HOUSE AND GARDEN 
March, 1913 
175 
Another season we will have both apples and system, and when 
that time comes — be it one, two, or three years away — we will 
come into our own. 
With the departure of the Wests, David and I were left alone 
on the place. There was work in the orchard for four men, but 
we did it without help and kept house besides. I wish that I 
could give some idea of the fun of that season of long hours. 
We lived literally on the fat of the land, and however long and 
hard were the hours of work out of doors, we did not let them 
interfere with the culinary department. The Jersey cow gave 
the best of milk and we had an abundance of the richest cream 
that I have ever seen. Cream, butter and cheese, fresh eggs, 
potatoes, apples and winter vegetables from the farm, cereals 
and breads from the store gave us a table that would lure an 
epicure away from the creations of a chef. Both David and I 
could cook and cook well. We had the food of the country with 
the seasoning and 
service of the 
city, for from a 
certain standard 
we never lapsed. 
Our housekeep¬ 
ing was famed 
abroad. The oc¬ 
casional visitor 
from the city we 
expected to im¬ 
press, but it came 
as a surprise to 
have the country 
folk become en¬ 
thusiastic. Men 
went home and 
asked their wives 
to come to us to 
learn how to 
make corn bread 
and cream cheese, 
to bake puffs and 
molasses cake. It 
was not alone that 
these things were 
good, the real joy 
came because we 
were doing it all 
ourselves. The 
food was almost 
entirely from the 
farm itself, and 
we old campers 
knew how to do the preparing. We were as independent as man 
may be in this day of organization. We were happy and con¬ 
tented, and in some subtle way this feeling spread to every 
creature on the place. The cow, from a wild-eyed animal, be¬ 
gan to follow us around like a pet poodle until it became difficult 
to drive her into the stable yard so unafraid was she. The 
chickens tamed down until one could hardly walk on their 
premises, while Jericho was more an affectionate friend than a 
beast of burden. Later, even the pigs learned to let the small 
child ride on their backs. 
Pruning was the first big job, and in many ways the hardest, 
for it would take a tree so many years to outgrow a serious error 
in that work. Much of it we had done the fall before as soon 
as the apples had all been shipped, but a good many days’ work 
remained for David and me. When at last we were through, the 
orchard was well-nigh impassable, for brush covered the ground 
three feet deep. Tall trees had been lowered from one to three 
yards, thick-topped ones had been opened out to light and air 
and interlacing limbs had been removed. Neighbors called us 
crazy and said we had ruined the orchard, but the apple expert 
of the Department of Agriculture spoke such words of praise 
as make me feel a glow of pride to-day, and after watching the 
trees for the year, I know that we could have carried the thinning 
process a little further with good results. In general my idea is 
to do the heavy trimming on alternate seasons before the off- 
bearing year, and the light thinning out of interlacing small 
branches the years of fruiting. This will interfere less with the 
crop producing of the trees, and in three or four years will put 
them in shape. Also, it gives me an opportunity to watch the 
result of the work during the year of bearing and to judge how 
to pursue the pruning. Much of the credit for this work belongs 
to Mann, for his ideas controlled. These ideas he got from books, 
a little practice and a winter’s course at Hope Agricultural Col¬ 
lege. His work 
received such 
commendation 
from high au¬ 
thority that evi¬ 
dently he tackled 
the job from the 
right angle. Each 
individual apple 
must receive light 
and air, and to 
reach this condi¬ 
tion trees must be 
pruned, not for¬ 
getting that too 
radical work will 
upset the balance 
between root and 
top. But finishing 
the work on the 
trees was only 
half the contract. 
Every scrap of 
the brush had to 
be hauled away 
and burned. It 
was a seemingly 
endless piece of 
work. Day after 
day we toiled at 
it. Section by sec¬ 
tion the orchard 
became passable, 
but men and 
horse were tired of the thought of brush before the last piece was 
in ashes. 
The spraying of the orchard was without one redeeming 
feature of fun save the pleasure of thinking of a necessary piece 
of work well done. The radical mistake that I made was in 
thinking the old-fashioned pump of Hiram’s regime was of the 
slightest use for modern spraying. We did the work with it, 
but there is a row of gravestones up on the hilltop to mark the 
number of men who died at the job. It was a grueling contest, 
and only David and I lasted out the season at it. Mann, at first 
scornful of our progress, retired after two days, forgetting his 
scorn and thinking only of blistered hands and aching back. The 
pump was intended for the old-time pressure of fifty pounds or 
so, but we had a gauge staring us in the face and we kept the 
pointer between one and two hundred pounds! The toil was 
incredible, but the success of the work was qualified only by an 
exceptional season. We routed the bugs and the fungus until 
