There was a joy in the open air life, a freedom from restraint and conventionality, that made the simplest tasks seem well worth the doing and sent 
me early into the fields, full of enthusiasm and energy 
Adventures With an Apple Orchard 
BY John Anthony 
Photographs by tlie author 
Note.— This is the second and concluding chapter in the adventures of John Anthony, a city man who made a success of apple growing on ait 
old New England farm. The first article appeared in the March number and told of the good results of the introduction of new ideas in orcharding. 
W HEN I returned from the summer school at Hope College 
I was bubbling over with enthusiasm and had energy to 
burn. I wanted to pull up the potatoes, treat them to a dose of 
formalin and start them over again. I begged for ribbon to tie 
around the best ears of corn that they might be saved for seed. 
I was about to compute the rations of the cows in terms of 
proteins and carbohydrates until I found that they were 
eating only the grass of the pasture. Then I transferred 
my attention to the horses. I examined them for splints, 
for founder and a number of other things that I didn't even know 
the name of. 
But apple picking was upon us, and I settled down to work, 
the hardest work that I had ever known, but the most fun that 
has ever crossed my path. 
I fired such a multitude of questions at Mr. West about pack¬ 
ing apples in boxes, and told him so much of my plans for doing 
it in the future, that he was willing to quiet me at any price. 
When I had talked him dumb and partly deaf on the subject, he 
suggested that I go ahead with it this year and not wait until I 
was alone on the place. I didn’t wait an hour after this, and 
letters were sent scurrying around the country in pursuit of in¬ 
formation. I didn't know where to get a packer. I hadn’t the 
faintest notion of where to find a box maker and only the 
vaguest idea of the accessories needed to put into the box. 
Lithographs must be found for the ends of the boxes. These 
latter were finally ordered from Oregon, manufactured in San 
Francisco and shipped across the continent by express. But they 
reached me on time. I ran short of corrugated caps and of layer 
boards, and at one time had a lot of them coming by freight from 
New York, a duplicate lot lost on the road to the north, and a 
third consignment hurrying to me by express. Despite these 
efforts, packed boxes piled up on us while we were waiting for 
the arrival of corrugated caps before putting on the covers. 
This can all be charged up to experience, and to the con¬ 
servatism of northern New England apple growers who keep 
their information to themselves. From IMassachusetts and 
Connecticut came answers to every question, answers filled 
with information. From the Champlain Valley came no re¬ 
plies, even from the men who talk the loudest (in public) of 
brotherly love. 
I watched tender, early apples emptied into the gathering bar¬ 
rels from the picking baskets, poured with an attempt at care, 
yet poured, one apple falling on another and each collision mean¬ 
ing an additional bruise. I saw apples picked up from the 
ground, carelessly examined for injuries and then added to the 
contents of the barrels. Later I saw the contents of these bar¬ 
rels poured upon an unpadded sorting bench, again pawed (this 
exactly describes the operation) over and finally emptied from 
(20) 
