1214 
The RURAL NEW.YORKER 
September 20, 1924 
Hope Farm Notes 
I believe that thousands, yes, millions 
of living things, plant, animal, human, 
suffer and die through an inability to make 
their wants known. They cannot com¬ 
mand the language which will make 
others understand. Some of us who think 
we are educated are really pitifully weak 
in our power to comprehend what our 
companions are trying to tell us. I 
knew a woman who grieved over her 
peach tree. Now that tree did its best 
to tell her that borers were eating its 
life away. It threw out great masses of 
gum at the base of the trunk, dropped 
its yellow leaves, did everything a tree 
could to show that the trouble lay at its 
roots. The woman could not understand. 
She sprayed the tree with lime-sulphur 
and what not, dug around it, fertilized it, 
pruned—did all the things which are 
commonly advised, yet the tree died when 
five minutes of digging out borers would 
have saved it. That incident is typical 
of thousands of cases where life and 
happiness are sacrificed through a failure 
to understand the common language of 
life. Too many of us spend our time 
studying the uncommon or artificial 
languages without considering the natural 
language of common things. The most 
successful farmer or lawyer or doctor or 
teacher is he who can master this com¬ 
mon language and understand the hidden 
appeal which his plants or animals or 
clients or patients make to him. 
* * * * « 
I remember an incident in Colorado 
years ago, when I worked as a herder, on 
a dairv ranch. A woman living in one 
of those lonely little sod houses had 
grown a house plant in an empty tub. 
I do not know what the plant was, but it 
grew famously and as Winter came on 
it gave promise of blooming. There are 
very few women who read this who can 
ever realize what that plant meant to the 
lonely woman in that rough little shack. 
In these days of radio and telephone and 
car, who can even imagine what it must 
have meant to a delicate, sensitive 
woman to spend the long Winter in a 
two-room hut, miles from any other 
woman, without any of the modern con¬ 
veniences. This woman had no children, 
and her husband was awaR most of the 
day. Even when he was there his mind 
was <so taken up with sheep and cattle 
that he could not understand the trouble 
which his wife tried to express. You may 
perhaps imagine what this plant meant 
to that lonely woman. It was like a 
child to her. She looked forward to its 
blooming much as a mother looked ahead 
to the growth of character and intelli¬ 
gence in her children. I could tell you 
some sad tragedies of woman’s life in 
these lonely places. There was one case 
where a woman had a canary bird as 
companion. Her nearest neighbor lived 
miles away across the prairie. All day 
long, and ‘mostly through the night, she 
heard the bleating of the sheep and the 
crying of thirsty cattle as they wandered 
about for a bite of dead grass. Some¬ 
times these wretched creatures would 
crowd up close to the house at night and 
stand there bellowing as though they 
felt that somehow these humans could 
understand their suffering. About the 
only brightness in the life of that woman 
was little Dick, the tiny canary. He 
hung in his cage where the Winter sun¬ 
shine poured in through the window, and 
he just filled that little house with song, 
lie would put his little head back and 
trill out his bright little notes until even 
the discouraged husband facing mortgage 
and loss and a two-per-cent-a-montli 
debt would smile and think of brighter 
things. As for the woman, I cannot tell 
you—no one can tell what that little 
canary meant to her. Winter is coming 
now, soon it will shut the feeble and the 
sick indoors. Of course we know that 
Spring will come again, yet, with all our 
modern aids to companionship, there are 
some lonely days ahead, and we can half 
imagine what that little bird meant to 
the woman in the sod house. One Win¬ 
ter’s day the house seemed more of a 
prison than usual, so she put on her coat 
and wandered through the bright sun 
shine off over the rolling prairie—no¬ 
where in particular, just to walk and 
let the sun and wind take some of the 
depression away. Upon a little roll of 
ground she stopped and looked about her. 
Below he- lay the little group of rude 
buildings which they called home. It was 
rough and crude—just a poor little be¬ 
ginning. She thought of little golden 
Dick—far from his home and mates—far 
away in a strange ill-fitting land, yet 
poring out his little heart in song for 
the very joy of life in the sunshine. A 
great peace came to that woman’s heart 
at the thought. This, after all. was home. 
It was the beginning. It would grow 
better and larger and richer as the years 
went by. It meant trouble and privation 
for a few years, but after that comfort 
and independence. And she went back 
to her home with a great peace in her 
heart, blessing the little golden comforter 
singing in his swinging cage. But as she 
neared the house she realized that Dick 
was not singing and a sudden chill 
passed over her heart. As she reached 
the door a big gray cat leaped through 
a hole by the window and ran off over 
the prairie. The cage door was open 
and only a little heap of blood-stained 
yellow feathers lay on the table under 
the cage. Dick was dead. The little 
golden singw would never again fill the 
house with happy music. This wretched, 
half-wild cat had killed the little com¬ 
panion ! Just for the savage joy of eat¬ 
ing a mouthful of meat this hideous beast 
had destroyed the happiest, most beau¬ 
tiful spirit of that home. There are some 
crimes so monstrous that the mere 
thought of them drives one close to in¬ 
sanity. It was so in this case, for when 
this gentle woman saw this little heap 
of feathers on the table and realized 
what the coming days would be without 
little golden Dick an insane rage swept 
over her. Happily her husband under¬ 
stood her feeling and was able to pacify 
her. Yes, indeed I could tell of tragedies 
deep as a well and sharp as a sword 
which work out in the mind and brain of 
women who live in lonelv places with no 
one to understand their language. 
* * * * * 
I started to tell of the woman and the 
plant. She watched it with a care and 
tenderness that absorbed the loneliness 
and at times made her radiantly happy in 
her hard life. Then, in spite of all hex- 
care, the plant began to droop and fade 
away. The leaves began to curl and 
lost their bright color. Growth stopped 
and little holes began to appear in the 
leaves. The real trouble was plant lice, 
but the woman could not understand the 
language, and though she fed and watei-ed 
her plant, day by day it faded away— 
and to her it was like the slow, hopeless 
wasting of a child. One day a gx-izzled 
old man x-ode up to the door and as is 
customary in that country asked for sup¬ 
per and bed. They were glad to have 
him; any stranger is welcome in such 
lonely places. He was an old trapper 
and Indian fighter who years before had 
traveled with- Kit Carson and other 
famous scouts. He sat far into the night 
telling stories of battle and adventure. 
My experience with some of these old 
scouts is that they can draw a very long 
bow. It is well to dock some of their 
tales by about half. What there is left is 
quite enough. At any rate the old man 
filled the room with imaginary pictures 
of Indians and wild beasts. He would 
pause now and then just long enough to 
bite a good-sized junk off a plug of black 
tobacco, and he chewed as he talked. 
Now even a great hunter and Indian 
fighter, if he persists in chewing black 
tobacco, must sooner or later dispose of 
the “juice.” This man looked about for 
some safe i-eceptacle and finally his eye 
fell upon that plant growing in the tub. 
So he brought the tub close beside him 
and at intervals, as occasion required, 
he would deliver a good-sized solution of 
what would now be called “Black Leaf 
40” over that plant in what may be 
called man’s original spraying method! 
The woman was horrified—about as you 
would be if you caught some honored 
guest out by the barn teaching your 
children to swear and smoke a pipe! 
Yet it was all against prairie etiquette 
to criticize a visitor. The old man saw 
her trouble and sought to quiet it. 
“Why, mum, terbacker is the most 
healing thing that grows. It won’t hurt 
that plant, it’ll make it grow. Twenty 
years ago a gi-izzly clawed me in the 
shoulder. That’s the worst wound there 
is. Doctor? There wasn’t none in 100 
miles. What I done was to wash off the 
wound in spring water and then put my 
terbacker right on it and tied it on with 
laurel leaves. Ix>ok at it now!” 
He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it 
down over his shoulders. The flesh was 
healed, but there \Yere the marks of the 
grizzly’s claw as it had swept its awful 
track over shoulder and arm ! 
“Terbacker done it,” said the old man, 
“and it will heal that plant!” 
And it did. The tobacco seemed to 
kill the plant lice, and the plant took on 
new life and grew. I have recently read 
an elaborate statement by a scientist who 
pi-oves that tobacco has no healing power 
and that all these hunters’ stox-ies are 
fables or myths. I would like to hear 
this scientist argue it out with that old 
hunter with his wound for a text. At 
any rate, tobacco is now regai-ded as one 
of the best remedies for fighting plant 
lice. If I had my way it would not be 
used for anything else. But at any rate, 
that plant was dying because the woman 
could not understand its language, while 
the old hunter knew more about it. But 
here come the little girls with some 
message for me. Rose is the interpreter 
as she is the only one of them who can 
write, and some of her writing is hard to 
understand. As she labors with her little 
pencil I have to think of the adventure 
which befell my old friend Joe Strong 
through his inability to understand. We 
may have that next week! h. w. c. 
Elasticity—that is the great and para¬ 
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SUPERTWIST, used only by Qoodyear , 
protects Goodyear BalloonTires 
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while assuring users maximum com¬ 
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Qoodyear Means Qood Wear 
Copyright 1924, by The Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co., Inc. 
Use Oscillating Automatic Irrigation Pipe 
Lines For Better Crops 
The thoroughness of automatic irrigation matures crops 
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The March Automatic eliminates the constant attention 
necessary with ordinary installations. 
Driven by low water pressure of any kind. Turns the spray back and forth with a 
constant swing. Nozzles supplied for field irrigation or greenhouse use, as desired. 
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from your own land. 
T HE most economical cattle feed is that raised on your farm provide 
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