470 
THE RURAL NEW- VORKEB 
April 8, 
Hope Farm Notes 
FLORIDA NOTES. No. 7. 
1 did not expect to touch Florida a^gain 
for some weeks, but there have been many 
letters asking about the human side of life 
in this country. 1 thought of this on the 
morning of March 21 as we came out of 
the house after breakfast into the sweet 
Florida air. I was there for a flying visit, 
helping make plans for shipping the big 
family back North. I had a man tell me 
last week that Florida was too dull for 
him. Jle would rust out. There was “more 
life and human nature ou Broadway, New 
York, in 15 minutes than in a week of 
Florida.” So I thought I would see how 
much “real human nature” the sun could 
observe as l’utnain Co. revolved beneath his 
eye. 
As I came outdoors the sun was bright, 
with hardly a cloud in'the sky. .The mer¬ 
cury stood at about Go degrees. Most of 
the bloom had fallen from the orange trees, 
and the young fruit had begun to form, 
while the new leaves showed their light 
green against the darker old leaves. On the 
tree by the gate there were peaches as 
large as walnuts. A drove of half-wild hogs 
from the woods went slowly along the vil¬ 
lage street with one eye open for food and 
the other watching for a possible hole in a 
fence through which they might crawl into 
a grove or garden. For while no one seems 
to think it worth while to bolt or even 
shut a house door at night, except for 
warmth, there must be wire with a barb on 
it around every growing thing that a hog 
could fancy. Two red hens with their 
broods of chickens ran about under the 
orange trees. In front of the house I 
found a group of “redheads and tow- 
heads” gathered around a fisherman who 
carried a fertilizer sack. lie nad caught 
three young alligators, and the children 
were buying them. They finally got the 
three for a dollar, and they inte id taking 
the hideous things back to New Jersey to 
“raise” them. You may yet see an im¬ 
proved brand of Hope Farm alligator. 
Finally the school bell rang, and the older 
children scattered, while the little ones 
played on. I have said that the child crop 
is a vanishing product in this locality. 
There are, I understand, but four white 
children of school age—not enough to main¬ 
tain a school! There is a broken and 
abandoned sclioolhouse here, but it has not 
been occupied for some years. There is a 
school for colored children. In a short 
time 1 hope to show pictures of the colored 
school children and also the whites. Our 
people opened a school here, but in this 
locality the State actually does more for 
educating colored children than for whites. 
Think over what that means and see if 
Broadway can match the “human nature” 
which comes out of such a situation. Our 
own children are rosy as flowers. They 
ought to be, for they have played out in 
the sun every day since December 1. They 
would have gone barefooted nine days out 
of 10, but for sand burrs and hookworms— 
for that dread disease gets into the system 
through the feet. Florida is surely a Win¬ 
ter paradise for children and elderly peo¬ 
ple. As the children pen up their alligators 
and separate for school and play an old 
man walks with linn and active step down 
the shaded street to the store. lie is 89 
years old and is still planting a garden— 
very likely for the seventieth time! On 
the platform of the store he will meet a 
group of men who will sit for hours dis¬ 
cussing the weather or looking off through 
the pines toward the blue lake. On Broad¬ 
way people are rushing to and fro with set, 
anxious faces, tearing their hearts out in 
the fierce struggle for food, clothing, amuse¬ 
ment and shelter. There is quite as much 
“human nature” about these slow and gen¬ 
tle dreamers, basking in the Florida sun. 
In this little place where our folks have 
wintered there are nine different men who 
live alone. There are perhaps 30 voters in 
this district, and strange as it may seem 
to many of our readers, they are about 
evenly divided between the two great 
parties. That is because a number of old 
soldiers have moved in here. They draw 
their pensions, work their little gardens or 
groves and live at peace in this care¬ 
free land. “Human nature?” Ask these 
old soldiers with “warfare over” as the 
sun goes down, and they look out over the 
lake, why they ever came to Florida, and 
if they are disappointed. If you started a 
contest with a prize for the man who can 
take the longest time to travel a mile I 
could enter several citizens. Yet it was in 
Florida that the world’s record for speed 
with a motor car was made. While some 
of our neighbors might consume two hours 
in going a mile it was in Florida that Old¬ 
field drove a car one mile in 27 1-3 seconds! 
This contrast in speed is a very good illus¬ 
tration of the contrary character of Florida 
climate and conditions. Many people fail 
here because they try to fit Broadway 
“human nature” to this balmy, gentle land. 
You cannot use the same brand ! 
The forenoon wore off lazily. Across the 
load a man was working a mule on a cul¬ 
tivator:—tearing up the surface of an old 
orange grove. The only auto in the town 
went by over the pine-paved road, the very 
cough of its exhaust pipe sounding like a 
lung rapidly healing in the soft air. 
Charlie went by followed by a big colored 
man. They carry spades and axes, for 
Charlie is sexton, and this is one of the 
rare occasions when a grave is to be dug, 
for some old resident is being brought home 
to be buried. 
Mother and I had planned to take the 
train at noon .and go south a few miles 
to do some “shopping” and look up a 
“colony" or land boom scheme. So we got 
ready and went to the station in ample 
time. And there we waited, as everyone 
else does in this land of to-morrow. An 
hour crawled by, and still there was noth¬ 
ing in sight up the track except the dis¬ 
tant pines and the heat rising from the' 
hot sand. No one quarrels with fate in 
Florida—what is the use? L’nder similar 
circumstances in New Jersey I should have 
been held in some way responsible for the 
delay, but here it did not matter-—if the 
train did not come, another day would do. 
We waited about 100 long minutes and 
then the good lady announced that she 
was going home, as there would not be time 
to get around. And borne she went, good- 
natured and smiling as the Florida sun. 
Let me add that the next day we waited 
nearly two hours again and then went 
home once more—but who cares whether 
you go to-day or on some future “to¬ 
morrow ?” 
Having been cut out of our trip I got 
interested in the funeral. A little group 
of wagons was drawn up under the pines 
waiting for the train. I have said that an 
old resident was coming “home”—to be 
buried by the side of husband and rela¬ 
tives—in the rough little cemetery behind 
the pines. At last a puff of thick smoke 
up the track showed where the dawdling 
train was showing the true speed of a 
hearse. Down the grade it came, halting 
with many a wheeze and groan in front 
of the little station where the fated box 
was taken off. Our little funeral proces¬ 
sion was quickly made up. Uncle Ed. 
drove old Frank ahead witli the minister 
and the Hope Farm man as passengers. 
Then came tne dead in a farm wagon with 
a half-dozen one-horse teams straggling on 
behind. Your funeral ou Broadway with 
its gilded hearse, black horses and nodding 
plumes might be far more imposing. Who 
can say, however, that there was less of 
“human nature” in this little weather¬ 
beaten string crawling over the Florida 
sand? I was thinking as we went how 
this dead woman had seen what seemed 
like the death of hope in this land. For 
right where we were passing on these dead 
fields she had seen orange groves in full 
fruitage—and had seen them all wiped out 
in a day of frost! 
You would have said that Charlie stood 
leaning on his spado beside two great 
heaps of snow. The soil was a pure white 
sand, and as they threw it from the grave 
it had drifted in over the sides until no 
dark color showed. On “Broadway” there 
would have been an imposing procession, 
the organ pouring out topes that seem to 
carry a message far beyond the comprehen¬ 
sion* of the living. Here in this lonely 
little clearing my friend the minister led 
the way, the little group of mourners fol¬ 
lowing,* and Charlie and Uncle Ed, with a 
few neighbors carrying the dead. 1 wish 
1 could have had you there with me you 
who say that life and human nature crowd 
into the “lively" places. I wish I could 
paint the picture as I saw it. 
The minister and the station agent's wife 
began to sing. One of the men who helped 
carry the coffin laid down his load and 
joined the singers. They wanted me to 
make a quartette, but 1 am no musician 
and I could not have made a sound. It 
was better for me to stand in the back¬ 
ground against a tree by the side of Hie 
colored mail who leaned on his shining 
spade and bowed his gray head. For does 
not the color line fade out at the grav-o? 
I wish you could have seen it; tin* little 
group of singers, the sad group under tne 
pines, the earth piled up like snow drifts, 
the pine tops waving and moaning, and 
the Florida sun streaming over all. I felt 
the pine tree against which I leaned 
tremble as the wind blew through its top. 
In a tree over us a grey squirrel turned 
his ear as if to listen. For gathered around 
those piles of glistening sand were men and 
women who carried all that the world holds 
of "human nature tragedy, despair, hope, 
sorrow and peace. Not 100 feet from where 
I stood was a row of six little white 
stones where six old army comrades were 
buried. I studied their names. Six men 
of the army and navy from New York, 
Maine, New Hampshire, South Carolina, 
Vermont and Ohio. There they lie in the 
sand, sleeping “the sleep that knows no 
waking.” And this woman wanted to be 
brought back to this lonely place that she 
might rest with her people. "Human 
nature?” I made a dull companion as old 
Frank toiled back with us to the village. 
Our folks had left the house, and I fol¬ 
lowed them along the shady path to the 
lake. The younger people had been in 
bathing. They were sitting on . the lake 
shore—the children shouting and playing 
as they ran about the beach. I am glad 
they wore not at the funeral. As Mother 
and I walked slowly home the little ones 
came trailing on, waving branches of palm 
and singing. And there, over the fence, was 
our famous gallon and a half cow—easily 
the most energetic citizen in the place. 
Night comes quickly in Florida, and 
brings a chill with it. The sun 'seems to 
tumble directly into the west and to leave 
little warmth behind. Before we ended our 
slow walk home darkness had fallen and 
Uncle Ed, had started a grateful fire of 
logs. As if to demonstrate the Florida 
axiom that there are only two absolutely 
sure things—death and taxes—we found 
the county assessor before the fire. He 
had reached us in his rounds, and was 
ready to tell us all how much we owe the 
State. You will see therefore that the 
human side of life in Florida is much the 
same as anywhere else, only “more so,” 
for here there is no artifice* or straining 
after effect. Men and women are naturally 
human—as they were meant to be. 
J. w. c. 
H ealth and peace join 
hands to bring happiness 
to all while prosperity shines brightly ’round 
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