986 
•The RURAL NEW-YORKER 
July 12, 1924 
I used to have an old horse named 
Jerry who was the best “companion in 
philosophy” I ever heard of. The old 
fellow had a spavin, both shoulders were 
stiff, his knees were sprung and about 
half the hair on his hide seemed to be 
growing the wrong way. I bought him 
from a man who desperately needed the 
few dollars charged for him, and I shall 
never forget how, at a word from his 
owner, old Jerry made a desperate effort 
to brace up and show himself a horse. 
For all I know his remote ancestor may 
have been the animal selected to give 
Mazeppa his free ride in Russia 215 years 
ago after his insurrection against Peter 
the Great failed. 
“Rring forth the horse 
The horse was brought 
In truth he was a noble steed 
A Tartar of the Ukraine breed 
Who looked as though the spirit of 
thought 
Were in his veins !” 
found peace and respect by digging out 
of depression instead of remaining buried 
under it. That is the sort of companion 
men turn to as they advance in years. 
The spirit of youth helps, but all the 
time we know that it is like the pot of 
gold at the end- of the rainbow. We can¬ 
not reach it. And so I liked to take old 
Jerry as a working companion rather 
than the colt. We made a good team. 
The horse was a perfect specimen of 
what we may call an old gentleman in 
hide. In view of the abuse and neglect 
which had long been his portion he 
might have been justified in playing the 
part of a sour, balking old kicker ; blund¬ 
ering on through the few remaining years, 
infesting the barn with bitterness rather 
than blessing it with good example. Old 
Jerry had sense enough to know that he 
never would be selected to make a mid¬ 
night run for the doctor in case the baby 
fell sick. No one wanted to drive in 
front of the church behind his shambling 
tists in this line, and if I succeed in 
conquering that field it must be done 
with a hoe. So here I am slashing at 
those weeds, trying to emulate the spirit 
of those who go forth to conquer with 
the sword. It is entirely safe to say that 
before I get to the end of the last row 
the weeds will be big and strong at the 
beginning. But I like the job. The hoe 
is a fine companion. Next Winter I 
think I will hang it on the wall of my 
library — right alongside my father’s 
sword. A hoe responds with almost hu¬ 
man feeling when you handle it proper¬ 
ly. Some people use a hoe like an ax, 
chopping at the ground with all their 
strength. That is bad for the hoe and 
for the hands and the human and does 
not kill the weeds. I want the edge of 
the hoe sharp as a knife. It’s good to 
carry a file in your pocket and run it 
over the edge now and then. A quick 
jerk or pull will slice off the weeds, and 
give good surface cultivation. What’s 
the use of hilling great mounds around 
every plant? Reave the surface level. 
Are not all of us forced to climb exceed¬ 
ing high mountains without piling up 
more of them? Old Jerry knew better 
than that! It may be all right for these 
They tied Mazeppa to the back of this 
horse “with many a thong” and then sent 
him off on the run. I did not quite rea¬ 
lize as I looked at Jerry that I was to 
be bound to him in a form of philosophy. 
Jerry did not look the part pictured in 
Byron’s poem, although abuse and years 
had made him something of a Tartar. In 
truth he was only a clumsy old plug, but 
at the call of duty he tried to forget his 
stiff and aching leg and gave his best 
imitation of a prancing colt. I did not 
really, need the old fellow, but after his 
poor imitation of youth he eased his stiff 
leg, looked at me for all the world like 
some philosopher glancing over his spec¬ 
tacles and actually shrugged his shoul¬ 
ders! I bought him for his philosophy. 
* * * * * 
He was the best horse for cultivating 
I ever saw. He seemed to have the true 
spirit of age. Other old-timers might pre¬ 
tend they could pass a colt on the road, or 
pull a great load out of the mud, or win 
some prize at a horse show but .Terry 
knew better. In order to secure his share 
of oats and hay and be counted a worthy 
horse he knew he must rise up above his 
years and do something better than other 
old horses ever could. You see a man or 
a horse will soon lose his place in the 
procession unless he can keep himself in 
the limelight in some way. Youth and 
beauty depend on the limelight to bring 
out their plumpness and bloom. It does- 
not make so much difference what their 
performance may be so long as they look 
the part. The years changed all that. 
In age the limelight will only bring out 
the wrinkles and the faded bloom. No 
rouge or bobbed hair effect will fool old 
time-—you must act the part if you ex¬ 
pect to hold your place. Jerry was one 
of those rare old-timers who seemed to 
know that. It was the foundation part 
of his philosophy. He studied the art of 
cultivating as an expert watch-maker 
studies a watch, or as an expert sales¬ 
man analyzes the psychology of his cus¬ 
tomers. That old horse knew more about 
botany than I do. He knew corn, po¬ 
tatoes and the other useful plants. You 
could hardly induce him to step on a 
hill. He could turn around at the end 
of a row with something like dignity. He 
invented the plan of swinging around 
so as to skip two rows on the “come¬ 
back” and thus work each row twice the 
same way. Experience taught the old 
fellow that with his clumsy feet he could 
not swing around and come back in the 
same row without damage to the crop so 
he began to swing around easily two rows 
away. The driver did his best to make 
Jerry perform according to orthodox 
rules, but the old horse persisted and 
finally convinced all of us that his way 
was best. Where he saw a spot of crab- 
grass ahead in the row he would put on 
more speed as if he knew that extra 
power was needed to rip those roots out. 
I am inclined to think that a blind man, 
or at least, one with very little vision, 
could have followed old Jerry through a 
cornfield and turned out effective work. 
* * * * * 
I came to have something like real af¬ 
fection for this clumsy and homely old 
horse. When life seemed a little rusty 
and dull, or when I wanted to think out 
some hard problem, I would put old 
Jerry on a cultivator and go to cultivat¬ 
ing corn in the weediest field I could find. 
Perhaps you have known such times. Some¬ 
how your debts and your troubles and 
your years all come crowding in upon 
you at once until the need of some re¬ 
lief of the spirit becomes overpowering 
You might go to the minister and talk 
with him, but most likely he would be 
busy with his sermon. Your wife prob¬ 
ably has cares which seem to her greater 
than yours. What you need most of all 
is some blunt, honest “failure” of a 
friend to walk over the hills with you 
or to sit on the hillside and watch the 
sunset and wonder what new worlds are 
reached through those glowing western 
skies! Your old friend doesn’t say much. 
He hasn’t very much to say. He has not 
found wealth or fame or the things which 
youth regards as success. But he has 
Berrang Ox-Auto with Radio Attachment 
One of the Old-time Stage Coaches 
and shuffling steps. What young man 
would take him for a buggy ride with 
his girl? These things were impossible. 
Many old men come to much the same 
point in family or social life, and they 
grieve and obstinately fret over it. Jerry 
accepted the situation cheerfully, but he 
made himself the best cultivating horse 
in the town, and thus, in his old age, won 
greater fame than he ever could have 
clone ou the track or in the show ring. So 
I used to chase old Jerry up and down 
the long rows, thankful for his example— 
hoping to learn the full secret of his 
philosophy. 
***** 
Now the old horse is gone. His hide 
made a good lap-robe which warms us 
physically, while his philosophy of life 
warms me mentally. His bones have 
driven a Baldwin apple tree into a tre¬ 
mendous growth! His mantle as a 
teacher of philosophy has fallen upon a 
hoe. My favorite job is to work in this 
year’s strawberry field. Everyone else on 
this farm seems to despise this job, and I 
cannot blame them. I evidently made a 
mistake in planting on this place. It is 
part of the land I bought last Winter, 
and I did not know how weedy and 
grassy it is. I know now. Great spots 
of quack grass have appeared and I will 
back some of the ragweeds and smart- 
weeds against anything in New Jersey. 
The land itself is all right, but there 
should have been at least one year of 
thoroughly clean culture before we plant¬ 
ed berries. I wish old Jerry were here 
to help in the cultivation. Broker and 
Tom mean well, but they are not ar¬ 
young people with an excess of energy to 
smash and chop with a hoe, but older 
folks may well economize on motion. As 
I go down the row cutting and slicing 
the weeds I regret that I am not more of 
a botanist. What interest I could de¬ 
velop over this great variety of weeds 
and grass if I could name them all and 
give their characteristics! I ought to 
have made a cabinet of weeds showing 
every one that grows on my farm—with 
a book of personal notes about them. I 
hear of a man who began to study Per¬ 
sian at 76. I never saw him, out as I 
keep my hoe going I glance off to the 
western sky and imagine that man must 
have looked something like old Jerry! 
The boys have gone in with the horses. 
It’s high time to quit—yet these weeds 
are daring me to keep on. There comes 
a car along the road with a great crowd 
aboard. Now you don’t catch me wan¬ 
dering aimlessly about the country when 
there are weeds to be killed! But the 
car has stopped beside me. 
“Come on ! Come on ! !” 
Half a dozen little hands are waving 
to me. It’s my car and the whole crowd 
has piled aboard. They have worked 
long enough. 
“Come on and have a ride !” 
“Where are you going?” 
“Oh just around —before supper !” 
“But look at my old clothes!” 
“We don’t care—you can sit behind, 
come on !’ ’ 
“Is Ma there?” 
“Sure she is—look at her!” 
I imagine old Jerry would have said— 
“Go along—you can kill weeds better for 
Hope Farm Notes 
a little ride”—and so I “piled in.” The 
car was designed for seven but there are 
nine of us in it as we go whirling off 
along the pleasant Jersey roads. I must 
treat the crowd to ice cream cones. My 
children are quite indignant when I say 
that is probably why they wanted me 
along! We had our ride, got the mail 
and “saw the country,” and then came 
back to baked beans and strawberries. 
After supper I went out and watched 
the sunset. Old Jerry probably would 
not have done that, but somehow I sleep 
better with that glorious view in mind. 
H. w. C. 
Mr. Berrang Starts 
Farming 
Today it is just a month since we have 
taken hold of this 43-acre ranch. Every 
farm out here is called a ranch, whether 
it is one, two or three acres, or 5,000. It 
is all the ranch. I have named this one 
the Faith, Hope and Charity Ranch, 
Faith in God, man and myself; hope ; n 
God, the weather man and Bear Creek, so 
it won’t go dry, and if I succeed in grow¬ 
ing a crop, if I don’t realize a profit on 
my efforts I’ll be charitable enough to 
pass the product along so others can eat 
and live, so in that way I will live a 
Christian life, even if I do go broke in 
the attempt. 
M e took hold of the place rather late 
in the season, May 12. Another person 
had leased the place and moved early in 
March, and from all appearances he evi¬ 
dently did not do the plowing at the right 
moment. There is not much precipita¬ 
tion in these parts; farmers depend on 
the TV inter snows on the high mountains 
to wet the soil in the Spring freshets, so 
when frost comes out there is but a short 
space of time before the soil dries and the 
sun bakes the ground so hard that a plow 
will not cut into it; will simply glide 
over the top. When Spring plowing sea¬ 
son is on the job must be done in a hurry 
or not at all. This farm, or ranch, bor¬ 
ders on Bear Creek, and carries the first 
pumping right. From this we get irriga¬ 
tion. My first job was to pump the water 
to an irrigation ditch on higher ground 
above the piece that was to be plowed. 
This required about four days of ditch 
digging to soak the land thoroughly. The 
pump is a centrifugal with a 4-in. suction 
and a 3%-in. discharge pipe, put in mo¬ 
tion with an eight-horsepower gas engine. 
After the soil was thoroughly saturated 
we were obliged to let it alone three to 
four days to become fit for plowing. I 
then put two teams and two plows to 
work, and immediately followed with a 
spike-tooth harrow. This must be done 
immediately to pulverize the soil. If the 
clumps are left exposed to the sun only a 
few hours they bake so hard it is almost 
impossible to break them; they become as 
hard as a brick. After harrowing, we 
immediately cut new trenches 6 ft. apart, 
and again wet the soil, then planted 1,600 
tomato plants 6 ft. apart each way. First 
I stretched a line on one side of the field 
at right angles to the trenches, then on 
a piece of binder twine I sewed knots 
6 ft. apart. This was stretched at right 
angles to the first line and transferred 
from one trench to the other, so one of 
the knots would fit to the line first drawn. 
At each knot a hole was made the depth 
of the spade and allowed to fill with 
water. Then the plants were set in and 
the hole filled with eartlj, letting the top 
extend 4 to 6 in. above the surface. After 
each row was filled with plants the water 
was turned in on the next trench. Out 
of the whole lot we were obliged to reset 
only about 50 plants. Some were eaten 
off, either by rabbits or squirrels, of 
which there are plenty. We put out 
poison bait to kill them off. The cut¬ 
worms took a few, and some were scalded 
by the tops leaning over in the water. 
The thermometer registered 102 degrees 
in the shade when these plants were be¬ 
ing set. We planted 1% acres of melons, 
one acre of potatoes, and acres sweet 
corn. Oats were seeded down by the 
previous tenant before we came. 
We are now finishing the picking of 
cherries; there are 20 trees. Although 
the late frost thinned them considerably, 
we have some fine cherries. The variety 
is Bing. I never saw a better looking 
cherry. They ripen a dark red and meas¬ 
ure 1}4 in. across, are somewhat heart- 
shaped, and taste good. j. c. berrang. 
