622 
Hope Farm Notes 
Could I have had ray choice when I 
opened my eyes to the light on April 10, I 
should certainly have closed them again. 
The day looked cold add gray through the 
window, but important things were on the 
schedule, and no man can be said to be 
important in bed with his eyes shut. It 
was once a hard matter to get the boys 
started, but one has duck eggs in an in¬ 
cubator and the other chicks in a brooder, 
and these make more effective calls to 
action than any argument I can produce. 
Shortly after six Hope Farm was well 
astir. I cut potatoes for seed until break¬ 
fast was ready, while the boys made their 
feathered partners comfortable. It was 
one of those mean, hesitating days when 
the clouds look like rain and the sun ap- 
pears to be pleading with them to dry up 
and move off. However, rain or shine, 
man must be fed, and we showed our 
appreciation of the call to breakfast by 
leaving vpry little of the cereal and scram¬ 
bled eggs. 
Mother was going to the city on various 
errands, not the least of which meant the 
purchase of a new dress. We all listened 
patiently to our social instructions for the 
day. I was to keep the baby in sight and 
be responsible for his behavior. When I 
accepted this trust I had no clear idea of 
the size of it. I learned before night. One 
of the boys drove our good lady to the 
station and I got the other one started at 
our great enterprise. We hitched old Jerry 
to the wagon, loaded on the seed potatoes 
and a harrow and started for the potato 
field. For I had agreed to go into partner¬ 
ship with the boys in a potato crop, and 
this was the day for fulfilment. We had 
selected the center of an apple orchard. 
Four years ago we seeded Alfalfa in this 
field. There was perhaps half a stand, and 
Timothy came to fill out. I have long 
wanted that field for strawberries, but I 
know better than to plant berries on a sod. 
Corn is the best crop for such a location, 
but the boys and 1 remember that the best 
potato crop we ever had was grown on an 
old Alfalfa sod. Most of the younger 
trees in this orchard were dug up and 
transplanted. Some of the very old ones 
were blown out with dynamite—there are 
four left for us to dodge around. 
Now in the West it is a common thing 
to grow potatoes on a clover sod, but in 
our country it is considered very poor prac¬ 
tice, as our sods are usually so weedy that 
the crop cannot be kept clean in drills. 
The boys wanted a potato crop, and I 
wanted a clean field, so we hit upon a plan 
to make the combination. This sod was 
plowed April 12, while the Alfalfa was 
about six inches high. As I did not do the 
plowing myself, 1 can safely say it was 
very well done. The object was to turn 
the" furrow completely over, putting the 
green growth out of sight. The field was 
worked with the Acme harrow three times. 
It is usually thought best to work a sod 
with a disk'or spring-tooth: so as to tear 
up this green growth. I wanted just the 
reverse of that, so we could put our seed 
pieces down into the sod without disturb¬ 
ing it, and then work the surface with 
shallow tools. The field had been marked 
both ways into three-foot squares with a 
corn marker—going as deep as we could 
without ripping up the sod one way and 
very shallow the other. 
This is what we found when the boy and 
I arrived with our seed potatoes. We un¬ 
hitched old Jerry and let him browse on 
the Alfalfa, which has been left under the 
fringe of apple trees which surrounds our 
field. We cut potatoes while 1 studied out 
the best way to plant. By the time the 
other bov returned I had it. Two of in 
with hoes each took a row, while the other 
walked between and dropped seed for both. 
With a quick blow we drove the corner 
of the hoe into the sod and lifted it just 
enough to let the seed piece under. Then 
with a few strokes the loose earth was 
pulled over, so we had the seed piece down 
in the green growth with four or five 
inches of fine soil above it. With a good 
dropper this work can be done rapidly. Of 
course, 1 understand that the man who 
uses a planter in a large field will say 
this is slow and puttering work, but we 
wanted to do it this way. In clean ground 
1 could have made deeper furrows, dropped 
the seed and covered by using the culti¬ 
vator. but in tfcis particular case we war'll 
our seed pieces down into that sod witn-.it 
ripping it up to the surface. 
We got on well until trouble appeared 
in the form of my charge—the red headed 
bov. He came running up the lane and 
mounted the wagon. He found a knife 
somewhere and began cutting the potato 
sacks. Then he threw potatoes at the 
ducks. Next 1 caught him digging up the 
hills to see if the potatoes had started. 1 
found that we needed more seed, so one ot 
the bovs went to the barn for it. Old Jerry 
had drifted over to the spring, and the 
baby begged permission to drive him back. 
I did not pay much attention until these 
was a great commotion—old Jerry coming 
on a gallop with every stiff leg out straight, 
and the child behind him with the whip. 
1 was ready to resign my position as child¬ 
minder right there. 
We dropped on as fast as we could, yet 
there were 10 rows left when the girls 
came to tell us dinner was ready. There 
was a mutual readiness on our part. If 
you are inclined to find fault with your 
food, I would like to have you plant po¬ 
tatoes in the face of a raw wind for five 
hours and then watch you line up at the 
table! With corned beef hash, boiled rice, 
bread and butter and canned peaches we 
easily laid the foundation for an after¬ 
noon’s work. When dinner was over it 
would have needed but a very gentle push 
to head me away from the potato field to 
an easy chair and a book. As for the boys 
—they' were willing to end the week's labor 
with 'the last mouthful of peaches. But 
potatoes are not grown that way, so I led 
the wav up to “higher ground" with some¬ 
what reluctant followers—especially the 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
April 30, 
baby. A little after two we had the last 
hill planted. By counting both ways the 
boys figured 4.056 hills. We got them un¬ 
der cover with hardly a piece of sod in 
sight. 
The wind was blowing, but I wanted to 
finish the job, so the boys went after the 
fertilizer, and I shouldered my hoe and 
started for the strawberry field—or one of 
them, where Merrill had been swinging Ins 
hoe all through the day. I meet people 
now and then who think strawberry grow¬ 
ing is pretty much a matter of sitting 
under a tree watching the plants coin dol¬ 
lars. I have never been able to convince 
these gentlemen with words, but, if I could 
have had them right there with power to 
make them clean up three rows, there 
would have been no further argument. As 
for me, I rather like to hoe, but I find it 
about as hard to graft this feeling upon 
mv farm followers as I do to pick up 
political disciples. The boys hauled the 
fertilizer and dropped the bags equal ins¬ 
tances apart at the sides of the field. By 
doing a little figuring, they wer • able to 
gauge the amount for each row. The object 
was to scatter the fertilizer in a broad 
strip along the furrows above the potar tes. 
We did this by hand, though on a larger 
field a drill would pay. 
It was my job to harrow the field, but, 
as I started to unhitch Jerry from the 
wagon. I suddenly discovered that the 
baby was missing. That little scamp had 
refused to come back with the boys, and 
no one knew where he was. The girls had 
driven off with the pony, and so I went 
baby hunting, which is somewhat like track¬ 
ing!! wild bird. There was no child to be 
found until, after repeated calling, one of 
the little boys caine running up the road 
from an unoccupied house on the next farm. 
Following him very slowly was a familiar 
red head and small blue overalls—the 
owner - dragging a pipe and tank valve 
which he had found in the barn. I am 
under no obligations to tell what happened 
as I led this runaway up to the potato 
field and seated him on a stone. 
The boys had been steadily throwing on 
fertilizer.' We have a light frame harrow 
with slanting spike teeth, it is the har¬ 
row Geo. M. Clark used for covering grass 
seed. It covers a space about four feet 
wide, and hitching Jerry to it I drove up 
and down the rows. This worked the fer¬ 
tilizer in and smoothed down the ridges 
and furrows made by the marker. It was 
better than the Acme, being lighter and 
leaving the top soil smooth. -Jerry and I 
continued our monotonous journey up and 
down till the last row was covered. At 
times we stopped at the upper end of the 
field to rest. .Terry is a practical char¬ 
acter, and devoted such periods to nib¬ 
bling Alfalfa. I was glad to look off 
across the valley. The willows and the 
crab apples were full of green, with the 
first blooms of the crabs opening. The 
forest trees were just beginning to show a 
shimmer of color, and the cherries were 
white. You could see great patches of 
cherry bloom on the hills and along the 
walls and fences, with here and there a 
darker tint where a peach tree had opened. 
With the green of the rye, the brown of 
plowed soil and the sparkle of water, it 
seemed like a goodly country just waiting 
to the real joy of life. 
At the last rest I took out my pencil 
and figured the cost. We intend to know 
what this crop costs us, and what it brings 
in. When 1 drove Jerry to the barn after 
the last round the account stood: _ 
16 hours man and team, at. .40 $5.60 
2 hours man and one horse. .30 .60 
5 hours man alone.20 1.00 
14 hours boys .15 2.10 
Seed potatoes. 8.95 
Fertilizer . 12.00 
$30.25 
We call that the cost of getting our 4,0T.G 
hills planted. We used three sacks and 
about one bushel of seed, cutting large 
pieces and throwing out scabby seed. The 
varieties are Irish Cobbler and Sir Walter 
Raleigh—the latter not cutting so as to 
make a large number of pieces. I have 
put the boys’ work at 15 cents. Frankly, 
I would not pav them that much to go 
off and work alone, but on this job they 
did about the same as I did. 1 used less 
fertilizer than I would on open ground, 
as 1 expect great help from that Alfalfa 
sod. We shall probably use more fer¬ 
tilizer in late May or June. As for future 
care we intend to work the field with that 
spike harrow twice, and if possible three 
times, before the potatoes show above 
ground. As soon ns the rows are clean 
we shall cultivate twice a week, first one 
way and then the other, as loug as we 
can get through the vines. They will be 
hand-hoed once, and sprayed from the first. 
Every hour spent in working them will 
be charged at prices given above, with all 
materials at cost. Now. let us see how 
it comes out. The boys are each to have 
one-third of the proceeds. 
Of course, it will be easy to say that 
we did not do the work right, and that 
we might have saved money. I am not 
arguing that. For a scant acre of tough 
sod I think the job was about the best we 
could do—particularly as it is part of the 
game to fit the land for berries. At any 
rate, this is what we did and what it cost, 
and, i even if we fail to get 10 bushels of 
potatoes, we shall give the full cost. 
There being a little time left after milk¬ 
ing, I got my hoe and went at those straw¬ 
berries again. There is a place for every¬ 
thing, and the proper place for a weed is 
with its roots turned up to a dry April 
wind. Happily, the girls hail come back, 
and graduated me from baby-watching. The 
little scamp, washed and combed, was eat¬ 
ing his supper of baked beans just as if 
he had earned it by good behavior. Before 
I knew it, the brown filly came trotting 
back with Mother, and the day’s work 
was over. 
The Hope Farm folks willingly admitted 
that they were tired—all except the child, 
who was ready for new mischief. \Ye had 
finished a good week, and it was high time 
to rest before a new one. The wind rose 
as night came on. We put the windmill 
at pumping, and when 1 went out after 
supper it stood there waving its white 
arms about as it worked steadily on. The 
chickens were safe in the brooders, the 
horses stamped contentedly in their stalls, 
the cow stretched out in comfort, the ducks 
were asleep, and so far as I know every 
living thing on the farm had a warm 
shelter and food. Our potato patch may 
prove a failure after all. the frost may 
yet get our peaches and rbe drought may 
burn up the strawberries, but we have 
tried our best, at least, to make them go— 
and we do not believe the wheels will stop. 
H. w. c. 
