SPO 
Thf  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
.Til  no  r.O,  1923 
How  many  of  us  ever  stop  to  consider 
t  lie  “outside  influences”  which  are  to 
change  farming  of  the  future?  In  former 
years  farming  was  pretty  much  a  stand¬ 
ard  occupation  of  producing  meat,  pota¬ 
toes,  bread  and  butter  and  fruit — mostly 
apples.  That  was  about  what  people  con¬ 
sumed.  and  production  followed  consump¬ 
tion  Of  course  there  were  those  who 
demanded  and  obtained  luxuries  winch 
enlarged  the  diet,  but  for  the  most  part 
people  stood  hr  what  they  called  “the  old 
substantials.”  with  fish,  beans  and  sim¬ 
ilar  things  going  with  the  meat.  I  think 
the  new  knowledge  of  diet,  including  the 
studv  of  vitamines.  will  eventually  have 
about  as  great  an  influence  upon  farming 
a<  the  development  of  railroads  on  gen¬ 
eral  transportation.  For  example,  take 
the  vast  trjjde  in  oranges,  raisins  and 
grapefruit,  or  Ihe  immense  increase  m  the 
consumption  of  spinach,  lettuce, .  a  spar  a 
gus  and  similar  vegetables.  I  think  that 
would  have  been  impossible  but  for  the 
discovery  of  the  vitamines  and  their  rela¬ 
tion  to  health.  In  like  manner  the  tre¬ 
mendous  business  in  ice  cream  liquid 
milk  and  other  dairy  goods  would  not 
have  been  possible  if  the  public  had  not 
been  made  to  understand  that  these  foods 
furnish  vitamines  in  the 'best  form.  _Ih']s 
the  chemist,  shaking  up  a  test  tube  in  his 
laboratory,  has  also  shaken  up  the  entire 
business  of  farming.  I  do  not. understand 
that  anyone  has  ever  seen  a  vitamine,  ye 
the  thought  of  these  mysterious  sub¬ 
stances  and  what  they  do  in  the  body  is 
slowly  changing  the  entire  feeding  habits 
of  the  world. 
*  *  *  *  * 
The  proof  of  this  may  be  seen  in  any 
city  restaurant,  and  in  thousands  nt 
homes.  When  I  first  came  to  New  York 
it  was  simply  a  question  of  having  the 
price  in  your  pocket.  If  you  had  it  life 
was  not  complete  without  a.  thick,  liait- 
raw  steak,  or  some  other  kind  of  halt- 
cooked  meat.  You  ate  this  with  white 
bread  and  potato,  and  called  yourself 
well  nourished.  The  man  who,  front 
choice,  would  have  ordered  a  meal  of  veg¬ 
etables  and  milk  would  have  been  viewed 
with  suspicion.  Today  it  is  probable  that 
20  per  cent  of  patrons  of  the  better  class 
of  restaurants  order  a  “vegetable  din¬ 
ner.”  This  is  usually  a  collection  of  po¬ 
tatoes.  peas,  beets,  spinach  or  onion. 
Nearly  the  same  proportion  order  milk 
in  place  of  coffee.  There  can  be  no 
question  that  this  change  in  diet  is  com¬ 
ing  rapidlv.  I  see  hearty  men  making  a 
breakfast  of  fruit,  bread  and  butter  and 
sliced  tomatoes,  and  then  going  at  then- 
work  with  full  energy.  All  this  is  sure 
to  have  an  immense  influence  upon  farm¬ 
ing.  especially  on  land  close  to  the  great 
cities.  Years  ago  some  noted  philosopher 
said  that  men  of  middle  age  should  be 
content  with  what  he  called  “a  slice,  a 
bunch  and  a  glass.”  He  meant  bread  and 
butter,  grapes  and  milk.  He  lived  in  an 
age  of  half-raw  meat,  but  his  thought  has 
survived  and  the  discovery  of  vitamines 
has  given  it  life.  And  now  we  are  hav¬ 
ing  a  new  idea  about  food.  This  is  that 
not  only  what  we  eat,  but  the  way  we 
eat  it.  determines  much  of  our  health. 
These  people  say  that  food  should  be 
served  so  as  to  appeal  to  all  the  bodily 
senses.  They  say  there  should  be  music, 
appetizing  food,  beauty  of  service,  laugh¬ 
ter  and  good  humor — all  the  things  which 
relieve  the  mind  and  lighten  care.  There 
are  farm  families  where  they'  start  the 
victrola  going  at  meal  times,  and  always 
have  flowers  on  the  table.  I  have  eaten  a 
dinner  of  fried  pork  and  cornbread.  We 
sat  on  a  frozen  log  and  gnawed  at  this 
thick  sandwich  while  the  wind  roared 
through  the  pine  trees  and  the  snow  sift¬ 
ed  over  us.  Then  I  have  eaten  at  great 
banquets  where  a  full  band  played  what 
I  may  call  musical  vitamines  to  long  row's 
of  solemn-faced  notables  who  would  have 
been  far  happier  out  sawing  wood.  I  eon- 
olnde  that  you  must  suit,  your  service  to 
the  habits  of  the  consumers — if  I  may  put 
it  that  wav. 
->  ****** 
For  I  can  well  remember  the  time 
Mary  Martin  served  dinner  to  the  thrash¬ 
ers.  John  Martin  was  a  farmer.  I  worked 
for  him  that  Summer,  and  we  had  a  good 
crop  of  oats  and  wheat.  Thrashing  start¬ 
ed  earlier  than  usual,  and  John  got  word 
that  the  crew  would  be  at  his  place  in 
three  days  to  thrash  out  his  big  stacks. 
Now  John  was  a  horn  farmer,  but  Mary, 
his  wife,  was  a  city  girl.  She  was  teach¬ 
ing  school  when  John,  10  years  her 
senior,  suddenly  discovered  that  she  was 
“the  only  girl.”  I  have  no  idea  that 
Mary  had  the  faintest,  idea  of  what  farm 
work  meant  when  she  consented  to  ex¬ 
change  her  class  of  youngsters  for  a  select 
class  of  one  mature  farmer.  Rut  she 
came,  and  she  brought  along  some  curious 
and  ill-fitting  ideas.  She  was  a  bride  of 
two  short  months  when  John  came  in  and 
told  about  the  thrashers. 
“There’ll  he  10  of  them,  and  a  thrasher 
is  about  the  hungriest  man  on  earth.  We 
shall  have  to  give  them  a  big  meal  of 
heavy  food,  and  serve  it  quickly.  They 
can't  wait.  Better  let  Sallie  cook  din¬ 
ner.” 
Sallie  was  the  tenant’s  wife — a  big. 
strong  woman,  who  knew  all  about 
thrashers  and  their  appetites. 
“Not  a  bit  of  it.  I’ll  get  that  dinner 
myself.  I’m  going  to  show  these  people 
just  bow  a  dinner  ought  to  be  served. 
aching  for  such  a  chance 
■it  how  food  ought  to  be 
souj>  and  salad  and - 
eaten. 
I’ve  been  just 
to  show  jus 
We’ll  have 
“But.  Mary - — 
“No  ‘buts’  or  ‘and’  about  it.  If  I  am 
to  be  housekeeper  here  I'll  decide  about 
dinner.  You  just  bring  in  your  thrash¬ 
ers  and  I’ll  attend  to  their  wants!” 
Well,  what  could  John  do?  He  sensed 
a  tragedy,  and  so  did  I — so  would  anyone 
who  ever  saw  a  crew  of  hungry  thrashers 
attack  a  table  !  But  what  could  you  do 
when  a  smart,  pretty  and  willful  wife — 
10  years  your  junior — put  her  small  foot 
down  and  told  you  to  attend  to  your  side 
of  the  business?  For  the  next  two  days 
that  lady  kept  me  busy.  I  helped  wash 
napkins  and  tablecloths,  decorated  the 
rooms  with  leaves  and  flowers,  killed 
chickens;  in  fact,  I  can’t,  remember  what 
I  didn’t  do  in  preparation  for  that 
thrashers’  dinner.  Mary  fixed  up  a  white 
jacket  which  I  was  to  wear  as  waiter. 
The  night  before  the  great  event  John 
came  into  the  kitchen  while  I  was  chop¬ 
ping  something  in  the  tray. 
“That  looks  more  hopeful,”  he  said. 
“She’s  going  to  have  corned  beef  hash. 
That  will  be  good.” 
“No,”  I  told  him.  “This  is  salad.  It 
looks  to  me  like  what  tbe  Chinese  call 
‘chop  suey.’  ” 
John  groaned  aloud. 
“This  thing  will  make  me  the  laughing¬ 
stock  of  all  my  neighbors,  if  it.  don’t 
job.  There  was  no  food  on  tlie  table, 
as  there  always  is  when  hungry  thrashers 
dine,  and  this  disconcerted  them.  I  start¬ 
ed  carrying  in  the  soup — two  plates  at  a 
time.  Hank  Johnson,  a  Swedish  hired 
man,  got  the  first.  No  ceremony  about 
Hank.  He  took  the  soup  plate  in  both 
hands  and  drank  the  soup  at  a  gulp.  He 
handed  back  the  plate  with  : 
“I  ban  fond  by  spoon  vittles — I  drink 
more !” 
John  Martin  sensed  the  rising  revolt. 
He  went  out  to  the  kitchen,  and  in  spite 
of  Mary’s  protest  brought  the  full  kettle 
of  soup  right  in.  I  passed  tbe  plares 
around  and  we  ladled  the  soup  out  as  best 
we  could.  I  had  been  instructed  to  take 
up  the  soup  plates,  carry  them  two  by 
two  to  the  kitchen,  and  then  carry  in 
little  plates  of  salad,  but  these  half-fam¬ 
ished  men  were  in  no  mood  to  wait.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  Dr.  McCollum  could 
have  proved  that  the  soup  and  the  salad, 
the  bread  and  the  dainty  dessert,  con¬ 
tained  all  the  vitamines  needed  by  the 
average  man.  But  these  Were  not  aver¬ 
age  men.  They  were  hungry  as  wolves, 
and  had  an  ideal  standard  as  to  what  a 
thrasher’s  dinner  should  consist  of. 
I  began  tot pass  around  the  salad  the 
test  broke  out  in  words: 
“Where’s  the  dinner?” 
“I  ain’t  no  canary  bird!” 
“Bring  on  the  grub!” 
And  poor  Mary,  hearing  them, 
that  her  fine  dinner  was  a  failure, 
had  worked  so  hard  and  was  so 
and  had  been  so  sure,  that  when  the  bald 
truth  flashed  upon  her,  her  nerves  gave 
way.  She  ran  out  of  the  kitchen,  up¬ 
stairs  to  her  room,  and  threw’  herself 
As 
pro- 
knew 
She 
tired 
1’lioto  by  A.  XT.  Pnlver. 
Handling  the  Cherry  Crop 
Montmorency  cherries  pitted  by  ma¬ 
chinery  on  Sodns,  N.  Y.  fruit  farm,  and 
packed  in  barrels  (275  lbs.),  ready  to 
enter  cold  storage  for  freezing.  This  is 
the  new  way  of  handling  cherries  in  New 
York. 
break  up  the  job.  You’ve  got  to  help  me 
out  in  this,  quick.  Mary’s  got  to  learn  by 
experience,  but  wo  can’t  let  this  thing  go 
through.” 
I  told  him  to  sneak  off  to  town  and  buy 
a  big  chunk  of  corned  beef  and  leave  it 
at  the  tenant’s  house.  lie  had  to  call  the 
butcher  out  of  prayer  meeting,  but  he  got 
the  beef.  While  Mary  was  fixing  up  her 
salad  I  went  over  and  posted  Sallie  on 
her  part  of  the  plan.  She  was  to  boil 
that  beef  with  cabbage,  potatoes  and  tur¬ 
nips,  bake  half  a  dozen  loaves  of  rye  and 
Indian  bread  and  five  or  six  big  apple 
pies.  She  understood,  and  did  her  part 
without  a  whisper  to  Mary. 
***** 
The  thrashers  were  on  deck  early,  and 
they  started  on  the  oats.  There  was  more 
smut  than  usual  that  year,  and  a  cloud 
of  black  dirt  poured  out  of  that  thrasher 
like  the  smoke  from  a  factory  chimney. 
There  wasn’t  a  white  man  left  of  all  that 
crew’  by  12  o’clock.  The  smut  covered 
them  half  an  inch  thick.  They  were 
anxious  to  finish  the  job  by  night,  and 
they  crowded  the  machine  to  the  limit. 
Mary  called  me  in  early  to  help  her.  We 
set  a  long  table  in  the  parlor — two  rooms 
away  from  the  kitchen  stove.  We  had 
the  best  tablecloths  out — part  of  her  wed¬ 
ding  outfit — and  fine  napkins  at  every 
plate.  There  were  flowers  and  leaves  on 
the  table  and  on  the  walls.  It  was  really 
a  beautiful  outfit,  ideal  for  a  college  ban¬ 
quet,  but  I  shuddered  to  think  of  what 
those  thrashers  would  leave  when  they 
finished.  Mary  had  on  her  white  wedding 
dress.  It  seemed  to  me  that  this  girl’s 
desire  to  do  honor  to  her  husband’s  guests 
was  the  most  beautiful  and  the  most 
pathetic  thing  I  ever  saw. 
*  *  *  *  * 
The  whistle  blew  at  12  and  the  c-rowd 
of  hungry,  black-faced  men  hurried  to 
the  pump.  Some  of  them  succeeded  in 
scrubbing  part  of  the  smut  from  face  and 
hands,  but  you  cannot  be  too  particular 
oil  a  hot  day  when  the  job  must  be 
rushed  through.  For  these  kindly  farm¬ 
ers  were  for  the  moment  hard  and  savage 
men  in  their  intense  desire  to  finish  the 
job  and  in  their  hunger.  They  came  tramp¬ 
ing  in,  expecting  to  find  a  full,  heavy 
meal  waiting  them  on  a  kitchen  table. 
When  I  escorted  them  into  that  decorated 
parlor  they  were  like  men  lost  somewhere 
in  the  wilderness.  Most  of  them  tossed 
the  napkins  to  one  side.  They  were  out 
of  place  in  the  sweat  and  dust  of  that 
face  downward  on  the  bed — beaten  and 
thoroughly  discouraged. 
***** 
1  ery  likely  you  have  read  Tennyson’s 
“Dream  of  Fair  Women.”  If  I  could 
edit  a  new  and  revised  edition  of  that 
poem  I  would  surely  add  the  face  of  Sal¬ 
lie,  the  tenant’s  wife,  as  she  appeared 
that  day,  framed  in  the  kitchen  door.  She 
came  just  in  time,  and  she  carried  a  great 
platter  covered  with  thick  slices  of  boiled 
corn  beef.  Her  husband  followed  with  a 
heaped  up  plate  of  boiled  potatoes  and 
turnips,  and  another  of  cabbage.  Here 
was  “the  living  stuff”— thrasher’s  food— 
and  I  shall  never  forget  the  sigh  of  relief 
which  arose  from  that  hungry  crew.  How 
they  did  eat !  I  waited  on  the  table,  pass¬ 
ing  bread  and  meat  and  coffee.  I  had 
that  white  jacket  on  until  the  head 
thrasher  pointed  his  finger  at  me. 
“Say,  young  feller,  T  wish  you’d  take 
off  that  long-tailed  shirt.  It  makes  me 
nervous !” 
How  they  did  enjoy  Sallie’s  dinner. 
Then  they  tramped  out  to  their  work. 
We  had  to  use  formaldehyde  to  kill  the 
oat  smut  on  that  tablecloth  ! 
And  John  Martin  went  upstairs, 
where  a  small  and  broken  woman  was 
crying  her  heart  out.  You  may  judge  for 
yourself  how  they  settled  it.  Mary  came 
back  with  him.  bravely  smiling,  though 
her  eyes  were  a  little  swollen.  After  all. 
it  did  not  matter  so  much  if  John  did  not 
care.  And  Sallie,  with  her  big.  capable 
hands  and  broad,  homely  face,  acted  like 
an  angel. 
“Don’t  you  feel  bad,  Mis’  Martin.  The 
first  time  I  cooked  for  thrashers  I  ruined 
every  bit  of  dinner  and  couldn’t  give  ’em 
nothin’  but  bread  and  milk.  Me  and  my 
man  think  that  sallut  of  yours  is  the  best 
we  ever  eat.” 
And  at  night  when  the  thrashers  went 
home,  Hank  Johnson  stopped  at  the  back 
door,  and  out  of  the  kindness  of  his  big 
heart,  said  : 
“I  t’ank  you  for  that  soup.  He  ban 
the  finest  spoon  vittels  I  ever  eat.  An’ 
dem  flowers  and  all — him  very  nice,  too.” 
Mary  came  to  be  a  famous  cook.  She 
always  did  have  the  idea,  but  you  must 
fit  the  idea  to  the  individual.  it.  w.  c. 
A  Country  Woman’s  Talk 
I  must  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoyed 
the  Decoration  Day  article.  It  is  one  of 
■the  best  things  I  have  read  in  “a  coon’s 
age.”  I  am  a  Southerner,  one  of  the  “re¬ 
constructed.”  I  guess,  though  1  was  only 
about  nine  years  old  when  the  war  com¬ 
menced.  but  I  have  many  memories  of 
things  that  occurred  then.  Two  incidents 
stand  out  clearly.  One  occurred  in  a  lit¬ 
tle  town  in  Southern  Illinois,  eight  miles 
from  a  railroad.  It  vms  the  occasion  of 
some  military  affair.  We  were  on  one 
side  of  the  courthouse  square,  my  two 
little  brothers  were  sitting  on  top  of  the 
fence,  and  I  was  standing  near  by,  with 
the  young  lady  who  lived  at  that  place. 
A  company  of  soldiers  was  drawn  up  in 
front  of  us.  Someone  was  speaking  and 
a  great  shout  went  up,  and  in  the  mo¬ 
ment’s  silence,  my  youngest  brother,  aged 
five,  piped  up,  “Hurrah  for  Jeff  Davis.” 
Like  a  flash  the  soldier  just  in  front  of 
him  whirled,  with  his  gun  clubbed,  and 
came  at  him.  Just  as  quickly  Miss  Jo 
flung  her  arms  around  him  and  said, 
“You  coward!  He  is  nothing  but  a 
baby  !”  In  a  moment  we  were  surround¬ 
ed  by  angry-looking  soldiers.  I  don’t 
know  what  would  have  happened  to  Miss 
•To,  but  townspeople  pushed  iu  and  told 
them  that  she  was  a  good  lcyal  girl,  and 
so  were  all  her  people,  and  that  the  bov 
was  a  mere  baby,  did  not  know  what  he 
was  saying.  But  they  did  not  tell  them 
that  our  mother  was  a  “red-hot  South¬ 
erner.”- 
The  next  occurred  in  New  Albany, 
Ind.  One  of  my  mother’s  sisters  was  a 
loyal  Union  woman,  to  whom  my  mother 
was  a  source  of  much  worry.  Another 
sister  had  a  daughter  just  my  age,  and 
“Aunty”  made  us  little  flag  aprons,  red 
•ind  white  stripes,  blue  bordered,  with 
white  stars.  I  have  mine  yet.  The  town 
was  full  of  soldiers,  a  good  many  of  them 
“tipsy.”  F -  and  I  were  sent  to  the 
leading  drug  store,  which  was  crowded 
with  soldiers.  One  young  giant  came  up 
and  gave  me  a  slap  on  the  shoulder,  say¬ 
ing,  “Here's  a  good  little  Union  girl.” 
Now’,  what  should  I  do  but  whirl  around 
and,  sticking  my  hands  in  the  blue- 
starred  pockets,  and  with  a  toss  of  my 
head,  called  out.  loud  and  clear:  “Hur¬ 
rah  for  Jeff  Davis  and  the  Southern  Con¬ 
federacy!”  There  was  a  dead  silence, 
and  then  the  man  roared  out,  “Why,  you 
little  devil,  you  sure  are  spunky !”  Then 
he  began  to  laugh,  and  he  laughed  until 
finally  every  soldier  in  there  was  laugh¬ 
ing.  The  young  clerk,  who  knew  us  and 
our  families,  went  dead  white,  and  shov¬ 
ing  the  purchase  into  F - ’s  hand,  told 
us  to  go  home.  Rut  my  soldier  caught 
me  by  the  arm  and  drew  me  back  to  the 
showcase,  picked  out  a  bottle  of  perfume 
— $1 — and  said,,  “It’s  my  treat,”  and  put 
it  in  my  hand  and  gave  me  a  gentle  shove 
toward  the  door. 
Dear  me!  is  all  of  that  proposed  school 
bill  as  complicated  as  the  specimens  you 
have  just  given  us — for  instance,  Section 
12S7? 
You  struck  the  keynote  when  you  said, 
“It  is  evident  that  some  of  the  authorities 
in  the  State  Department  of  Education 
do  not  personally  know  much  of  rural 
life.”  That  is  the  underlying  principle  of 
the  trouble  in  rural  districts.  The  school 
laws  of  this  State  are  mostly  made  with 
the  aim  of  governing  the  masses  of  for¬ 
eigners  in  the  great  cities.  My  heart 
sometimes  aches  for  the  little  country 
children — tlidy  have  to  endure  so  many 
hardships  to  get  an  education.  In  my 
opinion  it  is  all  wrong  to  make  the  high 
school  course  compulsory.  It  entails  an 
expense  that  many  parents  are  not  able 
to  stand.  Sometimes  a  farmer  has  sev¬ 
eral  children  in  high  school  at  the  same 
time,  and  what  that  means  to  him,  if  he 
is  a  poor  struggling  farmer !  Tuition  in 
many  instances — books,  nice  clothes, 
transportation.  The  children  must  up 
and  away  in  the  early  morning  to  catch 
a  train  or  bus.  and  they  do  not  get  homo 
until  late  in  the  afternoon.  No  wonder 
the  young  generation  do  not  want  chil¬ 
dren  after  seeing  what  their  parents  have 
to  endure  when  there  are  more  than  even 
two  or  three  children  to  be  clothed,  fed 
and  educated.  And  after  they  get  through 
high  school  the  large  majority  leave  the 
farms.  No  wonder  we  have  so  many 
abandoned  farms.  Why  could  not  one 
more  grade  be  added  to  the  grammar 
school  and  not  make  the  high  school 
cou rse  compu lsor y  ? 
There  is  just  one  bill  I  should  like  to 
see  made  compulsory  to  the  school  au¬ 
thorities.  Every  trustee  be  empowered — 
compelled,  in  fact — to  have  fires  built  in 
the  schoolhouses  in  cold  weather,  so  that 
the  room  or  rooms  should  be  warm  when 
teacher  and  pupils  arrive.  That  is  done 
in  the  cities  and  large  towns  Why  not 
in  the  country,  where  many  children  have 
to  walk  two  or  three  miles  to  school,  even 
in  zero  weather?  What  a  howl  would  go 
up  in  the  cities  if  teachers  and  scholars 
should  arrive  at  unheated  buildings  and 
have  to  make  their  own  fires !  People  are 
taxed  enough  to  pay  for  this  comfort  for 
their  little  children.  Well,  you  may  say, 
we  propose  to  consolidate,  but  a  vote 
taken  on  that,  by  the  mothers,  would  say 
“No!”  Why?  Well,  ask  them. 
W.  V.  A. 
The  young  lady  palmist  at  the  church 
bazaar  said  to  one  of  her  girl  clients :  “I 
see  by  your  hand  you  are  going  to  he 
married.  “Wonderful,”  said  the  girl. 
“You  are  engaged  to  a  man  named  Wil¬ 
kins,”  continued  the  amateur  seer.  “How 
amazing,”  gasped  the  girl  ;  “surelv  the 
lines  on  my  hand  cannot  reveal  the 
name - ”  “Lines.”  sniffed  the  palmist. 
“Who  said  anything  about  lines?  You 
are  wearing  the  ring  I  returned  to  Mr. 
Wilkins  three  weeks  ago.” — Argonaut. 
