1907. 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
363 
Hope Farm Notes 
• Farm Notes. —When we sat down to 
supper Saturday night, April 13, we 
could not say that the week’s work had 
been entirely satisfactory. Snowstorm, 
rain and cold wind had followed one 
another like evil Fate playing tag with 
our chances. However, supper was all 
right—everybody came back for at least 
two helps of baked beans. The children 
would have had a couple more if Mother 
had not raised a commanding finger. It 
was raining outside—a sort of raw dis¬ 
mal rain which made one think of the 
soaked ground and how last year we had 
the garden planted at this date. It was 
a good night to be indoors. Through 
the windows I could see across the val¬ 
ley a moving lantern where some be¬ 
lated traveler slowly mounted the hill 
and took himself into the more populous 
world beyond. All our folks were well 
housed at least. The barn people had 
no fault to find. The 10 little Cheshires 
cuddled up to their mothers, the cows 
chewed the cud of pure contentment, 
the horses bit at their hay and the hens 
crowded up on the roost. The turkeys 
perched on the trees and the setting 
hens in the shed were patient with ex¬ 
pectation. When such a night broods 
down over a farmhouse it is a pleasant 
thing to go to sleep feeling that all who 
are under your charge are protected and 
with the hope that sunshine will come 
with the morning. . . . But a wet 
week in April when the soil is naturally 
cold and heavy, cannot be very satisfac¬ 
tory. We did the last of our spraying 
between showers. For this purpose we 
used that combination of o ; l and car¬ 
bolic acid which I mentioned last week 
It sprays out well, and if it will prove 
a cure for fungus diseases as well as 
death to the scale it will be a great help. 
One thing I observe about the oils—• 
they stick to the tree well in damp or 
rainy times. We have sprayed a day 
or even a few hours before a rain and 
find the water running off the oiled limbs 
much as it does off an oilskin jacket. I 
feel very sure it sticks better and will 
resist rain better than lime and sulphur. 
. . . We spent part of the week haul¬ 
ing out manure, >\^hich we are spreading 
in a thick layer all over the lower field. 
There is no use trying to raise garden 
crops and small fruit without food. Sev¬ 
eral years ago I told of digging what 
I called a well drain. There was a low 
dishing spot in the field with no natural 
drainage away from it. The water stood 
there, and it was a bed of mud, while the 
rest of the field was dry. We dug a large 
hole at the center down through the sub¬ 
soil and filled it with rocks. Then ditches 
were made running into this hole and 
filled with stones. The whole thing 
was smoothed over and it is now as dry 
as need be. In hauling manure this year 
we drove right over it, while before 
drainage we usually stuck there. With all 
this delay in getting started what cheer¬ 
ful aspect is there to it? Why, all this 1 
soil is covered with growing rye. The 
longer it stands the more the rye grows 
and the more humus there is to plow 
under. This soil is much in need of 
humus anyway. We have also spent some 
time hauling coal ashes to the hill. In 
the Fall we make little mounds of earth 
at the base of each tree. These have 
now been leveled, and a pile of coal ashes 
takes the place. Our ashes are saved 
through the Winter for this purpose. 
This little mound keeps off borers to some 
extent, and prevents the grass from grow¬ 
ing close up around the tree. ... At 
this writing our peach buds are very 
much alive. We do not brag, however. 
“Merrill’s tree” gives us a lesson. Mer¬ 
rill took this tree in hand and started 
to show what he could do. He buried 
dead cats, chickens—anything around it. 
I cannot say that Merrill welcomed the 
death of such stock, but the manurial 
value reconciled him. With such treat¬ 
ment the tree grew far above the others 
—a giant among them. This tender 
wood could not stand the Winter. The 
buds on this big fellow are nearly all 
killed, while the hardy little fellows be¬ 
side it are full of life. The battle is not 
always to the big and strong. . . . 
Just as soon as we can start the plows 
planting will begin. I am planning to 
crowd things on the lower fields as I have 
never done before. For example, one 
piece of ground heavily manured will be 
put in early peas. This year they will be 
planted in double rows one foot apart and 
brushed. We have not used brush for 
some years, but we have plenty of it from 
clearing a field, and I find we can do dou¬ 
ble cropping better when the pea vines 
are up—out of the way. We can give the 
peas good cultivation with the horse and 
when the time is right transplant melons 
between the rows. The melons may be 
started in paper pots in the hotbed. I 
think we can get them so far along in this 
way that they will get away from the 
bugs. Then, when the peas and brush 
come out we can plant sweet corn—sin¬ 
gle stalks 6x4, and have it grow up above 
the melon vines. I know that such work 
requires a great deal of manure and hand 
labor, but it is more and more evident to 
me that it pays us best to concentrate out- 
labor upon a few acres and let the rest 
go to grass. 
Two Sides To It.—I got myself into 
great trouble when I talked about tell¬ 
ing stories. It doesn’t take the American 
people long to line up on any subject, and 
as you will see from the following, I have 
started a controversy. Here is the first 
gun from Michigan : 
Now, Mr. New-Yorker Man, I have a crow 
for you to pick. If the Hope Farm man 
is going to write us some stories please toll 
him to write a few that have a little bit 
of common sense to them. Now. one more 
recommendation ; why would it not be a good 
plan to have a young folks page in The 
R. N.-Y. You can do as you please about it. 
j. D. A. 
This gentleman’s postscript is all right 
—since it combines permission and inclin¬ 
ation so that they match. Our friend 
evidently doesn’t believe in what people 
call poetic license, under which a writer 
can say things in poem or story which 
might put some practical fellow in jail. 
He would doubtless prohibit all writing 
except the plain facts as he knows them. 
I think I am safe, because I gave notice 
that those stories are for children. I 
gave the “grown ups” fair warning. 
But here comes another man from New 
Jersey—the State of trusts—where it 
seems the children are ready to trust in 
Cousin Woodchuck: 
It was had enough to have my wife, after 
reading ‘‘Hope Farm Notes” weekly, tell me 
what a nice man you must be, but now that 
the children have, also, become in a way 
acquainted with you, there is no living for 
me at home. When you published that story 
on “How Cousin Woodchuck Played Santa 
Claus” I told them in an evil moment that 
you knew a whole lot more of such stories 
and would publish them in The It. N.-Y. 
They have been bitterly disappointed week 
after week in not finding any more of these 
stories printed, so I told them that I would 
write you a letter to find out why you did 
not tell some more of them. Of course, you 
will understand that, like the father who 
takes his boy tq the circus, I have no per¬ 
sonal interest in this matter, and merely 
write for information to pacify the children. 
So you will see from this that my continued 
happiness at home is in your hands to a 
very great extent, and I trust you will do 
what you can for me. g. h. p. 
Now there isn’t any use trying to make 
a ’hero out of me, because I know that I 
don’t look, act or feel the part. As a stu¬ 
dent of human nature I know that many 
good women with very nice men right in 
the house are prone to refer to some 
imaginary character as a model for mem¬ 
bers of their own family. Some years 
ago I printed the story of a man who 
helped his wife in the kitchen. His daugh¬ 
ter read it and thought he must be a very 
fine man. When she knew it was father 
she didn’t call it so very remarkable after 
all. It takes these home folks to strip 
the glory off a man when he has built it 
out of his own words. I feel sorry that 
I have made trouble for so many of my 
fellow citizens—the more so since I have 
now and then a model held up for my own 
inspection. I have, in my day, seen the 
wives of some of these model characters 
while listening to some other lady’s song 
of praise. They usually heaved a deep 
sigh which I understood to mean: “Oh, 
dear! I wish experience didn’t throw 
that out of tune!” As for the children— 
I care more for them and, later, when we 
get a little more space, I will give another 
story. I realize just how many people feel 
about such things. They naturally want 
a farm paper filled with the most prac¬ 
tical side of farming. They forget, very 
likely, that The R. N.-Y. is a home paper 
and that it is a wise plan to try to interest 
all the family members, from the little one 
to Grandfather. Let them realize that a 
child may think as much of Cousin Wood¬ 
chuck or Charlie Crow as they do of 
plowing or manuring, and they will not 
begrudge us a little space. h. w. c. 
Boy 
Can Work It 
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