1160 
Dh RURAL NEW-YORKER 
September 6, 1924 
“ Supper Time” 
Part II. 
I think I have earned my supper along 
with the rest. On the west side of the 
hill is a field of about 400 trees which we 
plan to have in a solid block of McIntosh 
aipples. We had it nearly filled some 
years ago, but there came a very bad 
Winter, and the mice ruined most of the 
trees. We tried to save them, but failed. 
We have replanted, putting the apple 
trees 40 ft. apart, and filling in with El- 
berta peaches. Formerly I used Wealthy 
apples for fillers. No more. There are 
too many Wealthys on the market, and it 
is hard to get your courage up to the 
point of cutting down a good healthy tree. 
I have got to do that with several hun¬ 
dred trees soon, and though I do not like 
Wealthy I hate to cut a good tree. A 
poach tree will give us several crops and 
then very -conveniently die off and save 
the trouble of killing the tree. We have 
about 300 peach treew growing here. This 
Spring we plowed and fitted the land and 
seeded to oats and Alsike clover. The 
oats were only fair, but we cut them for 
hay. The clover has come in thick as a 
mat, but taking the oats out of the land 
has hurt the trees. They are of fair size, 
but not good color. So we went through 
the field and gave each tree a good dose 
of fertilizer, and my job today was to 
hoe a good-sized space around each tree. 
Of course we cannot plow or cultivate, as 
that would kill the clover, so all through 
the forenoon I swung my hoe and dug up 
a circular space some three feet in diam¬ 
eter around each tree. That works the 
fertilizer in, chops out the weeds, and 
gives the effect of cultivation. I hoed 
nearly 250 of them before dinner. Here¬ 
after our plan is to cut the clover several 
times each year, and let the clippings rot 
on the ground. The danger of that plan 
is—fire! In a dry season, if fire should 
work in, that dry clover will burn like 
paper, and the trees will be ruined. We 
avoid that, or try to, by plowing four or 
five furrows all around the orchard. Thus 
far this has given full protection, but it 
is possible for sparks to fly over and 
start tip the mulch. After dinner I re¬ 
membered that our breeding pen of Mar¬ 
shall strawberries needed attention. We 
think we have produced a superior strain 
of this variety, and we keep it in a patch 
by itself—calling it the breeding pen. 
Part of this pen was pretty old and well 
stocked with weeds, so we plowed most of it 
after picking and seeded to white turnips. 
A few rows were left for “seed,” but when 
I came to try to dig a few plants I find 
it very much like an old sod. The grass 
has run in with the weeds, and made it 
almost impossible for the young plants to 
root down. Under other conditions I 
would have plowed the whole thing right 
under and destroyed all record of our 
negligence. But we must have some of 
these plants, eo as I was chiefly respon¬ 
sible for the trouble, I felt it my duty to 
clean up the mess. I have been at it all 
the afternoon. The hoe was of little use 
in this tangle. I should have killed most 
of the young runners had I tried to chop 
up the grass and weeds. So I had to get 
down and pull the stuff with my fingers. 
I got most of it clear, and a pile of weeds 
and grass about a foot high followed me 
across the field. Now the runners can 
root into the soil, and we shall have our 
plants, but it seems to me that my fin¬ 
gers are about half an inch shorter than 
they were this morning. It was hungry 
work—I think I can stand another help¬ 
ing of beans. 
You must save a little room for straw¬ 
berries. It’s out of the usual season, I 
know, but doesn’t it add somewhat to the 
joy of life to make what was formerly 
considered impossible one of the common 
things of existence? We can pick four 
to five quarts of strawberries any day we 
want them. You can, if you like, have 
peaches, baked apple or blackberries, but 
our folks want berries with their beans. 
The aristocracy of August strawberries 
will give some class to the ordinary bean 
pot. There is cream, too, if you want it. 
I prefer milk, served in a bowl. The 
Alaskan Indian wants fish oil on his wild 
strawberries. He thinks your taste is 
just as depraved as you know his is. I 
picked these berries at the end of the day. 
It is a great satisfaction for one to 
crawl along between the rows and hunt 
for these red beauties among the thick 
foliage. Where can a man go for a bet¬ 
ter sermon on energy and service in 
what may be called the second bloom? 
Perhaps some of you have read the book 
by that name. The theory of it is that in 
most families there comes a time when 
the affections of man and wife cool or 
fade away. If this can be understood as 
a part of life and viewed with patience 
and self-restraint there will come finally 
a “second bloom” of affection, and life 
will be happier than ever. If, however, 
this condition i« met with a hateful,, 
cynical, critical attitude, there will be no 
second bloom, but rather a blighted plant. 
To my mind there is nothing finer than 
the family relations in a home where this 
second bloom has been permitted to de¬ 
velop, and it came to mind as I went 
through those “everbearing” strawberry 
rows. In June these plants were crowd¬ 
ed with berries. There was a heavier 
load of fruit than one could find on such 
varieties as Howard, Gandy, Chesapeake 
or any of the other June bearers. Many 
of these berries were small, but they 
were all there. After picking, the stand¬ 
ard old varieties quit for the year. They 
made me think of those men who stop 
working at 50 or 55. Sometimes they 
have made a fair “stake” and can afford 
to do as they please. In other cases they 
propose that their children or someone 
else shall provide for them. In either 
case they seem to me to throw aside the 
experience and judgment which the years 
should have given them as a gift to be 
handed on to the next generation. I think a 
man who does that fails in his duty as a 
citizen.' Now these “everbearing” straw¬ 
berries are different. After they deliv¬ 
ered their great load of fruit they took 
about one month for a vacation. I hoed 
and cultivated and weeded them without 
great faith, I admit. It did not seem pos¬ 
sible that, these plants could ever work 
again after the tremendous job they had 
finished. Yet, before long, I noticed 
blooms appearing here and there. There 
came more and more of them, until the 
rows were fairly white with flowers. The 
green berries slowly developed until now 
you may find flowers, green berries and 
those fully matured on the plants. There 
is every indication that this will continue 
right up to frost. Some of the-berries are 
small, but good for home use. Others 
are fully ae large as the average Howard. 
Twenty years ago, if one had told me 
of this I should have regarded it as a 
fairy tale ; yet here are the berries. Have 
another dish so as to make sure of them. 
How these comparatively small vines can 
do it mystifies me. The larger June 
bearers do their regular work in a more 
or less perfunctory manner, and then 
hold up their hands and strike until next, 
year. What peculiar function of life en¬ 
ables these smaller “everbearers” to go on 
and do double duty? I cannot answer. 
I have seen old men who thought their 
life work done suddenly come back into 
industry. One man in particular“retired” 
at about 70 and left his business in the 
hands of his sons. In a few years they 
ruined the business he had built up 
through 40 years of toil. The old man 
had settled himself for a study of history 
during his declining years, but at this 
failure he threw down his books, went 
back to work and made another small for¬ 
tune at 80! I once saw a boxer in the 
ring pounded and bruised so that he 
seemed incapable of getting on his feet. 
Suddenly it seemed as if he had tapped 
some hidden well of energy unknown to 
him before. He came like a madman and 
beat his opponent, who was comparative¬ 
ly fresh. How is it done? From the ever 
bearing strawberry to the elderly man who 
refuses to be put out of the game of life, 
but who works on just as long as he can 
be useful, what is the motive or human 
force which drives them on and will not 
let them quit? You will have to ask some 
older man about that, but I do wish some 
of these grumblers and quitters could live 
beside a good patch of these everbearers 
and get something of their spirit! 
Have another dish—plenty more where 
they came from. That one you have in 
your spoon is a Progressive. That one 
with the darker color is Superb. I do not 
know so much about the commercial side 
of September strawberries, though I think 
if one were near a big hotel or Fall re¬ 
sort there would be money in the busi¬ 
ness. Every well-regulated rural family 
ought to have a patch of these berries. It 
would give both service and sermon. 
What would you think of having berries 
from June till middle of October, with a 
little vacation through July? And then 
consider the religious effect upon the old¬ 
er members of the family. Would it not 
hasten that “second bloom” to be able to 
put strawberries and cream before father 
—at any meal? 
But we have finished the berries, and 
the girls want to clear the table. We 
must clear out if we would help them. 
You may feel like a game of tennis or 
croquet, or a walk over the hills, but, as 
for me, the front porch seems inviting, 
and I want to go a little further with 
that “Economic and Social History of 
New England,” which I am reading. It 
seems that in the earlier days of New 
England the medium of exchange was 
either corn or Indian wampum—the lat¬ 
ter being strings of small shells found 
mostly on Cape Cod. The chief export 
trade was in furs, and these were bought 
from the Indians with this wampum. The 
Indians raised large quantities of corn, 
but were so improvident that.they usually 
bought from the whites. It seems that 
one cause for King Philip’s war was finan¬ 
cial. Gold and silver came into the coun¬ 
try and drove out wampum as money. 
One reason for King Philip’s failure was 
the fact that the French would not ac¬ 
cept New England money in payment for 
guns and ammunition. Money always did 
make the mare go—'but here is a touch on 
my shoulder and a lady well aware of the 
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