her eyes as he comes 
over the hill, then go to the kitchen, apply a match to 
the fire laid over night, and go to the cellar to empty 
the milk separator can. This accomplished, I return to 
the kitchen for water to wash it, then add a tcaspoon- 
ftil of soda to the boiling water in the teakettle, and 
scald it thoroughly. It is now 5:45, and I proceed to 
get breakfast, consisting of cold boiled potatoes, hashed 
and browned, toast, boiled eggs, baked sweet apples, 
doughnuts and coffee. I am buttering the toast when 
the senior partner comes in from straining the milk, at 
0:15, and it takes until seven o’clock to dispose oi 
breakfast and talk over the plans for the day; then he 
goes to care for the poultry in the long house, and 1 
go to feed the chickens around here. The incubators 
have hatched tot) this season, and 1 have taken the en¬ 
tire care of them while small. Now many have been 
sold, and some moved to Winter quarters, but there 
are still over a hundred in my care. I mix them a 
mash of meal, bran, middlings, table scraps and milk, 
and put it into live troughs scattered near as many 
different brooders, then fill their water and milk dishes. 
I like the work, and spend a pleasant half hour at it. 
I do not forget "Peter, the black pig, my especial pet. 
Peter is very intelligent, fond of company, and evidently 
enjoys his breakfast, and the “grooming,” with an old 
broom, which he invariably exacts. 
Returning to the house, t get the barrel churn ready 
for the cream, for this is a Tuesday in September; 
therefore one of the two churning days in every week. 
Then I awaken the small girl, help her get ready for 
school, give her her breakfast, which has been keeping 
warm in the oven, put up her lunch, arrange a bou¬ 
quet of Dahlias for her teacher, and with a “Good-bye, 
Mamma,” she is off. Now the beds are put to air, and 
the senior partner comes in to churn, lie brings the 
cream from the cellar, empties it into the churn, churns 
it until the butter comes like grains of wheat, runs 
off the buttermilk, washes and salts the butter in the 
churn, then departs for the field. Meanwhile, I have 
cleared the table and washed the dishes, put away 
the clean clothes, ironed the evening before, measured 
and rolled the salt, and am ready to finish the butter. 
There are about 25 pounds of it, so I bring five small 
jars, and taking a little at a time into the bowl, work 
and pack closely into the jars, cover each, first with 
parchment, then manila paper and carry to the cellar. 
Then I make three pies, from pumpkin previously 
stewed and sifted, and pop them into the oven to bake, 
while 1 wash and scald the churning utensils, sweep, 
fill the tank, mop, and dust. It is 10:30, and in the 
WORKING THE BETTER. Fig. 237. 
next three-quarters of an hour I make the beds, tidy 
the sitting room, and prepare vegetables for dinner. 
While dinner is cooking, I manage to read by snatches 
“A ship of the Old Confederacy,” in the Cosmopolitan. 
Dinner is ready at 12, and consists of fried chicken 
(skinned by the senior partner in the morning), gravy, 
potatoes, corn, bread and butter, pie, cookies, cheese 
and tea. The senior partner comes from the field, and 
THE EVENING MEAL. Fig. 228. 
we spend an hour eating and resting awhile, during 
which I peel apples for sauce. The chickens must have 
their midday feed, and Peter demands his dinner. He 
also teases for, and gets, a few ears of sweet corn. 
Again, the table and dishes. It has been my custom for 
many years to pin over my work table anything 1 wish 
to memorize. To-day it is a little newspaper slip I 
study as I work, and by the time the dishes are done 
the lines are in my mind. This habit has been a great 
help and comfort to me. 
The kitchen and myself tidy, and it is two o’clock. 
Remembering that there is still some honey in the 
hives, 1 proceed to get it. The bees are rather cross, 
but by using smoke I take several crates without much 
trouble, then remove extra hive bodies, etc., spending 
an hour in the apiary, then until 4:30 scrape, grade and 
pack honey for market. The small girl returns from 
school and wants a “piece,” which T supply. Chore 
time again! The evening chores do not differ materially 
from those in the morning. Billie, the little bay horse, 
comes to the lane bars, and the small girl and I carry 
him salt, apples, and grain. Poor Billie! lie will have 
the run of the pasture while the pleasant weather lasts; 
then, after 30 years’ faithful service, a bullet will end 
his days. It is the kindest thing we can do for him. 
His worn-out lungs coidd not endure the winds of an¬ 
other Winter. We also carry apples to the big gray 
horses at the barn, whose joyful whinnies welcome 
us. It is six o’clock when we sit down to supper ol 
baked potatoes, graham bread and butter, honey, sauce, 
cake and milk. The small girl wipes the dishes, then 
busies herself with her “examples.” The senior partner 
reads “Poultry Craft.” I attack the mending basket. 
Soon the girl and her beloved Stubby are tucked into 
bed. Partner eats three apples and turns in also. 1 
put away my work, wind the clock, take the kitten from 
the arms of the sleeping child, and follow, thankful 
that we are all here and all well. The clock strikes 
nine; 10 minutes later we are all asleep. Not much ol 
a story, is it ? I could write of days, on this same 
farm, beside which this would seem one of luxurious 
ease. We have many small duties, sometimes heavy 
responsibilities, but life on the farm, as everywhere 
else, is largely what we make it. dell s. petrie. 
Jefferson Co., N. Y. 
A PORCUPINE AND RASPBERRIES. 
A few weeks ago we were asked hy a friend in British 
Columbia what to do to kill rabbits. Animals supposed to 
be rabbits came at night and destroyed rows of young rasp¬ 
berry bushes, stripping them or cutting them off. Traps 
and guns were of little avail. Now comes the sequel. 
In further reference to my letter of recent date in, 
which I asked for assistance in the means of destroying 
(supposed) rabbits, which were playing havoc in my 
raspberry patches, I feel in duty bound to advise you 
that I must exonerate the bunny (which has always 
been of good behavior with me), and put the blame 
where it rightfully belongs. The destruction among 
the old canes was so great by the third day that I 
decided to work a double shift, and so try to catch the 
plunderers. I therefore made visits to the field during 
the night, with the assistance of an Ayrdale terrier, and 
on one of these beats—just on the first streaks of day— 
he got on the tracks of some animal, which we chased 
through the woods a short distance and soon had up 
a tree—not a rabbit certainly, but a very large female 
porcupine! I soon had her ladyship down a whole lot 
faster than she went up, and a post mortem showed 
the large stomach packed with the leaves of my rasp¬ 
berry patch. She must have done $25 damage in three 
nights, for not only did she strip the canes, but cut 
them off in order to reach the succulent tops. There 
has been no damage since, so I am satisfied that I caught 
the culprit. 1 have since heard from others who have 
large raspberry patches that the porcupine is one of the 
worst enemies to the crop, which fact may he of service 
to some of your readers. I thank you for your answer 
to my letter, but am glad to say that the assistance so 
willingly given was, after all, unnecessary to put into 
effect. j. w. FORD. 
British Columbia._ 
COLD STORAGE ARRANGEMENTS. 
I notice on page 420 inquiry in regard to cold storage 
Let me add to your description what I believe will help 
it: Use a pan that fits to both ends, leaving five to 
eight inches space at sides. 
When placing pan put one inch pine or other soft wood 
matched floor the size of pan on joist under pan. Set 
pan on this floor and’ put rack of one-inch oak or hard 
wood in bottom of pan to keep ice off pan and out 
of water. Zinc is better than iron. The wood under 
pan prevents moisture from gathering on bottom of 
pan; also keeping ice off pan the moisture will not 
gather so badly. For a water seal or air trap, run 
waste pipe through side wall, if possible, just under 
pan; turn down and hang old fruit can or small bucket 
over end of pipe. When sawdust or other dirt gets in 
pipe just empty bucket and hang on again; it will not 
clog the pipe and flood cooler. The best water seal l 
ever used was a 25-pound lard bucket just set under 
pipe so pipe was in water. If cooler is near where 
the chickens can get at it there will constantly he a 
flock of biddies around it these warm days. Place 
pan five or six feet off cooler floor, and if you have 
five to six feet above pan, and if everything is prop¬ 
erly made in a cooler six by eight inside, the pan 
five by eight well filled with ice, you will have a tem¬ 
perature from 43 to 45 for two weeks and still have 
200 to 500 pounds of ice. I have tried it and iced every 
It) days, but used my cooler 12 hours per day, selling 
fresh meat. That uses one-quarter to one-half more 
ice than on a farm. Ice is no object in this part ot 
the country in Winter, and there are small sawmills 
where you can get sawdust for 25 cents per load, yet 
not one farmer in 25 has ice. Butter is usually 25 to 
35 cents in Winter; eggs 20 to 32; but in Spring you 
can buy for eight to 12 cents, because they will not 
keep. How long will eggs keep in 45 degrees temper¬ 
ature? P. s. B. 
