IMMIGRATING TO NEW YORK STATE. 
What a Western Man Found. 
Part I. 
I have a friend in the wild and woolly West. She 
is now a rather buxom matron, usually equal to any 
emergency. One day she drove to town, and on 
coming to get her horse was annoyed to find a group 
of loungers near her buggy. Saying within herself, 
‘Til show these loafers that country women are grace¬ 
ful,” she sprang into the buggy. Her toe caught and 
she sprawled in a heap. Now mad clear through, she 
grabbed the whip and lines and lashed 
the horse. After some confusion she 
then had to get out and untie the horse 
from a telegraph pole, which the horse 
was trying to take along. It is with 
fear lest my experience may be like hers 
that I come before this great body of 
practical progressive farmers. My story 
is one involving only a few dollars, while 
these columns frequently tell of farm 
crops of thousands of dollars. Yet it is 
my all. And I hope that where you see 
a blunder you will suggest a remedy: 
I was born in Kansas in 1S72, the son 
of a home missionary. At an early age 
I removed with my parents to south¬ 
eastern Connecticut. There, in spite of 
me, my father held two long pastorates, 
and finally wound up in the State Legis¬ 
lature. I was educated for the ministry, 
attending Lafayette College, Easton, Pa., 
and Union Theological Seminary, New 
York City. I was commissioned by the 
Congregational Home Missionary So¬ 
ciety to a charge in eastern Washington. 
On June 1, 1899, I married the daughter 
of a Connecticut farmer, and we hurried 
off to our far western home. 
Conditions on the home-missionary 
field not being satisfactory, and not be¬ 
ing able to live and bring up a family 
on a salary of promises and $300 in cash 
and deferred payments, and not being 
able to swallow my pride and beg for 
a “barrel,” I left that work and en¬ 
tered the employ of a ship-building 
company just then organized. I began 
as time-keeper and laborer, clearing 
land; became foreman, then had charge 
of “cook house,” and warehouse, and by 
a study of naval architecture, etc., rose 
through several departments to be as¬ 
sistant manager; was elected secretary 
and treasurer of the company. When 
we were busiest we had a payroll of 
about $10,000 per month and the time¬ 
keeping and paymaster job seemed to 
stick closer than a brother. I had di¬ 
rect oversight over the bookkeeping, including the mer¬ 
chandise and the drafting room, and in addition I was 
the head draftsman. During the day times I was 
a ship builder but at night I was a farmer on a 
‘logged-off” piece of Puget Sound timberland. This 
land we had bought cheap, some of it for taxes, had 
built a shack and were clearing it and farming it. 
We talked farm, read farm, hoped farm. We at¬ 
tended live stock and poultry shows and longed for 
the chance to be genuine farmers. If anyone wants 
any facts or pointers on logged-off land in western 
Washington, for a farm, I am qualified to give ex¬ 
pert advice. I’m not a “knocker” either. 
Would it be really wise to give up the salary and 
become farmers? 
Editors of farm papers say to the clerk, “Don’t try 
farming.” Other than agricultural papers tell stories 
of remarkable successes by newly fledged or artificially 
incubated farmers. Brother Fullerton’s “Lure of the 
Land” added to our unrest. Our family of five boys 
and a girl seemed to demand a farm for elbow room. 
We would rather they all be farmers than steamboat 
men or shipbuilders. I had been an all-round athlete 
in college days, and had a stomach like an ostrich or 
a goat. I hoped that life on a farm would help me 
to “come back.” Just at a convenient time a western 
boom struck our village. I was president of our local 
Boomers’ Association, Sunday school superintendent, 
and a more or less conspicuous figure in church, lodge 
and local politics. I did what I could to help the 
village and boost the boom. Incidentally, I sold out. 
Now we can really have a farm. Where shall it be? 
What an array of attractions! Where shall we go? 
The alluring fruit lands of Washington, Yakima, 
Wenatchee, Okanogan, Spokane, with golden promises 
of fruit and fortune; the wide-open welcoming arms 
of northwestern Canada, attracting so many thousands 
of American farmers, with its great wheatfields of 
Alberta and the Saskatchewan; the paradise of 
Florida, the land of flowers and fruit and sunshine— 
a thousand farms offered by great farm agencies, 
every one a bargain, from Maine through New Eng¬ 
land, New York, Pennsylvania, even down to sunny 
Tennessee; railroad agents, State agricultural depart¬ 
ments, all offer farm advantages unsurpassed. The 
Secretary of Agriculture of the United States, dis¬ 
interested and impartial, threw the weight of his testi¬ 
mony in favor of New York State. 
We decided that New York State offers the most 
for the money, the best opportunities and advantages. 
From a list of 900 farms,, published by 
the State, we selected one and arranged 
by mail to rent il for. a year with the 
privilege of purchase. This is the de¬ 
scription : 
Farm of 212 acres three miles from - 
and one mile from south - post office, 
R. F. D., very productive soil, 75 to 100 
acres of second growth timber. House 
eight rooms iu good condition. Two barns, 
one30xG0, one 45xG0. Watered by well and 
spring. Fences fair. Reason for selling, 
to close an estate. This farm is a first- 
class dairy and general-purpose farm and 
is said to be worth considerably more than 
is asked. Price, $2,400, less 10 per cent 
for cash. Otherwise the terms for balance 
will be easy. 
Our correspondence developed the fol¬ 
lowing differences; five acres adjoining 
were to be added and the price $1,600, 
rent for one year $100. 
When in spite of my friend, the man¬ 
ager, and all other friends, we were 
ready, then came farewell meetings in 
lodge and in church. As I found myself 
face to face with that company of 
friends, pushed forward to say goodby, 
all the myriad ties which bound us, all 
the joys and sorrows through which we 
had gone, together came before me, and 
I could not say “Goodby,” and almost 
regretted the severing of those bonds. 
Many urged us to stay “West.” “You’ll 
be sorry.” “You’ll be back.” “You are 
foolish.” Even the big policeman in the 
Seattle depot added a few adjectives to 
the name, fool. On the train we were 
treated to the same sort of comfort. 
We left Seattle for Tioga Co., N. Y., 
May 19, 1910, via the Canadian Pacific 
to Sudbury, Llamilton, Toronto and 
Buffalo. That trip is a never-to-be 
forgotten experience. Nothing can sur¬ 
pass the glory and grandeur of the 
scenery in the Canadian Rockies. Up! 
Up! Up we climb! Two engines puffing* 
and panting as we wind among peaks 
towering 10,000 feet above us. Spread 
before us is a panorama of beauty. Be¬ 
low us and about us are the trees of a 
temperate zone, while just above us are the trees 
and plants of an Arctic circle. These persist, 
climbing up gorges and ravines, yet have to yield to 
the ice king. His throne is there. There per¬ 
petual snow, and great rivers of ice yield him 
obedience. To show his power over the forest, each 
Winter he sends a little snow ball rolling on and on 
down towards the forest. The earth trembles. We 
saw the tiny splinters as small as the pine needles 
they were mixed with, which a few months before 
had been giant forest trees. Now a bare streak- 
stretches up the mountain. Up we ever climb, fol¬ 
lowing roaring cataracts through tunnels and snow 
AN UNOCCUPIED FARMHOUSE—FROM THE DEPARTMENT 
BULLETIN. Fig. 182. 
V/ HERE MR. CARY FINALLY LOCATED. Fig. 183. 
