The RURAL NEW-YORKER 
May 24, 1924 
814 
Hope Farm Notes 
A May Day 
Part II 
The potatoes are planted, and I will 
take my hoe and work in this year’s fruit¬ 
ing strawberries. They have been culti¬ 
vated, but some chiekweed has crawled 
into the rows. A friendly Red hen with 
her six chickens comes out to visit with 
me, and the big Black Giant rooster 
makes his feet useful in tearing but 
worms in the asparagus patch. We have 
changed our plan of farming this year. 
The big orchard on the hill has been 
seeded to oats and Alsike clover. I thought 
you said it does not pay to raise oats in 
New Jersey? I still think the grain 
would be grown at a loss, but these oats 
are to be cut for hay. They give us 
something while the Alsike is coming 
along. I want to stop growing crope on 
the hill. After this year I want it fixed 
so that nothing but apples will ever be 
taken out of that orchard. All the clover 
and grass will be cut and left on the 
ground. We have given up sweet corn, 
tomatoes, garden truck and potatoes as 
market crops. They have rarely if ever 
paid us any profit over labor, fertilizer 
and rent of land. I am convinced that 
other sections can produce these crops to 
better advantage than we can, and I 
think it a principle of modern farming to 
find new crops when our old ones fail to 
pay a profit. For some years now I have 
been obliged to buy quite a little hay and 
grain. I now intend to cut that expense 
out by raising more corn and fodder and 
concentrating labor and time on the fruit. 
Twenty years ago, when we first came to 
this farm, my figures indicated a profit 
in growing sweet corn and using some of 
the money to buy Western corn and other 
feed. Now figures show that this does 
not pay. Other sections can put sweet 
corn into our market cheaper than we 
can raise it, while Western corn is higher 
in price. We have all got to realize that 
conditions have changed and we must re¬ 
arrange our plans and adapt our methods 
to new conditions. I am convinced that 
an hour’s labor in strawberries or aspara¬ 
gus plants will pay three times as well as 
an hour spent in growing potatoes on our 
small and rough fields. So I shall raise 
only enough potatoes for home use. I 
think I can earn more with this sharp 
hoe among these strawberry plants than 
I could with a plow raising potatoes or 
sweet corn. But here comes the girl to 
tell me Mother is about to start off on her 
trip as amateur detective. Last week 
this amiable lady had the misfortune to 
lose her watch in Paterson. It wasn’t of 
such tremendous financial value, but it 
was given by her husband and daughter as 
a Christmas present, and that’s different. 
She has advertised in the Paterson pa¬ 
pers with no results, and now she is go¬ 
ing to interview the police and visit the 
pawnshops in the hope that someone has 
tried to realize on it. I imagine the case 
has already been melted up, but I always 
did admire a pei’sistent searcher, and off 
she goes for her first visit to “your 
uncle” the pawnbroker. Rene has fin¬ 
ished that strawberry field and brings 
back the horses to fit our potato ground. 
We shall plant this year between the 
rows of the young vineyard. For din¬ 
ner we had a piece of baked Hamburg 
steak, potatoes, stewed tomatoes, bread 
and milk and a jar of preserved Kieffer 
pears. Take it raw and you will be 
stumped to find any fruit less satisfactory 
than Kieffer, yet when well preserved 
there is nothing more satisfactory to my 
taste. 
* * * * * 
After dinner we made a new disposi¬ 
tion of labor. Philip started to mark out 
that strawberry field. Word came that 
the feed is at the station and must be 
hauled home at once. So Ilene started 
with the wagon to get it. We buy 
through a co-operative association, and 
as there is no storage house we must take 
it from the car at once. The girl is to 
help me plant, strawberries, but first she 
must clean up the table and wash tne 
dishes. I have the easiest farm job of all 
while I wait for her—reading Herbert 
Quick’s new book, “The Real Trouble 
With the Farmers.” Perhaps you will 
say that one trouble with the farmers is 
that they spend too much time reading 
when they should be at work, or that 
they do not read enough. At any rate 
Mr. Quick’s book should be read slowly 
and carefully, and I hope to discuss it a 
little later. I got as far as the chapter 
on “The Vampire of the Farmer” when 
the dishwasher finished, and we were 
ready for the job before I learned just 
what this vampire is. My opinion is that 
there are several vampires. The first 
step in our job was to mark the field in 
straight lines 4 ft. apart. There is some 
argument about the proper distance apart 
to run the rows. I think it depends 
much on the variety. A weak plant- 
maker like Marshall might do well 3 ft. 
apart. I once saw a young orchard 
where plants were set 6 ft. apart each 
way and thorough culture was given. In 
September the ground was well covered 
with runners. As an average for most 
varieties I plant in rows 4 ft. apart and 
about 2 ft. in the row. On good soil and 
with clean culture this will mean good 
matted rows, and many runners must be 
cut off or dug out at that. We put our 
plants right in the brook or soaked them 
in moss. I have seen people start out in 
the bright sunshine and drop 50 or more 
plants ahead of the planters—letting 
them lie right on the hot soil. A very- 
poor plan. The roots should be exposed 
just as little as possible. The girl car¬ 
ried 50 wet plants to start with, and 
stood on my left side. I drove a spade 
down into the ground with my right foot 
and pushed ahead on the handle, thus 
opening a hole in the ground about 3 ip. 
The girl quickly slipped a plant in behind 
the spade, giving it a twist or two tp 
spread its roots out, the crown of the 
plant just at the surface. Then just at 
the right instant I pulled the spade quick¬ 
ly out, giving it a little jerk and twist so 
that the dirt fell back upon the roots of 
the plant. As we stepped forward I put 
my right foot against the plant, while 
the girl pressed on the other side with 
her left foot, thus firming the soil around 
the plant. If the root had not been 
fully covered we kicked a little soil 
around it with the same motion as used 
in firming, and stepped on to the next 
plant. In this way the roots are put 
straight down and well spread out, and 
are well firmed in the soil. After a few 
trials both spader and planter get the 
exact motion and can keep it up without 
great trouble. We do not pretend to be 
champions, and have no desire to chal¬ 
lenge any other pair, but we can put in 
400 plants in an hour, and not hurry. And 
such plants are “put in” with roots 
straight down in the soil, no pinching at 
the top or roots exposed. 
♦ * * * * 
We soon got into our stride and trav¬ 
eled like a machine up and down the 
field. I used to get down on my knees 
and crawl along the row, but that’s too 
much for my back. I prefer to stand up 
with the spade. As for the girl, I tell 
her that no one has any back, or at least 
any real evidence that they have one, un¬ 
til they are 55. 1 find she isn’t so sure 
of that after dropping about 1,000 plants. 
But at any rate a young back is better 
than an old one at dropping. We do not 
hurry. This field is right next to the 
road. That’s one reason why we want to 
have it right, for, say what you will, we 
all have something of the spirit of the 
Scribes and Pharisees, and like to make 
the front of the farm shine and let the 
weeds and the poor crops occupy the back 
fields. I shall try to have this field cul¬ 
tivated at least 10 times and hoed three 
times this Summer. Probably that third 
hoeing will make the boys groan a little, 
but they know what it will mean the fol¬ 
lowing year. There goes a car along the 
road. On the back seat is a man of about 
my age. He looks rich, but he is fat and 
soft, and there are puffy rolls under his 
eyes. He sits down too much. He ought 
to sell that car and walk, giving the 
money to educate some young fellow who 
would make good use of the education. 
The puffy old fellow looks pityingly at 
me. He feels sorry that I have to work 
in the dirt for a living. And here I am, 
with a great pity for him. llis arteries 
are hardening, the fat is gathering around 
his heart, his puffy hand is softer than a 
woman’s. 1 presume his name at the 
bottom of a check would be good for five 
figures or more, but the poor thing has no 
idea of the joy of labor or the glory of 
conquering dirt. We put these plants in 
the soil and watch over them, and protect 
and guide them until, out of this soil, we 
bring the most beautiful and fragrant 
fruit that man may know. Our fat 
friend no doubt thinks he can hire some 
other man to produce the fruit for him. 
No doubt he thinks he could hire me to 
sweat and toil in the dirt and grow straw¬ 
berries for him. He cannot see that if I 
worked for him and grew that beautiful 
fruit the glory and joy of producing it 
would bring an emotion which he is in¬ 
capable of even understanding. I would 
like to make him drop about 500 plants 
for me. There comes a group of girl 
scouts out for a “hike.” 
* * * * * 
They sit on the bridge over our little 
brook and watch us. 1 imagine that, 
like the fat man, they feel rather sorry 
for my girl—-dropping strawberry plants 
in the dirt, while they go tramping aim¬ 
lessly about in clean clothes. The girl is 
not worrying. She will be paid for her 
work, and I think all our children have a 
little of the understanding of labor. At 
least they all realize that whatever future 
they are to have will represent work. 
They must dig it out themselves. I know 
people who say it is wrong to make chil¬ 
dren even think about work. Let them 
play undisturbed all through their youth ! 
The argument is that if they are broughr 
up to work they will regard the future as 
a sort of penance—a long sentence to 
hard labor! What’s the use of arguing 
with such folks? I know some of those 
play merchants now. They are full- 
grown. They never were taught to work, 
and now all they are good for is borrow¬ 
ing money—which they never expect to 
repay. As I push my spade into the 
ground I wonder who is to do the real 
work of the future. Who will raise our 
food? We cannot all have “white-collar” 
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