1905. 
475 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
Hope Farm Notes 
I Told You So.—I f I were an artist and 
were given tlie job of painting a picture of 
Hope Farm life I should at this time sketch 
the following : A somewhat portly man sits 
in a chair with his left foot, well bandaged, 
raised on a stool. There is an air of patient 
resignation about this man, such as ought to 
hover about one who regrets his condition and 
still knows that he is largely responsible for 
it. A lady who is evidently capable of ex¬ 
pressing her opinion when necessary hovers 
about solicitous for the foot, and yet con¬ 
vinced that the limping moral which it tele¬ 
graphs to the brain should he well committed 
to memory. The little girls stand looking at 
Father, and if deep and unadulterated sym¬ 
pathy would cure the ankle it would be im¬ 
possible ever to turn it again. The little 
boy stops as he comes in with the wood to 
ask how the foot is, and to wonder whether 
any of the Japanese were as badly wounded 
in the great sea fight. The sky Is clear and 
the wind is blowing. It is hard for a man 
to he anchored by a lame ankle while there 
is so much to be done at double-quick time. 
This idea becomes more of a burden when 
Mother brings a tray of washed dishes for me 
to wipe. The little girl follows to ask if I 
won’t help her peel the potatoes! Mother 
has written a letter to a friend and leaves 
It on the table so that I can easily read 
. . . “it was doing well when he put lini¬ 
ment on it and blistered it and would not he 
quiet. Now it is dreadful ! Next time he 
will take his wife’s advice. Live and learn !’’ 
This is interesting reading for one driven 
from congenial into menial occupations. Still 
the pen is less disturbing than the tongue! 
The barb on the pen is the fact that Mother 
is entirely right. If, when I turned that 
ankle ever, I had done as she told me to the 
chances are that I would be able to execute 
a clog dance to-day. When a man is forced 
into menial occupations by his own folly he 
should not kick, especially with his sore 
foot, but go to work and make himself worthy 
and able to get away from the menial things. 
Yes, and do those things well, too. So 
Mother doesn't get me into an argument, and 
I get those dishes dry, and I'll guarantee 
those potatoes were properly done. I can 
cheerfully say that I do not know of any more 
Impossible task than that of rising above dish¬ 
washing by the mere fact of good service. 
When people find a dishwasher who really 
leaves clean dishes he is such a rare bird that 
they try to keep him caged in his job ! The 
boy comes and asks questions about the war. 
One little girl cooks custard, and the other 
makes cookies, and Mother thinks we had bet¬ 
ter go to ride ! My judgment is that swear¬ 
ing and growling makes poor liniment for a 
wound. 
Farm Notes. —We began transplanting 
onions June 1. This Is later than we like, 
but everything has been backward this year. 
The cold winds started the trouble; then 
came the long drought. However, we shall 
have onions as large as a baby’s head yet. 
Most of our crop was sown outside this year. 
One lot was put on a spot where a big ma¬ 
nure pile stood last year. These plants have 
grown well, and while not so large as those 
from the hotbed are very promising. To show 
what people think of these big onions I will 
say that last year’s customers are already or¬ 
dering for next season. . . . We had just 
the right weather for spraying. A wind 
drove the spray through the trees so that, ap¬ 
parently every part was well covered. Then 
we had several days of dry cool winds. The 
poison and the copper had plenty of chance 
to settle and stick. I must admit that it re¬ 
quires some faith for a man to believe that 
the small amount of I'aris-green we put in a 
tankful of water can possibly keep the worms 
in check. It seems Incredible to those who 
do not know the habits of the worm, or realize 
how many million deadly particles there are 
in an ounce of Paris-green. After all, the most 
successful people I know are those with the 
truest faith. There Is great difference be¬ 
tween faith and “cheek.” ... A tank 
for holding water is convenient, but like other 
conveniences it becomes a nuisance unless 
watched carefully. Some years ago, when I 
spoke of building a tank instead of running 
wafer from the spring, a man who evidently 
knew, wrote : “Wait till the boys forget and 
leave the cover off that barn tank.” Well, 
we waited, anu the time came; at least part 
of the cover got off. Whew ! 
“It’s a wonder we didn’t all have fever,” 
said Mother. When we came to clean the 
tank we found that we had no good place to 
let the foul water out at the lowest point 
of the pipe. That tank is now as clean as 
washing powder and scrubbing can make it, 
but there Is a settled rule against drinking 
tank water. The pure article right out of the 
well is good enough for us. If any reader is 
situated so as to pipe water direct from a 
spring my advice is to do it, and let tanks 
for drinking water alone. . . . The great¬ 
est barn nuisance we have found is a flock 
of pigeons. The original birds came from a 
neighbor’s and built nests in our barn. They 
have increased, in spite of our dozen cats, 
about as fast as the squab men say they 
should. They foul the hay and do far more 
injury to the crops than a flock of crows 
would. I never knew before why squab grow¬ 
ers all advise peas as food for pigeons. I 
know now when I see long rows of peas dug 
up or destroyed by these birds! The nui¬ 
sance became so great that we had to get rid 
of the birds. Philip is an ex-soldier in the 
Norwegian army, and I got an air gun. It 
was guaranteed to drive a buckshot into a 
plank. Philip hit one bird on the back of 
the head. All he did was to shake his head, 
and the shot rolled down. Then I got a small 
rifle and cartridges, and this settled the busi¬ 
ness. Philip can put a bullet into a pigeon 
at a good distance, and the rest of the flock 
soon get over their taste for peas and fly off 
to some place where there are no old sol¬ 
diers! I am all over my desire to keep 
squabs. . . . Philip and Lars are dis¬ 
cussing the prospects of war between Norway 
and Sweden. I can't make out why there 
should be any fighting; still I know that you 
can’t understand the national spirit of a man 
from a foreign country. For example, I pre¬ 
sume that Philip and Lars cannot understand 
what our Decoration Day means to old sol¬ 
diers or their children. In “The Making of 
an American” Jacob A. Itiis, who came from 
Denmark, tells how he tried to get back to 
France to tight against Germany, because the 
latter country had whipped Denmark ! I 
don’t think Philip and Lars take much stock 
in that spirit. Our pigeons would evidently 
rather not march in the Swedish army if 
Philip were to carry his rifle back with him. 
For several days the clouds gathered 
without squeezing out a drop of rain. Then 
the wind chased the clouds away and we 
gave up hope for a shower, when suddenly, 
without warning, a gentle rain began to fall. 
What a blessing it was. The brown patches 
on the lawn and in the meadows waved the 
green flag, the potatoes that were planted in 
the dust jumped up. the peach trees that were 
meditating a “June drop” postponed it— 
everything took a long, glorious drink and 
started in afresh. While the clover has been 
shortened a little by the drought everything 
else looks well. . . . The Japanese millet 
celebrated Togo’s victory by getting out of 
the ground. After lying 14 days where we 
seeded it the millet came out with a rush. We 
expect a good crop of fodder from this and a 
good place to seed Alfalfa. 
Mulch and Borers. —I have heard the 
criticism made in the following note before, 
and I would like to have the point discussed : 
“I would like to suggest to H. W. C., who 
speaks in Hope r arm Notes of mulching his 
young fruit trees, that any kind of mulch 
around a young apple or peach tree Is an 
ideal harbor for the beetle that lays the egg 
of the borer. We prefer to pac!$. a small 
mound of clay or sand around the stalk, 
and scarcely ever have any trouble with 
borers. In a few cases where these pests had 
found a lodgement we have saved the trees 
by packing a pretty large bank of clean sand 
around them, in one Instance a cartload ex¬ 
tending eight inches up the trunk; the tree 
is now a thrifty bearer." w. t. s. 
Pennsylvania. 
The eggs from which the Peach borer hatch 
are laid by a moth or flying insect, which ap¬ 
pears to put the egg just at the surface of the 
ground. It has been my observation that 
when I have had a good mulch around the 
base of the peach tree thl° moth does not 
get to the ground, but lays the egg, if at all, 
higher up on the trunk, where the borer Is 
less likely to do damage. T do not pretend to 
be a trained entomologist, but if would seem 
from my experience that the mulch is more of 
a preventive than a help to borers. I would 
like the experience of others concerning this. 
I am not speaking of flie Apple borer, which 
has not troubled us much as yet. A mound i 
of clay or coal ashes around the tree is ex¬ 
cellent. It has been so successful with us 
that we now save all our coal ashes carefully 
and use them around young trees. I am get¬ 
ting a little shy of some untested advice. 
For example, I have been told that peach 
trees forced Into young and fresh growth late 
in the Summer and Fall would be killed dur¬ 
ing the Winter. I have a small peach or¬ 
chard near the house. Slops from the house 
alone or with wood ashes were used around 
these trees all last Summer and Fall. They 
never stopped growing, and snow found green 
leaves on them. Yet they came through the 
Winter in fine condition, and are now making 
better growth than anything else on the 
place. Of course I do not pretend to say that 
this is the best way to winter trees. 
Milk Fever. —There was joy among the 
younger Hope Farmers when we found # a little 
yellow calf In Genevieve’s stall. It was a lit¬ 
tle thing, but with all the earmarks and color 
of a coming cow. Older readers will remem¬ 
ber Julia, the kicking cow. Genevieve is her 
daughter. She has turned some of her moth¬ 
er’s evil qualities into good ones, and added 
them to those she inherited. She was too 
fat. and I was afraid of milk fever, but she 
seemed to recover well, but the disease came 
upon her suddenly. One morning we found 
the poor cow stretched out flat on the floor 
with her head thrown back as (hough she were 
dead. It was a pitiful thing to see the little 
calf standing by its sick mother hungry and 
not knowing what to do. The thing to do 
with a cow In that position is to get her head 
up away from the ground and make her lie 
on her chest. She must not be permitted to 
put her head down low. The next thing, un¬ 
less you know exactly what is needed, is to 
get hold of some one who does. I knew about 
this treatment of forcing air into the udder, 
but I preferred to experiment on a cheaper 
cow than Genevieve. So Jack took Nellie 
and made a good record in a race to call the 
veterinarian. The vet made a live.lier race 
back, and brought a small tank of oxygen. 
Those who delight in dosing an animal would 
be disappointed in his treatment. The poor 
thing lay like one dead. 
“If you don’t do another thing to-day,” 
said the vet. “keep that cow’s head up from 
the floor. If you have to tie it up do so; 
roll barrels against her to keep her on her 
brisket, but do not let her head go down.” 
We had a small rubber tube with a metal 
milking tube at the end connected with his 
tank of gas. After forcing all the milk out 
he sterilized the udder and then inflated it. 
This was done by pushing the tube up each 
teat in succession and letting in the gas until 
the udder was blown out. Then cloths were 
tied around each teat to hold the gas in and 
kept there two or three hours. He gave no 
medicines. It seemed to me that the cow 
could not recover—she lay in such a stupor 
that one could touch her eye without causing 
her even to wink. To my surprise she began 
to rally, turned over and finally, after 12 
hours, got on her feet. The udder was In¬ 
flated again at night, and a little water was 
given her. She was still better the next 
morning, but there was a dangerous noise in 
her lungs which may mean pneumonia. She 
probably had her head down flat during the 
night before we found her, and that is what 
did the damage. As I write I cannot say 
what the outcome will be, but I will repeat 
the advice which I believe to be good—in 
case of milk fever do not let a cow put her 
head on the ground. Keep it up in some way' 
Do not: drug the cow, but get some one who 
knows how to inflate the udder. 
“You do not need to tell me this is a good 
cow,” said Dr. Hopper. “None but a fine 
animal would have such a disease as this.” 
It; Is no consolation to poor Genevieve lying 
there with labored breathing while her baby 
bawls from a box stall to feel that she has 
both pedigree and performance. Better be 
the poorest scrub in*the barn at such an hour 
than pay the penalty of greatness. 
it. w. c. 
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