Tire RURAL NEW-YORKER 
1033 
A Farm Woman’s Notes 
Days of Toil 
It is three weeks today since we began 
being the servitors of our strawberry 
patch. The acre of strawberry plants 
stretches from a point opposite the kitch¬ 
en door, parallel to the driveway, and 
down to the road in the front of the 
house. It is suggestive of a table set 
with two wine glasses, the two great 
elms which run out long thirsty roots 
that are admitted to be robbing the plants 
of food and drink, but which are too 
beautiful to cut. “You ought to get 
these trees out of here,” many a critic 
declares. “They are costing you five or 
ten dollars every year.” Daddy nods his 
head. 
“But it’s worth that to have them 
there,” murmurs the woman, thus brand¬ 
ing herself as uneconomical. “How could 
I bear to run those grand old trees 
through my kitchen stove? And besides 
they help me think out things!” 
Of course, in a way, the strawberry 
patch has been tended for the last year 
by Daddy and the man from Florida, but 
never before has the whole family waited 
upon its slightest whim, as now when 
berries are ripe. We walked all over it 
to get the first four quarts. Then by de¬ 
grees of 20 quarts, one crate, two crates 
and three crates at a picking, we have 
finally attained the peak of production 
which is about 60 crates at a picking. 
Fortunately for us, school was let out in 
time for picking. High school and gram¬ 
mar school are both represented in the 
berry patch, and a rare picking squad 
they are. They have learned the stem¬ 
picking method which is so necessary to 
the keeping qualities of a strawberry. 
“The berry that does not touch the hand” 
has a more tempting appearance than the 
fruit which is gathered in twos and threes 
and pressed together ever slightly in the 
hand, and will keep that appearance after 
the latter is hopeless as a selling proposi¬ 
tion.' Every care must be given the red 
ripe berry! 
No time now for dreaming over a 
pool of water lilies, even if the red one 
and the yellow one are just beginning to 
open blossoms. No time to visit the sheet 
of potato blossoms in the back fields 
every night, admiring the dainty spread 
of Alsike and Red clover in the hay lot 
along the way. The little birds in the 
nest outside Elsie’s window are grow¬ 
ing fatter and no one sees them. No 
time for the red head to learn to swing 
faster and higher under the big maple. 
No time for Marcus to sit in his mother’s 
lap and “lov’er” with tender moist 
caresses. For mother has to step right 
from the breakfast table into the berry 
patch. Elsie must wash the dishes while 
•Tane clears the breakfast table and 
brushes the tablecloth. And then both 
must come out and wait within call until 
someone needs them until 11 o’clock. 
Then Elsie starts the fire and peels pota¬ 
toes. At just a quarter to 12 it is, that 
mother comes in to mix the shortcake, 
heat over the ham, and see that every¬ 
thing is ready for dinner. Perkins hands 
Elsie a head of the new Boston lettuce, 
Jane nulls the hulls off a quart of berries 
and rinses them under the faucet, hur¬ 
ries to the big sugar bag in the corner for 
a cup of sugar, chops this into them. Now 
then, is everything on the table? Is the 
bread cut right? Do we need more but¬ 
ter? O fly and get it! Is this lettuce 
washed good? Well, take up the pota¬ 
toes and call Daddy! Thus we hurry, 
each at his own job, to meet the demands 
of the red ripe berry. Every quart is car¬ 
ried down the cellar drive and placed side 
by side on the cold concrete floor. The 
cooling makes them less tender, better 
prepared for the ordeal of packing and 
riding in a truck to the local grocery 
stores, where one daily delivery is made 
at noon. Everything above the require¬ 
ments of the noon delivery is held over 
night for the next morning, when a six 
o’clock delivery is made to the warehouse 
of a chain store system. We make 
obeisance to D. L. Hartman qf Florida, 
and hope that after a few years we 
will have half as good a selling system as 
the one he wrote in The R. N.-Y. 
The strawberry market has its own 
peculiar problems. Good prices, like 25 
or 30 cents a quart, do not last long. This 
year the slump came in the first part of 
the season. Since then the price of a 
quart of strawberries has been an un¬ 
certainty, depending greatly upon sales¬ 
manship. The longer distance a berry is 
carted, the less inviting its appearance. 
Unless the truckman is sure of his dis¬ 
tant market, he will save money as well 
as time and effort by finding a local out¬ 
let. This season has been a poor one 
for selling in a large public market. We 
have alwmys found better conditions here 
at home than those we read of in market 
reports. Fifteen cents seems to be the 
deadline that the canning housewives 
will not cross, according to the merchants, 
and when the oversupply drives down 
the price, the market is righted largely 
by the woman eanner, buying supplies of 
berries above her usual capacity because 
they are cheap. And there’s the comfort¬ 
ing thought for growers that the over- 
supply can last only as long as the berry, 
the matter of a day or two. 
The season is coming to an end. We 
have picked 6,500 quarts, with about 1,- 
000 yet in view. And now the hay needs 
cutting, the potatoes need dusting, there 
is cultivating to be done. The straw¬ 
berry picking is nearly over already, and 
although it has been good sport, we’re 
a bit thankful. How sweet to have time 
for little things ! Now’ for the visit of the 
Idaho uncle and cousin whom we have 
never seen, and which has narrowly es¬ 
caped happening in the rush season. Two 
weeks, we have, to get the hay in and 
cut the wheat, before the early potato 
harvest is upon us. The showers that 
wet us. through and drizzled from our 
chins in the berry patch were a god¬ 
send to the potatoes. 
“Those dear little birds have gone 
from their nest in the cedar,” laughs 
Elsie, “but there are some new frogs 
in the lily pool, and 12 lilies are open. 
Come and see!” 
And I go, knowing that it is a sure 
antidote for the tired feeling with “must 
hurry” complications, mbs. f. h. ungeb. 
Where Can He Get Credit? 
[Several writers have stated recently 
that any man who is trustworthy can ob¬ 
tain credit on land and buy a farm. This 
has called out a good many letters like 
the following. How is such a man to ob¬ 
tain suitable credit?] 
On page 893 H. R. P. says “Any young 
man who shows his ability to work and 
pay for a farm can get money on a mort¬ 
gage at 5 per cent. I would like to find 
the man who would loan me money on 
first mortgage at 6 per cent. Men and 
banks around here do not loan money on 
farms, but buy stocks, both good and bad. 
I have a farm of around 55 to 75 acres, 
facing the south ; fair buildings, and ap¬ 
ple, pear, plum and cherry trees, about 
125, and can set about 150 to 200 sap 
buckets, around 40 acres of woods and 
second-growth timber. I have tried to 
get $1,300 on the farm, stock and tools, 
for five years, and I have the right to cut 
the timber wood off to make more pasture 
and to turn half of the sale of the timber, 
after the saw bill is taken out, and one- 
half of the wood sold, on the first mort¬ 
gage. I have a lot of chestnuts that were 
alive two years ago, but are now dead and 
need cutting, but the man who holds the 
first mortgage now thinks I must get city 
prices on my wood and timber and fence 
posts, or not sell them. I want to build 
onto the house this Fall and onto the 
barn next year, doing the work myself, 
and getting most of the timber from the 
farm, but the chestnut is worth more for 
finishing timber than for rough work, and 
I have nice red oak. Ask anyone for a 
loan and they say, “Go to the Federal 
Land Bank,” and what chance has a poor 
man there? If a man has a farm on a 
good road, and worth $5,000 or $6,000, 
and wants $1,000 or $2,000 on it, he can 
get it, but, like me, he stands no chance. 
A neighbor of mine asked for a loan on 
his farm.to fix up his buildings and pay 
off a small mortgage. They told him he 
could have the money, but for fixing the 
buildings they would handle the money 
and bring a contractor and men from the 
city to do the work. He has two or 
three boys, all are handy with tools, and 
he could do his own repairs, but the Fed¬ 
eral Loan men would not have it that 
way, so he did not get the money. 
If I were a foreigner making moon¬ 
shine, and got in trouble and was about 
to lose my farm I could get all the money 
I want, as in the case of a foreigner about 
six weeks ago. The holder of the first 
mortgage sold him out and bid in the 
mortgage of $2,200 for $2,000. The bid¬ 
der told the foreigner that if he would 
bring him what he bid in the mortgage 
for and pay the cost within three days he 
could have the farm back. The foreigner 
went to an American business man and 
told him, and the business man told him 
he would let him have $2,500 or $2,800 
if he wanted it, and take first mortgage, 
and when the foreigner went to pay the 
bidder wanted $3,000 then, and the for¬ 
eigner would not buy. 
I wrote the business man next day and 
asked him for a $1,300 loan for five years, 
and I got one of the most hard-up stories 
you ever heard. The business man is rat¬ 
ed at $75,000 or $85,000, offering a for¬ 
eigner what he did, and I an American. 
C. E. A. 
The Jury is Out 
— in the Kitchen 
Every woman is on trial, when 
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in no one particular is she more 
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