! 374 
7ht RURAL NEW-YORKER 
August 2S f 3y20 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
“Then I began to.think that it is very 
true which is commonly said, that the 
one-half of the world knowcth not how 
the other half liveth.” 
That was written by Francois Rabelais 
over 500 years ago. It is so true that it 
has entered the language as a proverb, or 
“old saying.” We hear it again and 
again in all classes of society. It is true 
that the great majority of us have no 
idea of the life or the life ambitions of 
the great world outside of our own little 
valley-of thought. I suppose this failure 
to understand the “other half” is one of 
the things which do most to keep people 
apart and prevent anything like fair co¬ 
operation. It is the basis of most of the 
bitter intolerance which has ever been 
used- by the “ruling classes” to keep the 
great mass of the people in subjection. 
Years ago some old lord or baron would 
build a strong castle on a hill and make 
the fanners for miles around believe that 
he “protected” them. Therefore, they 
built his castle free, gave their sons for 
liis soldiers, and toiled on the land that 
he might live in idleness. And what did 
he “protect” them from? Why, from 
another group of farmers a few miles away, 
who. in like manner, were supporting an¬ 
other idle gang of cutthroats in another 
strong castle. These two groups of farm¬ 
ers did not need to be “protected” from 
each other. They had the same needs, 
the same wrongs and the same desires. 
Left to understand each other and to 
work together, they would have had no 
trouble, but. would have led happier and 
far more prosperous lives. As it was 
they did not understand “how the other 
half liveth.” and thus they fought when 
they should have fraternized. 
***** 
I find much of the same feeling be¬ 
tween city people and farmers—consum¬ 
ers and producers. They do not. under¬ 
stand how “the other half liveth,” and 
they find fault when they should from 
every point of economy work together. 
Your city man thinks the farmer has a 
soft job. and that with present high prices 
he is making a barrel of money. Either 
that or he is a slow-thinking drudge—a 
sort of inferior being, who doesn’t know 
any better than to carry the load which 
others strap on his back. He is “the back¬ 
bone of the country” all right in a po¬ 
litical campaign—but the backbone is 
merely a mechanical contrivance if you 
detach it from the brain. And the aver¬ 
age. farmer regards the city worker or 
commuter as a grafter—getting far more 
than he earns, gnd putting in short, easy 
days. It isn’t all graft and ease by a 
long way. Many of these city workers 
must travel miles to their jobs, and some 
of them put in longer hours than the 
average farmer. Many of them save lit¬ 
tle or nothing, and the wolf is always 
prowling around the door. Between these 
two classes it is a case of not knowing 
“how the other half liveth.” and this 
failure to understand lias created a form 
of intolerance which separates two classes 
about as the old barons separated the 
groups of farmers years ago. 
***** 
And something of the same lack of 
tolerant understanding has separated 
classes of farmers. The grain farmers, 
live-stock men, dairymen, gardeners and 
fruit growers all think at times that they 
have the hardest lot. The labor ques¬ 
tion, the markets or the weather all seem 
to turn against them. For instance, the 
dairymen usually think their lot is harder 
than that of others. They must work 
day after day in all sorts of weather and 
under hard conditions. I know about 
this, for I have worked on a dairy farm 
where conditions were very hard. l r et 
I also know that at this season the aver¬ 
age dairyman has a good job compared 
with the life of the market gardener or 
fruit grower. On our own farm it has 
rained each day and night for many days. 
Get into a sweet corn or tomato field and 
pick the crop in a pouring rain, or pick 
early apples while the foliage is like a 
great sponge. Then sort out and pack, 
load the truck and travel through the rain 
to market, stand out in the rain and sell 
the load out to peddlers and dealers, and 
then hurry back home for another round 
of the same work. The fruit and vege¬ 
tables are nearly as perishable as milk, 
and must be rushed promptly away. The 
dairyman knows beforehand what his milk 
will bring. The price may not be what 
he thinks is right, but he knows for weeks 
or months in advance what he can surely 
expect. We never know when we start 
what our stuff will bring. We must take 
what we can get for perishable fruit. 
We know what we have already spent, 
and what each load must bring in order 
to get our money back. Thus far corn 
is about equal in price to last year, to¬ 
matoes are lower, apples are at least 30 
per cent lower, and so on. The dairy¬ 
man has his troubles, but let him follow 
this job for a month and he would realize 
that “there are others.” In much the 
same way I can show that the potato 
men, the hay and grain farmers, the 
sheep men and all the' rest, have their 
troubles—and hard ones at that. If 
farmers could only understand these 
things better, and realize that there are 
thorns and tacks in every so-called “soft 
job,” there would be greater tolerance in 
the world, and that is the only thing that 
can ever lead to true co-operation and 
fair treatment. 
FULLER 8WARREN CO.,TROY. H.Y. 
Since Witters of STEWART Stoves.Ranqes Furnaces 
Pretty much the same thing is true of 
business. We ran upon a strange inci¬ 
dent the other day. The city of Pater¬ 
son. X. J.. is a good market town. Work 
is well paid and the workmen are free 
spenders. It is a city of many breeds 
and races of men. On the market you 
will probably hear more language and 
dialects than were used on the Tower of 
Babel. A large share of farm produce 
is distributed by peddlers—most of them 
of foreign blood. They are shrewd and 
tireless workers. I never can see when 
they sleep. Night after night they come 
on the market to buy produce, and day 
after day—through heat and cold, rain 
or shine—you see them driving their 
horses up and down the streets and lanes 
—always good-natured, always with a 
smile. Well, we sold Spot, our black 
cow. to one of these men—an Italian. 
Thomas had done business with him for 
some years. We had sold him many 
goods—he had always paid for them. lie 
made part payment for the cow by giving 
about the most remarkable looking check 
I ever saw. It was on a first-class bank, 
made out in a straggling hand, and signed 
by two names. We had passed several 
like it before through our bank, so I de¬ 
posited it, as usual. In a few days it 
came back unpaid. 
***** 
Thomas and I went to Paterson that 
night to see what was wrong. I wish 
some of you whose lives have been spent 
entirely in the country could see how this 
“other half liveth.” This man lived on 
a side street. The lower part of his 
house had been fitted as a little store. 
In the small backyard were several milk 
goats, a small flock of chickens and a 
shed, in which were two horses. Under a 
small, rude shelter of boards was old 
Spot, chewing away at green cornstalks. 
The man was a big. pleasant-faced Ital¬ 
ian. You would mark him for an honest 
man on his appearance. There was a 
brood of children—eight or nine. I should 
say. and a pleasant-faced little wife, who 
carried the latest arrival around at her 
work. When confronted with the pro¬ 
tested check, this man merely smiled and 
waved his hands. lie could not read it! 
Two small boys—the oldest perhaps 12 
years of age—seemed to be the only mem¬ 
bers of the family who could read and 
write English. They read the protest 
paper to their father and made him un¬ 
derstand. He only smiled and spread 
out his hands as people do who talk with 
their shoulders. These two little boys 
had made out the check and signed it for 
their parents. They either did not figure 
out their bank balance, or figured it 
wrong. There was no attempt at dishon¬ 
esty. and the check would finally be hon¬ 
ored. That seemed to be all there was 
to it. These little boys, through the pub¬ 
lic school, represented all that these older 
people know of the great business life of 
America. 
* * * * * 
I know a good many Americans whose 
pedigrees run back close to Plymouth 
Rock. If some of them had let that check 
go in this way I should have loaded old 
Spot right on the truck and carried her 
home. Thomas knew this man and his 
reputation, and his way of doing business. 
He will pay, and in a few days of ped¬ 
dling he will pad out his bank account 
and then the check will go through. So 
we shook hands with him and came home. 
But that is the way “the other half liveth.” 
This man and woman came to a strange 
land too late in life to acquire a business 
education. They can work and plan, but 
must depend upon those little boys to do 
business which requires bookkeeping or 
banking. All the boys know about Amer¬ 
ican business is what they learn at the 
public schools. I wish you could have 
seen the way that check was made out—• 
yet any old piece of paper may be worth 
more than a gold-plated certificate if 
there is genuine character back of it. I 
am told that in most mill towns the banks 
carry a good many accounts just like this 
one; in fact, a good proportion of the 
business is conducted in about that way. 
It is said that some of the smaller manu¬ 
facturers do not keep any set of books 
which enable them to figure their income 
tax! There are some men who could not 
buy a cow or a cat from us on credit, 
while others could have what credit they 
need right on their face and reputation. 
***** 
There is another thing about this trade 
that will interest dairymen. We found 
old Spot giving about 18 quarts of milk 
per day, on a feed of green cornstalks and 
a little grain. This milk will sell for 
18 cents, at least. The cow can live in 
that little shed until the middle of De¬ 
cember, or about 120 days. In that time 
she will give 1,500 quarts or more, which, 
at 18 cents, means ,$270. and she can then 
be sold for at least $00 for beef! That 
makes $3(50 gross income for one cow in 
four months. Her feed will be mostly 
refuse tops and stalks from vegetables 
and a small amount of grain. She will 
be well cared for, carded and brushed 
every dny, and made comfortable. Thus 
not half the cows know “how the other 
half liveth.” Some one will take these 
figures, multiply them by 25, and show 
What tremendous incomes our dairymen 
are making. The fact is this man can 
keep just one cow at a profit. If lie 
kept two the extra cost of food would 
about eat up his profits. So we went 
whirling home through the dnsk, thinking 
that we had had a glimpse at a little of 
the life of the other half, and it made me 
feel something more of charity for my 
fellow men. When you come to think of 
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