1082 
September 3, 1921 
The RURAL NEW-VORKER 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
I shall not tell where the hands on the 
clock stood as I got up and looked out of 
our east window. You would put me 
down at once as a very lazy farmer. So 
we will let that pass. This house stands 
in the beach sand. Right in front of us 
is a narrow stretch of coarse grass and 
low shrubs. The strong wind off the 
marsh was blowing freely, and this long 
grass seemed to glitter in the bright sun¬ 
shine as the breeze, tossed it about. A 
few hundred feet away the ocean heaved 
and muttered as it pounded on the sand 
bar. As far as the eye could reach the 
blue water stretched away—out to the 
distant edge where the sky seemed to dip 
into the sea. A light surf was breaking— 
the long white waves seemed to start far 
up the distant beach and go rolling and 
smashing into white spray—all along to 
the harbor entrance. Far out on the 
water a little black speck seemed to boh 
and twist about. The three boys are out 
there in a dory fishing. They were up 
shortly after daylight and went out with 
the tide pushing the boat over the sand 
bar and working out through the surf. 
If I could get them to conduct such a 
campaign at home against the weeds— 
what a farm we would have! I was out 
there yesterday with them, and rowed 
back against a head wind and an ebb 
tide. It looked to me like hard work for 
a few fish ; but I am long past the age 
when it is impossible to expend energy 
as fast as it is produced. There comes a 
hand organ mounted on wheels along the 
beach. A tough little hoise pulls the out¬ 
fit. There is a man to turn the crank and 
woman to pick up the money and add a 
little charm to the outfit. The man ought 
to know that this is not a popular hour to 
grind people out of sleep with such noises, 
but a troop of children chase him along 
the road. There is a sign on his cart: 
“Your future told for 10 cents!” and I 
succeed in getting my daughter to have 
her future marked out. So she comes out 
of the kitchen all expectant. The man 
first makes sure of his dime. Then the 
woman takes hold of the crank and the 
man goes to the front of the cart, where 
there is a green parrot in a cage. The 
man pulls out a little drawer and reveals 
a collection of folded, printed paper— 
white, red, green and blue. Then he 
opens the cage door, puts in a stick and 
the parrot hops upon it. The man holds 
him over the drawer full of papers. I 
am very sure that parrot had his eye on 
a red paper, but a sudden gust of wind 
threw him out of balance. He was no 
sea bird, so he fluttered his wings and 
snatched the first paper he could reach. 
It was a green one—very appropriately 
the color of the young woman’s college. 
We learn from it that if she will beware 
of a dark stranger she is to have a great 
fortune—money and friends and power! 
The children agree that the prospect is 
good, for she may treat us ail to other 
Summers on this beach. 
* * % Si= tis 
Rut here is Mother protesting against 
such foolishness and calling us to break¬ 
fast. The little girls started it, and we 
are all in at the finish. You may have 
your choice of two kinds of breakfast 
food or eornmeal mush. The mush suits 
me, eaten out of a deep bowl, with some 
of that 18-cent milk! The Pilgrim 
Fathers were a sturdy, long-lived race. 
You will still find here men and women of 
the old stock, SO and 00 years old, and 
still active and bright, and there cer¬ 
tainly is nothing balmy about this cli¬ 
mate. I think the rugged health of this 
race of salted Yankees traces back to 
their great-grandfathers and beyond. And 
no small proportion of that sturdy health 
is due to the flint eornmeal and milk 
which these old timers consumed so 
freely. Those were the days before white 
bread and “breakfast foods”—when mush 
and milk represented the tough hickory 
staff of life. So you may give me another 
bowl of that mush—even if it be neces¬ 
sary to buy another quart of that 18-cent 
milk. Then there is a dish of fried bacon. 
That seems to be the best meat food for 
this country. Last night my daughter 
made Parker House rolls with generous 
measure, and there are some left for us 
this morning. They are moistened a little 
and then re-baked until they are hot. 
There will not be a crumb left when we 
adjourn from the table. “Tell it in 
flowers!” is the good advice given by the 
florists’ trade. My daughter has a more 
substantial way of expressing the senti¬ 
ments of this hungry crowd: 
"Tell it in flour!” 
When breakfast was over we surely 
understood. I seemed to be the lazy mem¬ 
ber of the family after breakfast. The 
little girls cleaned up the table and 
washed the dishes, while Rose, with her 
small brush, swept down the stairs. 
Uncle George and I went down to the 
beach, where we could lie in the warm 
sand and look out over the ocean. The 
wind is freshening somewhat, and we can 
seen a few whitecaps out where that dory 
is tossing at anchor. The boys can all 
swim, and while a flat-bottomed dory 
looks frail enough, you must remember 
that some years ago an old sailor crossed 
the ocean in just such a little boat. So 
we are not worrying about these boys. 
With a spyglass we could see them at 
their fishing. They have a basket of 
clams for bait. With a stout knife you 
open the clam shell and scrape out the 
meat. They use a good-sized hook, with a 
heavy sinker. The point is to cover the 
hook well with clam and then lower it 
down until you feel it strike bottom. Then 
raise it about two feet—and wait. Where 
those boys are now the water is about 30 
feet deep. The Japanese boy sits in the 
bow of the boat. lie has a “bite.” With 
a quick jerk he has hooked some big, 
struggling thing, and, hand over hand, he 
pulls it up. It must be a 5-pound cod 
from the feel of it, but when it comes up 
over the side of the dory it is only a hid¬ 
eous "sculpin’’—a disgusting creature, 
probably a dwarf from the frightful forms 
of life which filled the ocean ages ago. 
The Japanese boy is a good sport; he 
will throw the seulpin overboard, put on a 
fresh clam and go after them again. 
Uncle George is pretty well tied to this 
beach, lie started in to go barefoot as 
he did 50 years ago. After you have 
worn shoes and stockings continuously for 
nearly 20,000 days, nature does not take 
very kindly to a combination of blistering 
sun and salt water. Sunseald has taken 
the skin off these feet and covered them 
with blotches and blisters. 
* * * * * 
T think I will walk down the beach to 
Green Harbor and get the mail, and also 
have a look at that reformed salt marsh. 
Back at the cottage I find Mother hang¬ 
ing clothes on the line. She has been 
scrubbing them over a washboard. Out 
on the porch sits my daughter, reading a 
book. Some years ago I told of a trip I 
made up into the country and at several 
places I saw the gra.v-haired mother out 
under a tree exercising over a wasbtub 
while the good-sized daughter sat on the 
porch reading poetry. I expressed my 
full opinion of such a performance; now, 
have my words come home to roost above 
my own door? It is not quite so bad as 
that, for I learn that Ma was washing a 
couple of my own garments, while her 
daughter is studying a cookbook, to make 
sure about that favorite bread pudding. 
The little girls go running down to the 
beach for a dip in the water. The beauty 
of this lazy life is that you do not need 
to hurry, and so I take my time walking 
up the beach. I can stop and look at 
jellyfish or crabs or some of the sea mon¬ 
sters which the tide has brought, in. It is 
getting rougher out where that dory is 
bobbing about, and the boys must pull in 
against the tide. Looking back I can see 
a farmer’s wagon in front of our house, 
with two figures out bragaining with him 
for vegetables. He has small ears of 
Golden Bantam corn at 40c per dozen. 
Down in this country people seem to 
think yellow vegetables and eggs are best. 
Tomatoes are two pounds for a quarter! 
I got a report from the farm yesterday, 
stating that tomatoes were so cheap on 
the Paterson market that it hardly paid 
to pick and carry them. Cucumbers, 
beets and all the rest are fairly “out of 
sight” here. A peck of potatoes cost 70 
cents, and there is a good demand for 
them at that price. The cottages here 
seem to be named, much as a man would 
name his boat, and 1 judge the men do 
most of the naming. While there are a 
few names like “Tumble Inn,” “Who 
Cares?” and “Take It Easy,” most of 
them are “Minnie,” “Mary J„” “Josie” 
and “Edith.” I never heard of a woman 
naming the cottage “John” or “Henry”; 
the man seems to do the house christen¬ 
ing. One place down here is named “The 
House that Jack Built.” 
* * * * S|s 
There is quite a little package of mail 
for us. This country is a poor place for 
sending letters, but it is good to get them. 
I am going on to look at that “reformed 
marsh.” About'50 years ago they built a 
dyke across ehe upper part of Green Har¬ 
bor so as to keep out the tide. I re¬ 
member that nearly half a century ago 
some local celebrity came to the Marsh¬ 
field fair and made some great statements 
about this land. He said he had just re¬ 
turned from Holland, where he saw such 
land saved from the ocean. I remember 
how he struck an attitude and said that 
50 years in the future this worthless salt 
land would be worth $500 an acre and 
eagerly sought for! I have learned how 
easy it is to tell what will happen in 50 
years. As a rule, most of your audience 
will not be on hand to check up your 
statements. Yet here I am—the boy who 
was deeply impressed by this orator—• 
walking out to see how much he knew. 
As you get away from the sand and salt 
water you find a peculiar quality of soil. 
It looks like a thin rind of dark colored 
loam over a bed of gravel. Y r et, poor as 
this soil is, some remarkable garden crops 
are grown. The berries and corn and 
potatoes are often very fine. There are 
patches of flint corn growing down to 
within a few rods of the salt marsh, mak¬ 
ing good-sized stalk and ear. This soil 
must be full of salt and I am very sure 
that such flint as we grow in New Jersey 
would not thrive here. It is not unlikely 
that these farmers have, without realizing 
it, developed a strain of corn which can 
endure a high percentage of salt in the 
soil. I would like to see some of this 
seed tried out in the Western alkali lands. 
But this “reformed marsh” needs many 
more years of reformation. I found the 
creeks and ditches still filled with salt 
water. On one or two higher points Al- 
sike clover had come in, and there was 
some tame grass in the marsh. A few 
cattle were pasturing there, but most of 
the growth was coarse and hard, and had 
not been touched by cattle. The general 
opinion among those who talked about it 
was that this attempt to “reform” the 
(Continued on page 1080) 
Frost.Insurance 
SI. 15 Per hour per acre 
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] 
THE STORY OF “LOUISE 
“There is one story in this book which is 
worth double the price of the entire book.” 
This is the opinion expressed by a business 
man who was in our office a week or more ago. 
He referred to the story of “Louise,” and 
said he considered it the greatest story he had 
ever had the pleasure of reading. 
You, too, will enjoy the story of “Louise,” 
as well as the 25 other stories of farm life which are contained 
in this book. All these stories are filled with the subtle humor, 
the sound philosophy and sympathetic understanding of human 
nature which has endeared the Hope Farm man to thousands of 
people all over the country. 
The book is well printed, cloth bound, and makes a most 
desirable present to a friend or to your Grange or town library. 
The price is $1.50 a copy, postpaid. Just fill out the coupon below 
and enclose with check or money order. 
RURAL NEW-YORKER, 333 West 30th St., New York 
Gentlemen—Enclosed find remittance of ,$1.50 for which send me 
postpaid a copy of “Hope Farm Notes.” 
Name. 
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