938 
The RURAL NEW-YORKER 
June 7, 1019 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
When, I awoke on May 24, by the new 
time, the first thing to come into my 
mind was the fact that the U. S. "Weather 
Bureau and our local prophet, De Voe, 
agreed that it would be —probably 
sliovyers! That is a strong combination, 
and it seemed like a sure winner as I 
looked at the sky. Thus far the week 
had handed us three cloudy days and 
three of steady rain. This one started 
with a thick mist and rough clouds in 
the east. The ground looked wet enough 
as 1 glanced at the hills, and the trees 
were all adrip. It was a hard outlook 
for an apple grower, for here we were 
at the limit of safety in our fight against 
the codling worm. Countless millions of 
eggs were at the point of hatching, and 
each lusty worm knew just what to do 
to fulfill his mission in life. For many 
generations each worm, as soon as he 
got the air outside the egg, had crawled 
straight for the bud. His highest ambi¬ 
tion is to get inside the little apple and 
serve as evil genius of the Apple Con¬ 
sumers’ League. And as I looked at the 
wet trees I knew he would do it unless 
we could get the poison right at his teeth. 
We had dusted all but one block of trees 
on the hill between showers, and this 
Saturday was about the last day of grace. 
It did look like a graceless day. 
***** 
While we were eating breakfast a burst 
of sunshine flooded the room, for all of 
a sudden the sun burst through the clouds 
and a gentle wind started. I wonder if 
some of you folks ever got up on wash¬ 
day or house-cleaning day with feelings 
of apprehension. The women are in no 
mood for anything but stern warfare and 
you are in for a series of cold meals and 
probably a hand on the washtubs or at 
beating carpets. You will also have your 
undesirable qualities well analyzed. You 
prepare for the inevitable with a sigh, 
only to find yourself greeted with a 
smile, a fine dinner and all the other 
evidences of family sunshine. Well, that 
was the way we felt when that burst of 
sunshine lightened up our oatmeal and 
fried eggs. As it was Saturday the boys 
were at home, and they had brought a 
schoolboy with them. There was also a 
young soldier home from France with a 
shell mark on his shoulder. As soon as 
breakfast was over this brigade shoul¬ 
dered hoes and marched up the hill to the 
field of Cory sweet corn. Philip was to 
take care of the stock, do the chores and 
work in the garden, while Thomas and I 
determined to finish that dusting. 
***** 
When I went out after breakfast 
Thomas had the duster all ready. I pre¬ 
sume most of you have never seen a 
duster. Ours is a little, low-down wagon 
mounted on low, solid metal wheels. In 
front is a small gasoline engine of about 
two horsepower. This is belted to a 
“duster” which rides at the back, over 
the hind wheels. There is an enclosed 
“fan” which whirls at high speed and 
blows a blast like a young hurricane out 
through a tube at the bottom. A steel 
box or tank holds the dust and feeds it 
into this tube. There is a mixer or 
feeder inside this tank, operated by an 
endless chain from the engine. There is 
a little platform for the operator to stand 
on, and another for the barrel of dust. 
It made me think of the famous French 
cannon which did so much to win the 
war. Broker had been hitched in the 
shafts. At one time we used both horses, 
but find that one big horse on our rough 
hills and under low down trees is better. 
Thomas had filled the tank with dust, 
tested the engine and fan and we were 
ready to start. It was taking a chance 
on those “probable showers.” but success 
seems to depend more on taking chances 
than on rejecting them. 
4 * £ * $ 
Thomas drove, while I rode behind on 
that little platform, ready to do the firing. 
The children thought I looked like “the 
raggedy man that works for Pa” as we 
went bumping over the stones. I think 
my hat was the worst-looking headpiece 
in Bergen County—battered and yellow 
with sulphur. I had on a long, light 
overcoat, ragged and sulphur-stained. 
Thomas had rejected it when he selected 
garments for a scarecrow. A pair of 
overalls, big “arctics” and yellow “gog¬ 
gles” over the eyes must have made a 
striking costume. If you ever try “dust¬ 
ing” on a steep hillside with the wind 
rising, you will not put on any dress 
suit or Palm Beach clothes, I can tell 
you. This dust is a mixture of 85 pounds 
of powdered sulphur and 15 pounds dry 
arsenate of lead. When the young whirl¬ 
wind inside that fan takes this dust by 
the hand and says “Co to it”—it goes — 
and anything that gets in its way will 
soon find it out. The mouth of this dust 
cannon is a tin tube about like the rain 
spouts on a house. It is connected with 
the blower by a cloth, so that it can be 
easily swung around to aim at the tree. 
Broker pulled steadily up the hilll and 
into the orchard. The wind is from the 
east, and so we began at the west side, 
so that the dust will work away from 
us. As Broker swings his mighty shoul¬ 
ders against the collar and brings this 
dust gun into action I wonder if he 
realizes how many of his cousins in 
France ripped the great guns through 
the mud and pulled them to the front! 
I am told that these big gray horses bent 
to their work without the flicker of an 
ear while the shells burst around them. 
Surely death marched with those gray 
horses on many a battlefield. 
***** 
But Broker has no romance or imagi¬ 
nation about him. He merely waits for 
the word to pull. Thomas puts on the 
crank and turns the wheel. This little 
engine reminds me somewhat of Rose: 
she must have her own way for awhile, 
and then suddenly the little stubborn will 
melts, and off she goes with a smile. 8o 
this little engine sulked a moment, and 
then suddenly with a cough and a sudden 
spit of black smoke she took up her bur¬ 
den and fairly danced with the joy of 
labor. Then the belt was pushed on the 
power. There was a roar inside that 
fan, and then a great sigh as though 
soiute giant wjere unloading his great 
lungs. Out of the mouth of my tube 
belched a great flood of yellow dust. I 
was on the windward side of the tree, 
and by moving the tube up and down and 
side to side in the tree that cloud was 
floated everywhere. It poured out through 
the tree and floated high through the 
orchard, slowly and gently settling down. 
We drove through, stopping less than a 
minute at each large tree, blowing the 
dust right through it. We formerly went 
on both sides of the row, but careful ex¬ 
amination shows the dust Settled all over, 
and except for large trees fully covered 
with buds we dust from the windward 
side only. I wish you could see the great 
cloud which comes from the dusting and 
see how it slowly settles all through the 
trees. After three days of rain we find 
the dust from former applications still 
sticking to the leaves. 
***** 
While we were working this artillery 
our County Agent, Mr. Stone, appeared. 
He is an expert on liquid spraying, but 
this was his first experience with the 
dust. While he was here we dusted sev¬ 
eral trees well set with bloom and marked 
them. We shall see how thoroughly we 
get the wonns. The work went on 
through the forenoon with few stops or 
mishaps. That engine sulked now and 
then. Every time she stopped Broker 
would look around reproachfully as if 
to say: “If you only had a little Perch- 
eron blood in you we would see less of 
this crankiness!” But the engine always 
came back smiling at last. Once the dust 
failed to blow out properly. We put on 
power enough to blow the tube off the 
fan. but still the dust backed. Then we 
found a piece of paper worked into the 
feeder so as to clog it. But the work 
went steadily on. and we surely did kick 
up a dust. A few drops of rain fell now 
and then, but that was nothing. We 
were back in the barnyard by 11:30 with 
few mishaps. My eyes stung a little, 
and I am sure I shall taste sulphur and 
lead arsenate for some days—and Thomas 
had a wrenched thumb. But we dusted 
253 trees and did a good job. With our 
facilities for obtaining water it would 
have taken more than five times as long 
to put on the liquid. The dust cost more, 
but time just now is almost priceless 
with us. Effective? Well. I will back 
our forenoon’s work for worm killing. 
Someone should get up a combination 
machine. It seems to me that a remov¬ 
able tank could be fixed so that if desired 
it could be taken off and a duster sub¬ 
stituted. The same power could work 
the duster or the pump. 
***** 
A little after 12 the corn hoers came 
down for dinner. Inside the house there 
had been another dusting, with no engine 
to help. Mother was cleaning house and 
also doing her share by letter and ’phone 
to take a baby census of Bergen County. 
The children were all “helping.” For 
house-cleaning day dinner was satisfac¬ 
tory ! We had hamburger steak, pota¬ 
toes, tomatoes and macaroni, bread and 
butter and rhubarb sauce. No time to 
tarry when you have only one good day 
in five—so Thomas put Broker in the 
small wagon, threw in a cultivator, and 
all hands started for _ that cornfield. 
Mother wanted the mail and also her 
week’s washing, and I was nominated 
for the errand. So I took the runabout 
and piled the four smaller children in 
and off we went. The oldest girl drove 
and acted as “aural interpreter” for me 
—that is, she did the hearing. Now we 
had a good time. There was a good 
bunch of letters and a big basket of clean 
clothes. I stood treat at the store— 
rather against the orders of the lady of 
the house. When we got back the chil¬ 
dren had their little work to do and I 
took a hoe to reinforce the corn workers. 
This field is at the back of the farm—an 
old peach orchard. The Cory corn is 
three to four inches high. Thomas has 
rigged two scarecrows, and strange to 
say they have frightened the crows away. 
I never knew a scarecrow to do that be¬ 
fore. The ancestors of this year’s crows 
would have roosted on these “scares.” 
The race must be degenerating. Thomas 
went ahead and worked the cultivator 
up and down and the boys followed, 
clearing up the hills. Cherry-top is in 
line, but he begins to lag a little. Ilis 
baseball experience has been striking. 
They lost their first two games, 13—4 
and 0—10. Then they found a crowd 
they could beat, 18—0. I tell him to feet 
toward the crabgrass as he did when they 
found something they could beat! Oil 
(Continued on page 947) 
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