1380 
lbt RURAL NEW-YORKER 
August 2S, 1920 
Pastoral Parson and His Country Folks 
By Rev. George B. Gilbert 
Do It Yourselves. —That slogan of 
TriE R. N.-Y., that if the farmers are 
to be helped they have got to do it them¬ 
selves, has sort of got to ringing in the 
Parson’s ears. More and more he thinks 
there may be something to it. In short, 
there is everything to it. And it has got 
to he real farmers that do it, too. Gan 
the man who has retired from the. city 
with a fortune, and who goes out to farm 
it for a fad, show the others how to do 
it? Can a man who makes barrels of 
money from a factory, and who goes to 
farming to show how food should be pro¬ 
duced cheaper so they can keep the pay of 
the help down, can lie solve the farmers’ 
problems? The Parson makes about half 
his living from the work of the ministry 
and the other from his farm. And from 
that fact he is in no position to show the 
farmers how, either. 
The Small Farm. —Some of us in the 
Farm Bureau here have been trying to 
find out if a small farm can really be 
made to pay, especially if a good way 
from town and a market. Can a one- 
horse farm pay, speaking literally? The 
decision arrived at by the Farm Bureau 
Agent seems to be that a small family can 
make a living if the women folks and 
children take care of the poultry and do 
farm work besides. But a woman can’t 
be in the hay field and the kitchen the 
same time. Things are not right when 
a woman has to work out of doors, to the 
neglec.t of the house or the undermining 
of her health. Such a condition is not 
permanent, and ought to be the subject 
of study and real concern. Are a vast 
number of the farms of Connecticut de¬ 
stined to be abandoned as real homes, 
and to be used as pastures for beef cattle? 
Unless something looms up on the horizon 
that the Parson has not yet spied, the 
situation seems to he just about that. 
The big families on the Lonely Road used 
to get on by means of the charcoal and 
wood business, and now that the specu¬ 
lator and the portable sawmill have put 
an end to all this, there is nothing for 
the men folks to do in the Winter, and 
that means that there is nothing for them 
to do but to get work away from the 
farm. This ultimately means leaving the 
farm. 
Same Principle. —How many things 
there are that we have always thought 
we had got to hire someone to do. Now 
that help cannot be had, neople do these 
things themselves. One boy has just 
come in with a pane of glass and a round 
piece of pasteboard, and declares we can 
cut out a lens for the auto light. He 
says he saw a glasscutter do it one day. 
Most everyone around hers has been pay¬ 
ing $2.50 for a set of so-called “legal” 
lenses. With a 20-cent glass cutter 
George and the Parson have succeeded 
in cutting out a round lens, and Shelley 
is now applying about a cenffe worth 
of black paint to the top of the glass in 
the shape of a crescent. As the piece of 
glass used was a broken window pane, it 
can readily be seen that the expense is 
not great. 
Saving on Oil. —The Parson was 
about to say “the boys” have been saving 
on oil. As a matter of fact, the boys 
had nothing to do with it; but what is so 
handy as a boy on the farm? You can 
lay everything to him that goes wrong, 
and nothing that goes right. On long 
trips with the car we often take extra oil 
along in discarded maple syrup cans. 
We buy a barrel at a time, but this 
would be more than even a Ford car 
would use on one trip, thought not much. 
So about 15 miles down county the other 
morning, in a great rush to get at a morn¬ 
ing service, and not be more than half 
an hour late, the Parson decided he would 
feed the Daredevil engine lubricant. He 
seized the can and poured in about a 
quart. It didn’t look like oil. It.couldn’t 
be maple syrup. He sniffed at it again. 
Then he looked at the can. It was floor 
varnish he had bought at $5.50 per for the 
hardwood floors. Well, sir, good gaso¬ 
line has its fumes and odors, but when 
it came to trail of perfumery that car 
left in its wake, there was no comparison. 
A couple of cops of the State motor cycle 
force bore down upon us, but we had 
no fears—they held their noses and shot 
by. It must have polished up the cylin¬ 
ders great, for she ran like a bird, and 
when the transmission bands took hold 
it was like the death grip of a victim of 
drowning. 
Dog Days. —Sister has just been in to 
say the thermometer is 90 on the north 
side of the house, which brought forth 
a universal shout from the boys that the 
water must be fine. So they have gone 
off swimming, after much lamenting that 
the Parson could not go with them. It 
does make the afternoons short! Too 
hot to work after dinner, and then just 
right for a game of croquet, and by that 
time cool enough for a swim, and then 
time to get the old cow down and settle 
the point which one of three is going to 
milk her. To read the cow books, one 
would suppose a cow would become a 
Sahara in a week if she was not milked 
by the same person. This cow gives more 
now than she has any business to, con¬ 
sidering what she doesn’t have to eat, 
and if Sit could only learn how it would 
make five different milkers, and she would 
undoubtedly make a State record. Mrs. 
Parson once attempted to milk when we 
were all away, but, having landed on the 
wrong side of the cow, the results were 
‘way beyond expectations. Then, too, 
you must milk a cow at precisely the same 
time of day. Of course, this is right, but 
the Parson never would worry the whole 
family into a fit to get home from a trip 
just such a minute. This is generally an 
excuse to get the women folks off just as 
they are getting in a little good visiting. 
The Parson has great sympathy with the 
fellow who refused to be private secretary 
to a hen. When it comes to the question 
of milking or swimming, the old cow can 
chew her cud a little longer. 
After Haying. —How many after- 
haying fishing trips have been promised 
and never carrietf out? But we really 
got off this year, and a great trip we had. 
An old friend of the Parson’s used to 
say that it took one day to get ready, one 
day to go, and two to get over it. We 
slept out in a tent, and though it poured 
all night, we were dry and comfortable. 
It was foggy and misty in the early morn¬ 
ing—just right for the sport. George sat 
on the back seat of the boat with his 
bare feet in the water and a pole in his 
hand. We did no still fishing, but rowed 
about the.pond with long trolls out behind 
and artificial bait. How excited the boys 
got when the fish began to bite, and how 
Clossie’s eyes snapped when he pulled in 
the biggest fish of the lot—a very fine 
pickerel. The Parson rowed the boat 
and showed them how to land fish without 
losing them. We were on the pond a 
little over three hours, and had nine black 
bass and seven perch and the big pickerel 
to our credit. Of course, - on the way 
home we planned to go again right away 
soon; in fact, we were goiiig every few 
days all the rest of the Summer. This 
was three weeks ago, and we have never 
been since. 
A Couple Once More. —It did seem 
queer—the Parson and Mrs. Parson go¬ 
ing over to Storrs College for a day of 
farmers’ week, and not a single baby 
along. It was the first time in 10 years 
that we had been off over night—'just 
a couple once more. How many times 
Mrs. Parson gave up going and then was 
persuaded to go, and then gave it up again 
will never be known. Little Charl&ie was 
the sweetest thing that ever lived about 
it all. It was talked over with him dur¬ 
ing the day that he would sleep with 
“Lally” (Shelley) that night, and that 
Lally would “by-baby.” And though he 
missed his mamma terribly, he had only 
a little crying spell when he was so tired, 
and let Lally rock him to sleep. Poor 
Georgie had the ill-luck to step on a nail 
that went through his shoe and far into 
his foot, and though it was properly seen 
to and did not ache at all, he wept bit¬ 
terly because he wanted mamma. Then 
at last, when we did get home the follow¬ 
ing evening, it was to learn that the boys 
in attempting to tighten the brake of tin* 
car had dropped a bicycle wrench into the 
transmission. This was a bit discourag¬ 
ing! It was no mean job to get it out, 
and spoiled a whole day for anything else. 
The Ford book says to tie a string to a 
wrench when you are working over these 
transmission bands—and mighty good ad¬ 
vice it is. 
Aunt Dinah’s Party.— The name 
given to the Parson’s address was “Aunt 
Dinah’s Party,” and there certainly were 
more people to this party than Aunt Dinah 
ever had. They were good listeners, too, 
and the Parson had a glorious time. “It 
is all very well to sing about seeing Nellie 
home, but what’s a feller on the Lonely 
Road going to see Nellie home from?” 
“The State can teach all the farming 
that’s known, and you can have boys’ and 
girls’ clubs the length and breadth of the 
land, but if there’s nothing doing down 
on Geller’s Corners, the boys and gilds 
will not stay there.” After the Parson’s 
trifling remarks, we pulled off a real old- 
fashioned party, and a great time every¬ 
body seemed to have. 
Old Friends. —Perhaps the pleasantest 
part of it all was the number of Rural 
New-Yorker friends who came up to 
speak to the Parson and Mrs. Parson. 
One couple had come from ’way up in 
Massachusetts on purpose to hear and see. 
One man subscribes to the paper for his 
minister, and has it come to him, in 
hopes ! _ Let the good work go on. These 
country ministers have got to be stirred 
up a bit—no doubt about that. One 
such parson tells him that that F. P. 
combination haunts him from house, to 
house. This man is one of our kind, 
however, and his flock will have to let 
up on him. 
Cooled Them Off. —It was terribly 
hot last Sunday night, and the Parson 
was having service 'way down county. 
We were to have evening prayer, with a 
talk, and then some Bible pictures. By 
the time the first part was over everyone 
was nearly melted. “There will be sort 
of an intermission between these two 
services,” said the Parson, “and we will 
step out on the lawn to get cooled off.” 
Then the Parson headed two boys toward 
the old car. It didn’t take long to pass 
around that couple of gallons of ice cream 
in cones. Who says boys aren’t willing to 
help about church work ! Then we went 
again and had the pictures. 
How It Worked. —The Parson stayed 
in that town all night, and was going 
along the street the next morning, when 
he heard someone running after him. It 
was a very prominent man of that place. 
“My kid had a glorious time last night,” 
he cried. “A perfectly glorious time. I 
haven’t paid my subscription to that 
church yet. Can you come over into my 
office in a few minutes?” The Parson 
stepped over, and there was a check for 
$25. Of course, it works both ways. 
One woman who deals in mint, anise and 
cummin objected to the boys turning 
somersaults on the church lawn. She 
said it was holy ground. This woman 
has yet to learn that such holiness as 
there is in that rather ledgy piece of 
earth is due to the fact that God’s boys 
have rolled about and enjoyed themselves 
upon it, and that His girls have run and 
played among the bushes. 
Old Home Day.—H ave you had an 
Old Home Day yet in your church? If not. 
why not? And if you have it, don’t let 
it be just because you expect a big col¬ 
lection. You can’t run a Christian 
church with a dollar mark on the first 
flag, nor has the Parson been able to find 
where it says: “Go ye into all the world 
and collect a dollar from every creature.” 
If the Interchurch World Movement had 
brought out its report on the steel strike 
and let money matters alone, it would 
have justified its existence. “We are 
getting along fine. We took in $22 last 
Sunday and $18 the Sunday before, and 
$20 the Sunday before that.” said a min¬ 
ister’s wife to the Parson this very week. 
That church is headed for the rocks. It 
will land where the Intercliurch Move¬ 
ment did. When you have your Old 
Home Day, the renewal of old associa¬ 
tions, the family spirit of eating together 
round about the church lawn, the singing 
of hymns togethei\ and sitting again in 
the old pew, where you sat as a boy, and 
thinking of the good things you heard 
there, the extent of these things will 
measure the greatness and success of the 
day. 
Where TnE Holler Comes In.—O f 
course, some people lay stress on one 
thing, and some another, but the great 
stress that overtops it all is that which 
is laid on the welfare and happiness of 
God’s people and His children. “My papa 
says you papa preaches the same sermon 
more than once, and he never does that,” 
said one minister’s little girl to another. 
“I don’t care if my papa does,” retorted 
the other girl; “he always hollers in dif¬ 
ferent places.” Let the churches all be¬ 
gin to holler on the side of those that are 
in need, and those that have been helped 
begin to holler for the churches. 
How Farms Run Themselves 
Hello, thcx-e! I’d like to speak with 
somebody who is familiar with the region 
that we in Onondaga County call the 
West Turnpike. Good! I’m glad you 
think so well of that dear oF neighbor¬ 
hood. We call it unsurpassed in Central 
New Yoi’k as to thrift and elegance in 
farming. Perhaps there are other sec¬ 
tions along the Genesee road all the way 
from Rochester to Utica that are equally 
impressive, but we have come to regard 
that portion from Syracuse to Camillas 
as nearly Eden itself. I have known the 
locality from eax-ly childhood, and have 
generally stood in awe of so much per¬ 
fection. I never in those early days 
dreamed that I could come to * be on 
speaking terms with a race of beings who 
inhabited and created and owned so per¬ 
fect a piece of earthly elegance. As you 
drive past those beautiful faimxhouses 
you never realize that those people have 
severe times like the rest of us, and are 
subject to the same annoyances and hard¬ 
ships. Somehow it has always seemed to 
me that those farms took cai’e of them¬ 
selves. and the lawns and gardens never 
needed any attention; for x’eally, in all 
my driving past I cannot recall ever hav¬ 
ing seen anybody running a lawn mower 
or painting a house or planting any of 
those splendid trees. Haven’t you had 
the same feeling about some of the star 
places that have attx*acted your attention? 
And the people themselves, when you 
meet them in parlors or in assemblies, 
have a bearing of such ease and dignity! 
One evening this season I had the 
pleasure of sitting in one of those great 
turnpike orchards with 20 friends to take 
supper and spend a couple of hours so¬ 
cially. There was a great pile of trim¬ 
mings fi*om the apple trees for a bonfire. 
Tables and seats were quickly constructed 
from planks and potato crates. Every¬ 
thing was done so aptly that one might 
think it was the regular custom of the 
neighborhood to eat in the orchard. I 
will not attempt to describe the evening, 
except just to remark that it was apple¬ 
blooming time, with a charming half¬ 
moon in the sky and some capital voices 
among the twenty. When it was all over 
our host insisted on taking some of us 
home in his automobile. It was my priv¬ 
ilege to sit with the driver, and thus I 
learned the other side of that, life that 
appeared so smooth and automatic. My 
friend had that morning harrowed and 
mai-ked 2*4 acres for coni and in the 
afternoon had planted it, using the hand 
planter. His feet became so heated along 
at the last that he stood in the brook to 
cool and rest them. Then came the chores 
and the preparations for the company. 
One dav early in the month he plowed 
5% acres, using a three-horse team and 
working 17 hours. By that time I had 
concluded that our turnpike Eden is not 
self-operating. This particular farm of 
50 acres is this year handled entirely 
without hilled help by its proprietor, and 
to give himself a little supplemental oe- 
oceupation he works 20 acres of a neigh¬ 
bor's farm. 
Profiteering? Greed? Heroism? Fix 
your own designations of this farmer’s 
attitude and achievements. To me it 
seems almost sublime that we have such 
examples of devotion to life’s fixed duties, 
and such citizenship and such culture and 
such joy grouped ajxout the toilsome busi¬ 
ness of making the acres feed the world. 
‘Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, 
Onward through life we go.” 
JOHN T. ROBERTS. 
“Mother, wasn’t that a funny dream I 
had last night?” said a little boy who was 
busily engaged with his breakfast cereal. 
“Why, I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Ins 
mother. “I haven’t the slightest idea 
what your dream was about.” ‘Why. 
mother, of course, yoxi know!” said the 
boy, reproachfully. “You were in it. 
Credit Lost. 
