SEVEN YEARS ON OUR TRUCK FARM, 
Progress from Poverty of Soil. 
PART IV. 
A BUSY DAY.—Bet us take a passing glance at the 
practical workings of a busy market day. Take, for 
example, Wednesday, the fifth of last July (1005). The 
hooks show the “load” consisted of beans, beets, cauli¬ 
flower, strawberries, red and black raspberries and cab¬ 
bage. 1 he “Glorious Fourth” had been a busy day, 
raspberries arc at their height, and all day the pickers 
are coming in rapid succession with their carriers full 
of fruit, but when night comes there is 
still a broad belt of the patch unpicked. 
A few of the last strawberries have been 
picked, and many more might have been 
had there been time. The cabbage patch 
has yielded abundantly for some time, 
but is not decreasing, and about 35 crates 
are cut. "1 here are a few crates each 
of beans and beets and a few cauli¬ 
flowers. As night approaches it becomes 
evident that the two large wagons will 
not hold everything, and word is sent 
to a neighbor who does not have a full 
load that there is hauling to do. To 
make room the cabbage is loaded loose 
in the smaller wagon, which it fills to the 
roof. Crate after crate of berries is 
piled on the larger wagon, until this, too, 
is filled from end to end, from floor to 
roof, with just room for the driver. The 
neighbor comes around, and by dint of 
packing everything is got on. It is near 
eight o’clock; the men go home, and I 
try to catch a few hours’ sleep. At mid¬ 
night the alarm clock rings. I go to the 
barn and feed. Soon after one of the 
men appears to hitch up the teams, one 
of which he is to drive; meanwhile, I 
eat a “snack,” and by the time we are 
ready to start it is past one o’clock. 
Now comes a careful drive up grade 
and down and much of the road none 
too smooth. By the time we reach the 
market it is nearly four. Already there 
are others there and it is a lively place. 
The wagons are backed to the curb. I 
pass quickly through to see the condi¬ 
tion of the market, taking note of ar¬ 
rivals and probable supply as an index 
to price. When I return the pavement 
has been swept and most of the crates 
of berries are neatly piled along the 
wall. I help with the rest of these, and 
then the cabbage is tossed by one and 
caught and stacked by the other in a 
compact heap; ever and anon this work 
is interrupted by some early dealer mak¬ 
ing a purchase or asking price. Pres¬ 
ently a trusty city lad who serves as 
helper appears and takes my place, leav¬ 
ing me free to see to trade. In a gen¬ 
eral way the wholesale trade comes first. With the 
dealers the red berries arc the most popular; with 
the storekeepers the blacks. Crates of both are selected 
hy ones, twos and threes, and soon there are but few 
left aside from what are reserved for the retail trade. 
The heap of cabbage has also decreased, though not so 
rapidly, by crates, fifties and hundreds. All this while, 
a little scattering retail trade has been mixed in, and 
the helpers have combined crates and wagon shelves 
to form a stand on which some of the various goods are 
tastily displayed. The early rush over the orders are 
delivered, one team stabled, and with the other the man 
returns home. 1 he helper now takes charge while I get 
breakfast, look over the market once more, chat a little 
with friends perhaps, and get back just as the retail 
trade is getting brisk. The goods are mostly of a class 
that sells readily, and being kept busy serving satisfied 
customers, with many of whom something of an ac¬ 
quaintance has been formed, the morning passes quickly 
and pleasantly away. As noon approaches and trade 
becomes slower the helper is left in charge again, while 
I collect for morning sales from various dealers on the 
market and go to the bank. When I return there is 
little left, and I take the first reasonable offer any 
dealer may make for any portion or the lot. Failing 
this it will be offered at stores, usually in the poorer 
parts of the town, at a reduced price; but everything 
must be sold. 1 he wagon is put in position, the helper 
loads up the “empties,” while I get dinner. Together 
we hitch the team. The helper is paid for the day and 
dismissed; but my day’s work is not yet done. There 
may be a few late deliveries to make; at any rate, there 
are many “empties” among the stores from previous 
markets to be gathered up, and there is probably a lit¬ 
tle shopping to do. These things done, I turn my team 
homeward. The day’s work is done, and there is no 
further particular hurry. We reach home in the even¬ 
ing. It has been a long, strenuous day, too long, not 
the first nor the last of the season, but it has been a 
successful day. Wife and I count up the returns and 
find the satisfactory sum of $146.66, which gives a re¬ 
newed feeling of assurance and pride in our work, and 
in the possibilities of the farm; there having been only 
one market day at any time before that exceeded this 
amount. After a careful estimate the following entry is 
made in the account: Beans, $2.20; beets, $4.25; cauli¬ 
flower, 60 cents; strawberries, $3.6o; red raspberries, 
$72.41; black raspberries, $40.57; cabbage, $23.03, All 
day busy workers have been gathering the berries that 
remained and more cabbage is ready to go. So the mor¬ 
row finds me off with another load. One had been sold 
on Monday afternoon; there will be a heavy load on 
Saturday. The accounts for the week 
show that receipts were $370.88. But 
the cash returns, while necessary, are not 
the only reward of the work. To see 
the beauty and abundance of maturing 
crops, the thrift and promise of various 
sorts in every stage of development is a 
keen and constant pleasure. 
TEAMS AND WAGONS.—As the 
business grew from small to greater 
size, means of transportation became a 
problem. From the first two horses 
were kept, and one of these and a small 
wagon answered the purpose. But soon 
these facilities were outgrown, and the 
surplus was hauled by neighbors at a 
fixed price per crate. Here the uniform 
package was especially valuable. As 
some of these neighbors began to grow 
produce themselves, and others seemed 
to tire of the work, two especially built 
wagons were ordered and a span of 
mules added to the stock. This outfit 
is serving the purpose now. 
FUTURE PLANS.—And what of 
those orchards? I fear they will never 
be. Planting has been postponed from 
year to year, partly in favor of the 
crops of quick returns, partly to await 
the result of the war between the grow¬ 
er and the scale. It is not long since I 
have felt assured that the grower would 
win. Meantime interest in the present 
crops has greatly increased, and, what 
is more, having always had a special 
interest in the geography and history of 
the South, recently while visiting some 
of my wife’s relatives in a city located 
in one of the great trucking regions of 
that section I became impressed with 
many advantages it offered for my 
work. After a long-continued search, I 
found a neglected farm beautifully sit¬ 
uated on the shores of a small lake, 
right by transportation facilities, and 
not far from the sea, in many respects 
ideally located for my work and for a 
beautiful country home. This I have 
bought, and after one or two more crops 
from these genial, responsive hills we 
hope to move to “Dixie.” The story of 
the old Persian? I have “pondered” that, and un¬ 
less the transportation companies and commission 
men should find and adopt the Golden Rule, who knows 
but what I may share that poor man’s fate? Be that as 
it may, the point I wish to make is that almost every¬ 
where there are unlimited possibilities in the intelligent 
culture of the soil. Be the holding ever so humble or 
small, or so poor that, as Emerson says, it seems “good 
for nothing but to hold the world together.” yet the 
possibilities are probably there. Nature freely sup¬ 
plies the great essentials of light, heat, space, mois¬ 
ture and air, and in the soil many of the structural 
elements required, while but comparatively few must be 
supplied, and on this and the degree of cultural skill 
IRIS IECIORUM, NA1URAL SIZE. Fig. 235. See Ruralisms, Page 586. 
