THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
463 
100 ?. 
Hope Farm Notes 
On May 25 tlie sun came over the ridge 
to the east of us with a business-like air. 
We should have known he would come, be¬ 
cause the weather report said “cloudy—with 
showers.” The sun looked into my window 
as much as to say: 
“Come, old man, time for business.” The 
first minute or so after waking causes a 
lively debate in the mind of a man of middle 
years. He remembers that Dr. Osier says 
that a man is not of great account at 
starting new things after 45, while another 
doctor says that from 45 to GO are what we 
may call “the dominant years!” I agree 
as I crawl out of bod that I have started 
enough new things already, and that I can¬ 
not dominate any one of them by taking 
another nap. 
While the sun is shining a cold, dry wind 
is blowing down the valley, sucking tons 
of water out of our soil. Some people like 
a crust on the bread, but a crust among my 
new-planted strawberries is all out of place. 
We have cultivated them four times already, 
and we must go at. them again. The boy 
starts at this with the fine-tooth cultivator, 
while I take a hoe and begin cleaning out the 
weeds where the strawberries are planted be¬ 
tween currants. Philip milks and then cleans 
off the horses. Merrill is up and giving the 
chickens their breakfast. With about 125 
little chicks, 75 old hens, an incubator full 
of eggs, six sitting hens and three turkeys 
on their eggs he has plenty to do until the 
little girl runs out to tell us breakfast is 
ready. And we are ready for it! Let me 
have the handling of some of these grumblers 
and “no appetite" people, and I will cure 
them. I would roust them out early and 
make them work in the early sunshine before 
breakfast. Hold them right up to it, and 
before long they could eat boiled shingle 
nails and be glad to get them. It required 
good-sized dishes to hold the oatmeal, fried 
eggs and bread and butter that our family 
called breakfast. 
You may have noticed how, when you think 
you can put in a great day on the farm the 
women folks come forward with a job. It 
was so with us. Mother isn’t quite satisfied 
with the shape of our driveway. She wanted 
the lawn cut off a little, the new flower beds 
fixed and the yard cleaned. She finally com¬ 
promised by taking the two boys for this 
work. If it be true that the master’s eye 
makes the fat ox. the eye of the mistress 
can make the useful bey. 
There were 20 things on the farm that 
needed doing, and it needed some quick think¬ 
ing to decide which should come first. The 
first of the rye is ready to cut. so Philip 
got out the mower and saw that it was all 
ready for business. I had half a bushel of 
a new variety of potatoes to plant, so right 
after breakfast I cut the seed. A neighbor 
was coming before noon to mark our first 
cornfield. The ground was Fall-plowed, and 
had been harrowed three times, but this 
cold, dry wind was raising a crust which 
means Cain for a corn crop. So Merrill 
hitched Bob and Jerry with the steel harness 
and went to the hill, hauling the plow on the 
stone boat. He took the Acme and gave 
that field another harrowing. After cutting 
the potatoes I took Nellie and the small 
wagon and threw on a load of rich manure 
for the melons. Jack and Henry work by 
the hour. They had work of their own to no, 
but we all took advantage of the good day 
and came on to plant melons. I had selected 
what seems to me the best place on the farm 
for them: a young peach orchard on the east 
slope of the hill under a little ridge which 
protects it from the north winds. The soil Is 
warm and light, and the sun has selected it 
as a favorite spot. We had plowed and har¬ 
rowed this piece until it seemed fit, but I 
took the cultivator and tore it up again and 
again. Then we stretched a line and set 
stakes where we wanted the hills. Good- 
sized holes were made with hoe or spade, and 
a forkful of rich manure put into each hole. 
This was stamped down as hard as we could 
stamp it, and a layer of fine dirt hoed over. 
The seeds were put on this, and more dirt 
hoed over and patted down. This gives a 
small hotbed under each hill, which will be 
needed this cold season. Verv likely some of 
you expert melon growers will laugh at this, 
but we can stand a lot of laughing—if v;e 
get the melons. 
Meanwhile Bob and Jerry at the top of the 
hill were steadily pursuing their monotonous 
journey up and down that cornfield. Mer¬ 
rill is no lightweight, and when he sits on 
the Acme he leaves a mark behind him. 
That harrowing gave just the final fitting 
for the corn. It mis a groat place for work. 
Even the horses seemed to enjoy the view as 
they stopped to rest. The clean, sharp wind 
had blown the sky clear, and we could see 
for miles to the north, east and south. 
Straight across to the Palisades the eye 
swept without obstruction. Here and there 
black masses of smoke told where some 
steamer was toiling up the Hudson. On the 
far hill to the south there was a great sparkle 
as of fire where the sun touched the great 
mass of greenhouses sheltered on the hill 
north of Jersey City. I had a man once talk 
to me like this: 
“After all what a foolish business your 
northern fruit growing is. You toil and 
sweat through five months of the year to 
make your trees and vines live, well knowing 
that Nature is sure to strip them in the end 
and put them out of business for seven 
mouths. You know this and yet you strug¬ 
gle on for your short five months in a hope¬ 
less fight!” 
I wish I could have had that man on the 
hill and shown him the sweep of green, the 
sparkle of water and the pink of the apple 
bloom! He would have admitted that it 
was worth while. 
But this doesn’t take advantage of sun¬ 
shine. By the time Merrill finished harrow¬ 
ing we saw the neighbor crawling up the 
hill riding the marker. This man used to 
lend the marker, but now he says he goes 
along With it—a Wise precaution. ITe 
started rglit in to mark that field. Merrill 
hitched to the plow and began plowing a 
wider space around the rows of apple trees. 
We plowed three furrows before, but that 
doesn’t give a wide enough track for the 
harrow, so we are turning at least two more 
—then we can easily cultivate. 
By 12 we had the melons planted, and all 
hands went down to dinner. The little girls 
had the new kittens in a box with their 
mother on the lawn. I was called upon to 
decide a very important question. Some 
two weeks ago the girls found the gray cat 
with two little kittens in the barn. We 
have more than enough cats, but a little 
kitten is more than a cat, and there was 
great rejoicing when I told them they could 
keep the kittens. Hardly were the little eyes 
opened before another cat was found in the 
other barn with two more. Now the little 
girls wanted to know which two they could 
keep. There was great dancing and rejoic¬ 
ing when I told them to keep all four. The 
little boy was watching his rabbit. The 
Belgian hare business doesn’t pan out with 
him. He had a doe with five young ones in 
a box but the neighbor’s dog got at them and 
killed all six. The boy got his evidence, 
wrote a letter and put the case so well that 
the owner of the dog paid him $5 for dam¬ 
ages. That is greater profit than the boy 
could make in a year of breeding rabbits! 
It needed the largest frying pan in the 
house to hold the corned beef hash we had 
for dinner. Then there was an even larger 
dish of rhubarb sauce, while two loaves of 
bread disappeared like smoke. Having eaten 
up all the food that was offered us there 
was no reason why we should tarry, for that 
corn must be planted before night. There 
were 64 long rows to be traveled. 
First thing was to pur tar on the seed 
for the benefit of Charlie Crow and his 
friends. I use Early Canada flint in this 
field. There are three-year-old apple trees 
growing in it, and I do not want a stalk that 
will smother them. The flints are excellent 
for our hills. We poured the seed into a pail, 
poured in a small quantity of tar, and then 
proceed to stir and stir, and then to stir 
again with a wooden paddle. It makes your 
arm ache, but if you keep at it the seed be¬ 
comes black with tar, and when the crows 
pull it out and taste it they vote you “no 
gentleman !” 
The children wanted to help, so they 
started dropping corn after dinner. They 
put on the average five kernels at each check, 
and we followed with hoes to cover. Of 
course this will seem like small business to 
those farmers who have broad, level fields 
where they can use corn planters. They must 
remember that we were working on a rough 
and steep hillside full of rocks and among 
apple trees. We would not have plowed the 
sod at all if the grass had not run out. 
Working the corn crop will clean the ground 
so that we can reseed it properly. The 
children did well. When I saw that their 
little arms were tired 1 proposed going to the 
spring for a drink. We all planted till 
about 4 o’clock, when I saw that the boys 
could finish. The children have long wanted 
to plow—so I let them each hold the plow in 
going twice around a row of trees. This 
was the best test yet for the Wonder plow 
trucks. The children were able to hold the 
plow in the furrow steadily with these 
wheels on. Then we went down to the lower 
farm. The little girls ran to see the kittens, 
while the boy dropped two rows of potatoes. 
I found that a hard crust had formed in our 
last planted strawberry field. We set the 
plants in rows five feet apart, and drilled 
Prizetaker onion seed midway between the 
rows. The dry wind had crusted the whole 
field over. I did not want to take a horse 
into that field before the onions came through, 
so I took the wheel hoe and began pushing 
it up and down along the rows of strawber¬ 
ries. This left a narrow space over the 
onions which we could break with a rake. 
I do not know how much pushing of a wheel 
hoe you may have done, but I covered some 
4,000 feet, and knew I had been at work. I 
remembered that I had agreed to drive over 
to the station with Mother to get the mail! 
The boys had finished corn planting, and 
came down from the hill. Jack had an in- 
dubator that needed attention, while Mer¬ 
rill and Henry finished planting the potatoes. 
I put Nellie to the buggy, and Mother and 
I took a lively drive to end up our day. I 
told Mother before we started that if we met 
any autos she could get out if she wanted 
to, though I could hold the horse unless the 
harness broke. At the turn of the road we 
saw an auto coming, and Mother concluded 
to let me have the whole sent for the battle. 
As usual Nellie tried to throw herself back¬ 
ward or wheel around, but I got the bit on 
her jaw in time and she concluded to quit. 
The auto stopped, and I drove the horse up 
to it and around it. Just as I thought she 
was over her fight she bolted, but we had 
her safe. There are few things more aggra¬ 
vating than a nervous horse plunging and 
jumping at an auto. We got home safely. 
The sun had gone down, and there was a 
sting in the air that makes it necessary to 
start a fire under the boiler. Supper was 
ready, and the baked beans and rhubarb 
sauce had violent admirers. After supper the 
children started a game of hide and seek, 
while I walked around for a last eye on the 
strawberries. Then the darkness came upon 
us, and the lamps were lighted. I had put 
in something of a day, but I did enjoy an 
hour with my beloved old-timers. Who are 
they? I am reading history at all spare 
times, slowly and earefullv. and am now at 
the end of the war between Athens and 
Sparta. It may be true that there is nothing 
about mulching trees or growing strawberries 
in this history, but I enjoy it. Human nature 
appears to have been much the same in every 
age. With all her brains and wealth and 
power and learning Athens went down because 
she did not have sense enough to stop at her 
limit and realize her true capacity. If that 
doesn’t hit the case of dozens of failures I 
know of on the farm and off of it I lose my 
guess. As it happened I had read those few 
verses in Luke in which we find “1-Ie hath put 
down the mighty from their seats!” I had 
several good-sized blisters, a pain in the back 
and two tired knees when I blew out my 
reading lamp. Outside the air was chilly. 
Clouds were sailing across the face of the 
moon, and the trees at the top of the hill 
were clearly outlined against the sky. We 
had put in a good day. and accomplished 
something. Sunday morning we found the 
ground soaked and the rain falling. No doubt 
there were farmers in our community who 
were not so very sorry fihat Sunday’s weather 
had not been substituted for Saturday’s. 
H. W. C. 
Starting Alfalfa in West Virginia. 
G. C. W.j West Virginia .—I have a small 
piece of ground that has been in sweet corn 
for five years; each year was sown to rye 
or Crimson clover. The last time I worked 
it and plowed under the last of May. It 
has on it now Crimson clover in bloom. I 
want to sow to Alfalfa. Would I better sow 
now or wait and cultivate ground until next 
Spring? I have manured aim iertmzed each 
year. 
Ans.— We should plow under the 
clover, keep the ground thoroughly 
worked and seed the Alfalfa from August 
1 to 10. This will most likely give better 
results than Spring seeding. We would 
use at least a ton of lime to the acre and 
keep the surface fine and free from weeds 
throughout the Summer. 
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