1046 
7ht  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
August  11,  1923 
Hope  Farm  Notes 
Those  of  you  who  have  read  Joseph  Con¬ 
rad’s  “Victory”  will  remember  how  those 
three  desperate  rascals  reached  the  island 
half  dead  from  thirst.  They  had  come  to 
murder  and  rob  the  islander.  They  mis¬ 
calculated  the  distance  and  ran  out  of 
water.  For  days  they  floated  on,  slowly 
parching  away  from  life.  As  they  went 
through  the  horror  of  slowly  evaporating, 
from  tongue  to  toes,  I  have  no  doubt  they 
repented  and  cursed  the  evil  genius  that 
had  sent  them  on  this  dreadful  journey. 
The  islander,  without  knowing  their  de¬ 
signs  upon  him,  gave  them  water  and 
food.  After  this  refreshment  these  ras¬ 
cals  forget  their  regrets  and  good  reso¬ 
lutions,  if  they  ever  had  any,  and  once 
more  took  up  their  plans  for  killing  their 
benefactor.  All  this  comes  to  mind  as  I 
look  out  of  the  window  at  that  big  bunch 
of  weeds  in  the  garden  back  of  the  barn. 
I  have  a  “trial  plot”  of  various  forage 
plants  there — in  a  test  to  find  which  is 
better  for  standing  up  against  drought. 
There  are  two  rows  of  cotton,  several 
rows  of  “Darso,”  a  seed-bearing  sorghum 
-from  Oklahoma ;  Japanese  millet,  Luce’s 
Favorite  corn,  and  other  plants.  On  a 
fruit  farm  like  ours  we  must  have  fodder 
or  hay  substitutes,  and  in  a  season  like 
this  one,  we  must  have  something  with 
roots  that  can  find  moisture  in  an  ash 
heap  right  out  of  the  furnace.  For  we 
have  just  passed  through  a  “dry  spell” 
worse  than  any  I  have  known  before. 
*  *  *  *  * 
I  let  a  few  rows  or  clumps  of  weeds 
like  redroot,  ragweed  and  purslane  grow 
along  with  the  other  crops  for  compari¬ 
son.  On  the  whole,  the  sorghum  has 
come  through  the  dry  weather  better  than 
the  millet  or  corn.  That  was  to  be  ex¬ 
pected,  since  the  sorghum  has  for  many 
generations  battled  with  the  heat  and 
drought  and  fierce  winds  of  the  'Western 
plains.  This  “Darso”  is  not  a  large 
growing  plant.  It  will  hardly  grow 
shoulder  high,  but  it  makes  a  tremendous 
seed  crop.  I  am  told  that  in  parts  of 
Western  Kansas  farmers  tried  to  grow 
corn  until  repeated  failures  convinced 
them  that  the  grain  was  not  suited  to 
their  conditions.  Then  they  began  raising 
these  seed  sorghums,  and  have  found 
them  full  substitutes  for  corn.  I  believe 
that  many  Eastern  farmers,  especially 
those  on  the  light,  dry  soils,  will,  in  like 
manner,  find  some  of  these  sorghums 
more  profitable  than  corn.  The  sorghum 
seed  is  small,  but  it  makes  excellent  chick¬ 
en  feed.  In  Southern  New  Jersey  poul¬ 
try  keeping  is  congregating  on  the 
stretches  of  light  sand.  The  seed  sor¬ 
ghums  will  do  well  on  that  kind  of  soil, 
and  give  a  good  crop  when  fertilized  with 
chicken  manure.  I  have  considered  Jap¬ 
anese  millet  about  the  best  fodder  of  its 
class,  but  it  does  not  make  a  high-class 
showing  alongside  the  “Darso.”  I  think 
this  millet  requires  a  moist,  rich  soil,  or 
at  least  an  abundance  of  rainfall,  to  give 
anything  like  a  fair  crop.  I  used  to  think 
millet  superior  to  Sudan  grass,  but  on 
light  soil  and  in  a  season  like  this  the 
Sudan  grass  is  superior.  Rut,  after  all. 
if  you  can  have  a  reasonable  amount  of 
moisture,  good  old-fashioned  fodder  corn, 
seeded  thick  in  the  drill  and  well  ma¬ 
nured,  is  about  the  best  hay  substitute. 
But  the  drought  has  parched  all  these 
crops.  Even  the  “Darso,”  born  and  bred 
in  the  desert,  begins  to  show  the  yellow 
at  the  tips  of  the  leaves.  The  millet  and 
corn  are  worse  yet ;  the  blades  stand  up 
with  marks  like  those  on  the  fingers  of 
a  cigarette  fiend.  Even  the  sunflowers 
show  crumpled  and  ruffled  leaves.  They 
remind  me  of  a  hen  off  in  some  corner, 
with  head  down  and  feathers  ruffled, 
without  the  pride  and  energy  of  health 
which  would  naturally  keen  her  up  on  her 
toes,  out  hunting  for  bugs  and  worms. 
But  right  beside  these  sunburnt  and  suf¬ 
fering  plants  the  weeds  stand  up  fresh 
and  full.  There  isn’t  a  wrinkle  on  the 
redroot,  and  plants  of  purslane  have 
spread  until  they  cover  a  space  as  large 
as  a  half-bushel  measure.  There  is  no 
question  about  their  ability  to  find  mois¬ 
ture  in  this  dry  soil,  while  these  other 
crops  are  burning  up.  Even  the  Alfalfa 
and  Sweet  clover  stand  still  and  act  like 
a  panting  dog.  while  the  ragweed  and  red¬ 
root  are  fresh  and  green.  I  have  pulled 
up  dozens  of  plants  and  carefully  exam¬ 
ined  their  roots  to  see  if  one  can  learn 
the  reason  for  this.  The  roots  will  not 
answer  the  question.  As  between  Sweet 
clover  and  Alfalfa,  the  latter  has  a  far 
butter  pump  below  ground  (that  is, 
judged  by  our  human  knowledge  of 
pumps),  i-et  the  Sweet  clover  will  grow 
faster  and  make  a  larger  plant  in  a  dry 
time.  I  cannot  see  that  the  “Darso”  has 
a  root  superior  to  that  of  millet  or  corn, 
while  redroot  has  a  smaller  underground 
system  than  either!  Yet  the  weed  will 
grow  strongly  in  soil  so  dry  that  the 
others  stand  still  and  wilt.  The  root  of 
purslane  is  comparatively  small,  yet  you 
may  pull  up  a  plant,  turn  it  root  up  to 
the  sun  and  leave  it  exposed,  yet  it  will 
revive  after  an  experience  which  would 
turn  grass,  Alfalfa  or  millet  into  dead 
fodder. 
***** 
That  is  what  started  me  on  this  line  of 
thought.  It  seemed  a  wicked  thing  to  let 
these  useless  weeds  stand  there  and  rob 
the  useful  plants  of  water.  So  I  pulled 
them  up  and  put  them  in  the  sun.  We 
have  lost  three  plantings  of  strawberries 
thus  far  this  year  from  brief  exposure  to 
sun  and  air.  Then  of  a  sudden  the  sky 
clouded.  There  had  been  many  such 
warnings,  and  we  had  come  to  regard 
them  like  the  cry  of  the  boy  who  called 
“Wolf”  when  there  was  no  wolf  in  sight. 
But  this  time  Nature  meant  business. 
She  was  out  to  break  the  back  of  that 
drought.  The  rain  finally  started,  slowly 
at  first,  and  then  increasing,  a  slow,  gen¬ 
tle  fall,  just  what  we  needed  to  soak  into 
the  brick-like  soil.  The  Darso,  the  millet 
and  the  corn  quickly  felt  it  as  the  water 
worked  down  to  their  roots,  but  these 
weeds,  with  their  roots  exposed  in  a  way 
that  would  have  killed  any  ordinary 
plant,  have  revived.  If  left  to  them¬ 
selves  they  will  fix  new  rootlets  in  the 
soil  and  actually  grow  and  produce  seed. 
I  take  it  they  are  better  drought-resisting 
plants  than  anything  we  have  in  profit¬ 
able  culture.  What  gives  them  this  pow¬ 
er  to  act  the  part  of  camel  when  potatoes, 
corn,  berries  and  other  crops  act  like 
mules  or  horses  in  the  face  of  thirst?  I 
feel  sure  it  is  not  entirely  their  root  sys¬ 
tem.  What  is  it?  What  causes  it?  Is  it 
possible  for  us  to  make  use  of  this  quality 
to  our  advantage?  I  think  that  in  the 
future  several  of  these  weeds  will  be  im¬ 
proved  and  domesticated  and  made  ro 
work  for  us.  In  this  they  will  but  follow 
in  the  footsteps  of  potato,  celery,  carrot 
and  a  dozen  other  leading  vegetables. 
They  were  formerly  regarded  as  useless 
weeds.  A  giant  variety  of  purslane 
or  “pussley”  would  make  a  great  feed  for 
hogs.  We  used  to  eat  this  weed  as 
“greens”  when  I  was  a  boy.  I  think 
there  are  feeding  possibilities  in  ragweed, 
redroot  and  several  others.  When  they 
are  cut  into  the  silo  with  the  corn  they 
improve  the  silage,  just  as  greens  and 
“fine  herbs”  improve  a  stew.  I  do,  in¬ 
deed,  believe  some  of  these  weeds,  at 
present  despised  and  fought,  have  possi¬ 
bilities,  if  we  can  learn  how  to  use  them 
and  get  over  our  prejudices. 
***** 
The  great  point  in  handling  a  weed  is 
to  change  it  from  a  sucker  into  a  suc- 
corer,  It  is  a  perfect  sucker,  with  the 
most  approved  mouth,  when  it  grows  in  a 
dry  soil  where  useful  crops  are  strug¬ 
gling  for  water.  When  we  keep  hogs  or 
sheep  in  the  orchard  we  make  little  places 
or  “creeps,”  where  the  little  pigs  or  lambs 
can  run  in  and  get  their  feed.  Unless 
this  were  done  the  big  animals  would 
crowd  out  the  weaker  ones  and  get  all  the 
food.  The  weeds  are  like  the  big  hogs. 
They  will  get  more  than  their  share  of 
the  water.  The  way  to  turn  these  suck¬ 
ers  into  summers  is  to  cut  them  off  and 
let  them  lie  on  the  ground  as  a  mulch. 
Thus,  instead  of  pumping  out  water  they 
prevent  such  pumping  by  acting  as  a 
mulch.  Our  apple  trees  on  the  hill  be¬ 
gan  to  suffer.  The  fruit  began  to  drop, 
for  a  tree  knows  what  it  can  do,  and 
when  water  begins  to  fail  it  will  drop 
part  of  its  load  and  go  on  with  the  rest. 
We  have  clipped  all  the  weeds  and  grass, 
hauled  all  the  manure  we  can  scrape  up. 
and  cut  weeds  and  trash  in  several  low 
fields  and  hauled  it  into  the  orchards. 
This  will  help,  and  now  comes  this  rain. 
If  we  can  only  have  enough  of  it  we 
shall  get  a  fair  crop  of  apples  after  all. 
The  early  potatoes  have  about  curled  up 
with  the  heat  and  drought,  but  the  rag¬ 
weed  and  smartweed  starting  up  among 
them  have  never  turned  a  leaf.  This  rain 
will  help  the  potatoes  a  little.  We  shall 
have  to  pull  these  big  weeds  by  hand  if 
they  are  to  come  out. 
***** 
No  city  man  is  able  to  realize  the  joy 
which  comes  to  a  farm  family  when,  after 
long  weeks  of  blazing  weather,  the  rain 
finally  comes  with  reviving  tears.  Even 
the  dumb  animals  show  their  joy.  I  can 
see  the  bare-necked  rooster  out  on  the 
lawn.  Usually  when  a  fowl  feels  com¬ 
pelled  to  stand  out  in  the  rain  he  takes 
on  the  attitude  of  a  drowned  rat— the 
most  depressing  appearance  we  can  think 
of.  The  bare-neck,  however,  stands  erect 
and  proud,  if  ever  a  rooster  did,  with  that 
vulture-like  neck  extended  to  the  rain. 
He  makes  me  think  of  the  man  who  went 
calling  on  the  girls.  lie  left  late  and 
peeked  in  through  the  window  to  see  the 
girls  talking  earnestly.  He  thought  it 
must  be  some  compliment  for  him.  so  he 
crept  to  the  window  and  put  his  ear  to  a 
broken  pane  of  glass.  Then  he  heard  the 
prettiest  girl  say : 
“He’s  quite  nice — but  I  wish  he  would 
wash  his  neck!” 
Old  bare-neck,  as  he  stands  out  in  the 
rain,  has  his  eye  on  a  group  of  Red  hens 
under  the  hedge.  Perhaps  he  has  lis¬ 
tened  to  their  conversation,  and  thus 
takes  this  chance  to  bathe  that  neck ! 
Our  folks  had  an  errand  in  town,  and  it 
felt  good  to  be  out  in  the  rain,  so  Rose 
and  I  went  along.  We  expect  to  go  to 
camp  next  week,  so  we  invested  in  an 
outfit.  On  the  way  home,  rushing  along 
a  lonely  road,  we  found  a  car  stalled  by 
the  loadside.  It  was  filled  with  women 
and  . children,  with  one  woman  standing 
outside  in  the  rain,  evidently  asking  for 
help.  Most  of  the  cars  flew  by  like  the 
Pharisees  of  old,  but  Mother’s  middle 
name  seems  to  be  Samaritan,  and  we 
pulled  up  short.  Something  was  the  mat¬ 
ter  with  that  car — it  would  not  go.  Now, 
we  do  not  pretend  to  be  expert  mechanics, 
but  we  looked  wiselv  at  the  engine 
peeked  underneath,  and  looked  thought- 
tul.  Finally,  Cherry-top  thought  to  look 
into  the  tank.  It  was  empty.  It  is  money 
makes  the  mare  go,  and  unless  money  is 
translated  into  gas  the  car  will  not'  go. 
I  here  was  no  gas.  In  the  old  days  they 
used  a  gun  to  save  the  unfortunate  lady 
m  distress.  Here  it  was  a  case  of  gas. 
Our  own  tank  was  low,  but  we  drew  off 
a  little  into  a  glass  we  found  by  the  side 
of  the  road,  so  that  the  stalled  car  could 
break  its  halter  and  get  out  of  its  stall. 
Then  we  drove  back  to  the  nearest  gar¬ 
age,  got  a  gallon  of  gasoline,  and  put 
enough  life  into  the  engine  to  get  the 
car  home.  The  rain  was  falling,  but  we 
were  so  glad  of  it  that  we  never  felt  the 
wet.  We  saw  that  car  start  as  the  en¬ 
gine  caught  the  power,  and  then  we  went 
spinning  home  through  the  shadows. 
Mother  and  I  sat  on  the  back  seat  with 
little  Rose  between  us.  She  was  very 
happy  with  her  new  white  shoes,  her  doll 
and  new  hat.  She  snuggled  up  to  first 
one  and  then  the  other,  and  then,  as  if 
unwilling  to  show  any  preference,  she 
slipped  a  hand  under  the  arm  on  either 
side  of  her.  And  so  we  flew  home  through 
the  rain.  “ Gather  ye  roses  uihile  ye  may” 
I  thought,  as  I  saw  the  little  girl  smiling 
up  at  us.  Some  of  you  may  have  little 
children.  You  may  think  at  times  they 
are  troublesome,  and  you  are  impatient 
with  them.  Let  me  tell  you  that  you  will 
always  regret  it  if  you  do  not  gather 
the  roses  of  youth  “while  ye  may.” 
H.  \v.  c. 
THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD 
Old-time  Journalism 
The  following  note  is  taken  from  an 
Alabama  local  paper,  the  Baldwin  Times. 
There  are  some  of  us  left  who  trace  bac-k 
to  the  old  days  of  journalism,  when  we 
accepted  cordwood  and  turnips  as  pay¬ 
ment  for  subscriptions,  gave  every  ad¬ 
vertiser  a  “write-up” — and  Uncle  Sam 
let  the  subscription  list  alone : 
All  obituary  notices  hereafter  covering 
the  death  of  merchants  who  are  non-ad¬ 
vertisers  in  the  Times  will  be  subject  to 
a  charge  of  $.954  per  word.  Those  cov¬ 
ering  subscribers  who  were  delinquent  in 
their  subscription  payments  at  the  time 
of  demise  will  be  charged  at  the  rate  of 
$19.08  per  word  ( it  should  be  per  sylla¬ 
ble).  For  our  live  advertisers,  and  we 
have  a  number  of  them,  and  for  our  paid- 
up  subscribers,  and  we  have  a  number  of' 
those,  too,  we  promise,  without  price, 
the  very  best  we  have  in  the  shop  when 
they  “shuffle  off.” 
Warning  to  Auto  Hogs 
A  California  woman,  Mrs.  B.  Griscom, 
is  reported  to  have  put  up  the  following 
sign  in  front  of  her  farm  : 
NOTIS  !  Trespassers  will  B  persecut¬ 
ed  to  the  full  extent  of  2  mungrel  dogs 
which  never  was  over  sochible  to  strang¬ 
ers  &  1  dubble  brl.  shotgun  which  ain’t 
Joded  with  sofa  pillors.  Darn  if  I  ain’t 
gitten  tired  of  this  hell  raisen  on  my 
place.  B.  GRISCOM. 
This  woman  says  she  means  business, 
and  that  her  statement  about  the  charge 
which  her  gun  contains  is  correct.  We 
may  say  that  she  expresses  the  full  senti¬ 
ments  of  many  other  country  people. 
A  Profitable  Mud  Hole 
We  have  heard  all  about  the  auto  hog; 
here  is  one  about  the  hog  catcher.  It  is 
one  of  the  “favorite  stories”  told  by 
Irvin  S.  Cobb.  A  car  driver  found  him¬ 
self  stuck  in  a  muddy  place  on  the  road. 
He  could  not  get  out,  but  a  farm  boy  ap¬ 
peared  with  a  team  of  big  horses,  and 
finally  agreed  to  pull  out  the  car  for  a 
dollar.  The  bargain'  was  made  and  the 
car  rescued.  Then  the  auto  driver  pro¬ 
ceeded  to  compliment  the  boy  on  his 
smartness. 
“A\  ell,”  he  said.  “I’ve  had  considerable 
practice,  mister.  Your’n  makes  the  sixth 
car  I’ve  pulled  out  of  this  here  same  mud 
hole  today.” 
“Did  each  one  of  the  owners  pay  you 
a  dollar?”  I  asked. 
“Yep,”  he  said.  “That’s  my  regular 
price  for  this  job.” 
“Then  you  have  earned  six  dollars  to¬ 
day?” 
“Yep,  that’s  right,”  he  said. 
“Pretty  fair  wages  for  a  boy  of  your 
age,  I  should  say,”  I  commented. 
Before  answering  me,  the  youngster 
withdrew  from  my  immediate'  vicinity 
and  mounted  one  of  his  horses. 
“Well,”  he  said,  “this  has  been  a 
’specially  good  day.  I  don’t  always  take 
m  this  much ;  and  anyhow,  ’tain’t  as 
easy  as  you  might  think  for  me  to  earn 
this  money.  All  day  I’ve  got  to  be  hangin’ 
round  waitin’  for  one  of  vou  city  fellers 
to  get  bogged  down  and  start  callin’  for 
help.  That  ain’t  the  worst  of  it  neither 
Except  when  it  rains,  I  have  to  be  around 
here  a  good  part  of  every  night.” 
“What  do  you  do  here  at  night?”  I 
asked. 
He  drew  his  team  off  the  road  and 
started  away  through  the  woods.  Then 
over  his  shoulder,  as  he  vanished,  he 
replied  : 
“Oh.  night  times  I  have  to  draw  water 
and  fill  up  this  here  mud  hole  so’s  it’ll 
be  ready  for  business  the  next  day.” 
A  Good  Red  Hen 
My  first  year  of  trap-nesting  (1921- 
1922)  showed  up  a  Red  hen  which  has 
turned  out  to  be  one  of  the  exceptions  of 
the  breed.  When  I  first  come  to  notice 
the  persistency  of  this  hen’s  laying,  I  de¬ 
cided  to  keep  her  eggs  separate  from  the 
others,  when  taken  from  the  trap-nest, 
and  to  raise  as  many  as  possible  of  her 
c-hicks.  I  raised  15  of  these  cockerels 
and  13  pullets.  These  pullets  are  making 
good  records  in  the  trap-nest.  The  thing 
that  surprised  me  most  was  to  find  that 
this  mother  hen  never  wanted  to  sit,  and 
always  keeps  herself  in  good  condition. 
Her  record  from  November  20,  1921.  to 
November  20,  1922,  was  256  eggs.  She 
quit  laying  on  November  28.  Prof.  Herd 
of  Cornell  gave  a  culling  demonstration 
at  my  place  Monday,  and  I  showed  him 
this  hen,  which  he  thought  was  an  ex¬ 
ception.  A.  HOWARD  FINGAR. 
New  York. 
We  had  an  article  on  page  926  about 
this.  It  seems  that  quite  a  number  of 
these  non-brooding  Red  hens  have  been 
discovered.  They  seem  to  be  like  other 
Reds  except  that  they  have  dropped  much 
of  the  mothering  instinct  for  which  the 
Reds  are  usually  noted.  In  these  days  of 
incubators  and  brooders,  the  non-sitting 
Reds  ought  to  find  a  good  place. 
Here  is  a  scene  in  a  carrot  plantation  in  Southern  New  Jersey.  They  have 
produced  a  good  crop  of  carrots  and  the  boss  is  evidently  proud  of  his  work. 
It  is  remarkable  how  the  carrot  crop  has  come  into  popularity  during  the  last 
10  years.  We  can  easily  remember  the  time  when  the  carrot  was  considered 
a  horse  feed,  almost  entirely.  A  few  human  beings  consumed  them,  but  they 
were  not  ranked  among  the  popular  vegetables.  Now  we  find  that  they  are 
being  eaten  freely.  At  many  lunches  or  noon  banquets  we  find  that  roast 
mutton,  boiled  carrots  and  potatoes  are  exceedingly  popular  and  carrots  ap¬ 
pear  in  every  “vegetable  luncheon.”  The  new  development  with  regard  to 
vitamines  changed  the  vegetable  diet  of  many  of  our  people,  and  has  given 
the  carrot  a  stand  which  it  never  had  before. 
