1905. 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
443 
Hope Farm Notes 
The Start.—I f I were to say that it was 
a great pleasure to wake up iu the early 
morning of May 10 you would all understand 
that 1 was guilty of poetic license in a pro¬ 
hibition state or condition. I wished the sun 
had delayed his coming by at least one hour, 
but here he was at the window, and like other 
evidences of time he waits for no one. The 
little girls and Mother were sound asleep, and 
I liked to think as I hurried into my clothes 
that this meant slumber by proxy for me. 
Philip was already up and driving the cows 
down for milking. 1 shook up the boys and 
called Jack. It was remarkable what a pow¬ 
erful hold sleep had upon them all. The 
day nearly began wrong. There had been a 
little shower in the night. The boys had put 
the kindling under a hole in the outer shed, 
and it was wet. The ashpan under the 
grate -was full of ashes which must be dug 
out and carried away without covering 
Mother’s clean floor. The tank was nearly 
empty, and the water wouldn't run well. I 
know that men have roared and howled for 
less tliau that, and spoiled the labor of an 
entire day. I can roar as loud as anyone if 
1 try, but before I roar I want to know what 
it is about. So as the whole set of annoy¬ 
ances stood revealed I thought it out about 
like this: 
“Now, then, old man, are you in any way 
responsible for these things? You are sup¬ 
posed to be the boss here; are you really a 
boss or part bossy? This wood is, wet, but 
why have you left that hole open? It is your 
job to light the fire. Why didn’t you see 
last night that the ashes were emptied? 
There was wind part of yesterday ; why didn't 
you have the mill pumping through the 
night? The man who lets an ashpan upset 
his philosophy 'is a subject for the ashpan 
himself." I had to admit that it was partly 
on me. so 1 didn't use kerosene to start the 
fire, but found some dry brush and soon had 
the fire blazing. I was able to put those 
ashes just where I wanted them, around a 
tree near the house. The mill started up; 
in fact, with the exception of forgetting to 
salt the water in which the oatmeal was 
boiled I had things in great shape by the time 
Mother came bustling down with her usual 
remark, “Why didn’t you call me?” 
The boys had the table set, the little girls 
helped finish breakfast; we were all glad that 
Mother had her extra nap. Our breakfast 
was oatmeal and cream, scrambled eggs, bread 
and butter and a banana for each of the chil¬ 
dren. I wouldn’t like to say how many times 
a week we have eggs for breakfast, but there 
are so many different ways of cooking them 
that it seems much like a new dish each 
morning. While we were eating breakfast 
Alex came walking into the yard. Alex 
works by the day, and his job for the fore¬ 
noon was to plant Lima beans with Philip. 
Tiie Day’s Work.—T he little girls cleared 
off the table and washed the dishes. Every 
time I speak of children’s work some one asks 
if I do not think it a mistake to have the 
girls do housework. To me such questions 
are about as foolish as I can well imagine. 
Our children are taught to do their share of 
humble labor. It is their contribution to the 
home, and the little girls are willing and 
glad to help Mother and save her steps. I 
would not willingly have in my house over 
night anyone who would attempt to say that 
girls, and boys too, should not he taught to 
do housework. Mother had a day's work of 
housecleaning blocked out. and the little boy 
took old Major and started for a woman who 
had agreed to help. Women, at least those 
who are willing to work, are about the most 
precious articles in sight just now. But they 
were not even in sight that day, for the 
woman couldn't come, and old Major came 
home with drooping head, sorry for the dis¬ 
appointment of his best friend. However, 
Mother went at it as best she could with such 
work as the children could give her. Lyon 
got his lunch ready and started for school. 
Jack had seven hens and an incubator 
about ready to send a flood of chicks out. 
and the coops and brooders were not quite 
ready. Last year the cats got a good many 
of our chicks, but: Jack says they shall not 
get any of his. so he is making covered runs 
for them. That would keep him busy for 
the day. 
The Hope Farm man took a hoe and sickle, 
and started for the rye fields where the young 
trees were planted this Spring. Had there 
been moisture enough in the soil for both rye 
and trees he would have let the field alone, 
but the cold, dry winds were blowing the 
moisture out of the soil. In some places it 
was baking hard around the little trees. I 
went through the field with my sickle, cutting 
the rye in a space about as large as a hogs¬ 
head around each tree, and throwing the 
straw around the base. In some places where 
the soil was baking around the tree I loos¬ 
ened it with my hoe before cutting. This 
field has about 180 trees, half apple and half 
pear. As I went on I was able to observe 
how the trees were starting, and if need be, 
cut them back. By cutting the rye in this 
way we provide mulch for the trees and give 
a guide for the mowing machine’s driver so 
that he will not cut the trees. All this rye 
is to be cut for fodder. By a little after 10 
I had finished the field. Philip was still 
planting Limas, while Alex was cleaning up 
the land that Is to be plowed for peppers. In¬ 
side the house Mother had cleaned up the 
front room and planned dinner. The little girls 
had peeled potatoes, helped a little with the 
sewing, and now were reading. The boy had 
done his chores and was cleaning off the 
pony. There is another field of rye at the top 
of the hill with young peach trees planted in 
it. so this must he my next job. I have often 
referred to our hill, but it is doubtful if those 
who live in a flat or gently rolling country 
ran understand how our farm humps i I self up 
in the middle. Tt is a steep, rocky ridge ris¬ 
ing abruptly nearly 200 feet above the road 
in front of the house. We are never able to 
haul a load directly up and down, but go 
zigzagging along the face of the bill. I 
mounted tills bill to cut out the rye. T al¬ 
ways like io climb this bill, for its eastern 
slope records a good share of our farm his¬ 
tory. I remember when, looking up from the 
valley, there was nothing to be seen against 
the sky. Then after we planted the apple 
trees we saw what seemed like little sticks 
or whips in the ground. Now the hill is cov- 
eral with trees six and eight feet high, and 
reaching out every day for greater size. As 
I go on T stop to loo'- at the Japanese millet. 
Tt has been seeded six days, but there is no 
sign of it yet above ground. There is no sign 
of the Japanese fleet, yet no one believes that 
Admiral Togo Is asleep or running away. We 
shall hear from the millet later. Opposite 
the millet is our old Greening apple orchard. 
This is where we came the nearest that we 
ever did to seeiMug land to grass after the- 
famous “Clark" method. It is a poor place 
for grass, with little soil above the ledge, yet 
there is no such crop in sight anywhere else 
on the farm. Above it is the Alfalfa field. 
1 must admit that it. doesn't look as thick or 
stout as it should, but I am still hopeful that 
after the first cutting it will do better. It is 
a good thing for a fellow to be hopeful if he 
can. I hadn't noticed them before, but a 
number of plants of Crimson clover are grow¬ 
ing in the Alfalfa. I should be sorry to have 
Spring go by without a little of this brilliant 
clover to brighten up the farm. Above the 
Alfalfa is the first little peach orchard so¬ 
ever planted. We didn’t know much about it 
then, and the boys took the trees out of the 
box and put them iu without trimming either 
top or root at all! You can imagine what 
looking things the trees are. Then we let 
the scale get at them, rousing up last Fall 
to spray with limoid and kerosene, it looks 
now as though we have saved the trees, such 
as they are. Right beyond this little orchard 
begins the stone wall where we have started 
the little grapevines. They seem to be start¬ 
ing out. 
But it will never do for a man to dawdle 
along this way with the rye growing around 
the baby trees and the wind sucking the 
moisture out of the soil. I find this harder 
cutting than the other, for the rye is heavier. 
Many of the little peach trees are backward. 
As I go on I cut them back, in some cases to 
within six inches of the ground. These peach 
trees are each in the center of four apple 
trees that were planted 32 feet each way. 
There are about 200 of these, and I get them 
nearly all done before it is time to go down 
to dinner. I am hungry. Mother is less of a 
philosopher than I am when her dinner is 
ready, and there are several kinks in my back, 
and yet I must stop on the brow of the hill 
to take a good long look up and down the val¬ 
ley. It is a mistake for a farmer to work 
with his eyes constantly fixed on the ground. 
It would be a hard and strange man who 
could stand on our hill to-day and see all these 
green things shaking in the wind and watch 
the clouds and the shadows without feeling 
something stir within him like the yeast of 
his best self. 
Nooning.—I was just in time for dinner. 
We had a lamb stew, bread and butter and 
custard pudding. Jack hurried out to work 
on his brooders. The Brown Leghorn eggs 
are hatching and the chicks must have a 
home. I stopped awhile to eat an extra plate 
of pudding and talk to Mother and the chil¬ 
dren. Then we carried the stove out. That 
looks more like the beginning of Summer than 
this cold wind does. Mother went back to 
her cleaning, the children washed the dishes, 
and I went out to help the men shake up the 
rye fodder. This rye is on the ground we 
are to plow for late potatoes. We ought to 
have a hay tedder, but we don't own one, so 
we shook up the rye with forks to let the 
wind blow through it. We can haul it in 
to-morrow, and the horses will begin to eat it 
at once. This done, Philip began to set out 
tomato plants and Alex went at the kitchen 
drain. This drain has been a nuisance and 
nightmare to me for some years. The house 
is built upon solid rock. The man recorded 
in Scripture found such a foundation a great 
advantage, but he did not find it necessary to 
dig drains away from his residence. He 
didn’t have Mother to claim full privileges 
for her sink. Our drain clogged. I poured 
Lewis lye down, but in the end we had to dig 
the pipes up, and found them clogged with an 
awful mess. Roots from an apricot tree have 
worked in, and there was a bad crook in the 
line where the boys didn't like to dig out a 
stone. Surely our sins will find us out, and 
it takes more than lye to clean up. Alex 
took the job of putting the drain back while 
I went back to the hill. A block of two-year- 
old apple -trees need cleaning. They have 
been neglected, and the grass is growing close 
around the trunks. This will never do. Liv¬ 
ing grass close up to the trunks of young 
trees has done more to discredit the mulch 
method than any other thing, while dead 
grass has done most to save it. The base 
of the tree must be clean. I use a light: 
three-cornered hoe for this week. We will 
clean tip these trees and then get the rest of 
the manure up around them. A little brown 
bird (lies up almost at the point of my hoe, 
and I stop the blow at the risk of breaking 
my shin. As I expected, I found a little 
nest with four speckled eggs. I let that tree go. 
I will not break up a home if I can help it. 
Shep, the big dog, has followed me over the 
hill. He lies under a tree with one watch¬ 
ful eye open. One of the cats has come, too. 
We have nine cats. I said recently, and the 
children heard me, that I would not have an¬ 
other cat on the place. It was a very solemn 
little girl who came and said in a trembling 
tone : 
“Oh. Father, Eva, my cat. has one little 
kitten—oh, can’t I keep it, Father?” 
Then she ran to Mother and there was a 
tearful time. So now we have 10 cats. The 
rest of Eva’s and all of Frisky’s family dis- 
apneared mysteriously, and the two mothers 
are both nursing the one baby. They seem 
likely to kill the little ball df fat by kind¬ 
ness. That is a pleasant form of death ! 
I am often asked why I work these trees 
by hand. Why not plow several furrows on 
either side of the row? That would be eas¬ 
ier, or perhaps as well, but part of my scheme 
is to demonstrate if I can what and how 
much a man can do in an orchard by hand 
labor. I have acres of trees that have never 
been touched by a plow or horse -tool. The 
first peach trees I planted in this way are 
small, but loaded to the tops with fruit. We 
know how to get more size on them now. 
One thing is sure; if these cold winds keep 
up we must cut that rye on the hill at once. 
1 notice the clover leaves are wilted, while 
the Alfalfa is as smooth as a new apron. 
The shadows come crawling out of the 
woods, the cat went home, ahd Shep came 
wagsring his tail. The trees are not all done, 
but it is time to quit. As I come over the 
brow of the hill Hope Farm lies bright and 
fair in the light of the setting sun. The 
cows are following Philip down the lane. 
There tire only two left out of our herd, hut 
they are good ones. I can see Alex at his 
work, and Jack caring for his chickens. Little 
spots of color on the lawn show the little 
girls at play and a flash and glitter shows 
Where Lyon turns a corner with the lawn 
mower. I can even see the darker color 
where Philip has watered the onions, now 
nearly ready for transplanting. 
While we were waiting for supper I hoed a 
few rows of strawberries. The boy drove 
Frank to the station and brought back the 
mail, a lot of feed and a vinegar barrel—- 
for spraying must begin by Monday if this 
wind will ever go down. Tt was a hungry 
and tired company that obeyed Mother’s call 
to supper. We had a Dutch dish of chopped 
ham fat and hard-boiled eggs, bearing a name 
which I will not try to spell, stewed potatoes, 
bread and butter, rhubarb sauce and unlim¬ 
ited milk for the children. For my part 1 
must confess that I did my duty at the table 
so well that I found it advisable to go out 
and hoe another row of strawberries. 
Night came on rapidly. It was so chilly 
that i started a little open fire. The chll 
dren played games after clearing up the 
dishes. Those who think these little folks 
were driven to their work should have heard 
them singing together in the kitchen ! Jack 
went out to tesi his incubator eggs. This is 
the first time he ever ran an incubator, and 
the thermometer seems to have registered all 
the way from 108 to 50 degrees. Still, at 
the last, testing there were 150 live germs out 
of 200 total ! Out of 28 Brown Leghorn eggs 
under two hens, 26 chicks came out! So we 
all ended the day cheerful and happy. All 
had been busy and all were tired. There had 
been no quarrel or bitter words all day long. 
Everyone had done some useful labor that 
will make the farm better and more produc¬ 
tive. Everything on the place, from Peggy, 
the Boston terrier, to old Major had a good 
supper and a cosy bed. The Hope Farm man 
took up his book as the little girls came 
around with the good-night kiss. It’s a beau¬ 
tiful to have happy and hopeful little people 
growing up to take your place. I am not 
quite ready to step aside yet, though. True, 
I am past the age when Dr. Osier says a 
man has done his best. Still, after cutting 
rye around 350 trees and hoeing nearly 200 
more I may safely say that if the doctor 
expects to chloroform me he must first run 
me down and overpower me. A man with a 
farm to improve and beautify may keep young 
a long time. 
So the day ends peacefully and gently with 
sleep. The last thing I remember before I 
dropped off was the story I heard in Charles¬ 
ton, S. C., about the bells of St. Michael’s 
Church. This chime of bells was brought 
from England more than 150 years ago. One 
was cracked and recast so that it gave the 
same tone. For years the music of these 
bells cheered the people. Then came the war. 
Cannon were needed. The bells were taken 
down and sent to Columbia to be made into 
cannon. When Columbia was destroyed the 
bells were melted in the flames. After the 
war (he metal was found a rough mass, sent 
to England and there recast into another 
chime of bells, which now hang in the church 
tower. In the drowsy whirl that precedes 
sleep I thought of this story, and how it 
seems that a human life may be not unlike 
that bell metal. A day, a month, a lifetime 
plays its changes on heart and hand. Soon 
joy, sorrow, anger, all the varied emotions, 
sweep through the human frame—(as the 
metal was charged from cannon to bells. Yet 
thank God that at the end, after all the 
fierce and sinful struggles, man comes back at 
last as helpless and yet as strong in faith 
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