Mrs. John on Orcharding 
THE CITY WOMAN WHO SET OUT TO UPLIFT THE COUNTRY FOLK AND FOUND THE TABLES TURNED— 
A HOUSE THAT HELD HANDS WITH A WOODSHED—RECOVERING A LOST FIREPLACE—LIFE 
Susan R a t i i b o n e Anthony 
A valley plumb full of hush to the brim—a valley of wonders, of secrets, of sudden surprises; and rank on rank the serried hills 
march along the horizon. Who could abide city streets when such a view awaits! 
Editor s Note: Readers of House & Garden will recall both John Anthony and Mrs. John Anthony. Here is a page of confessions by the latter — a human story that 
will make your heart leap up if ever a longing for the country has seised you. 
ANCY starting to live 
in the country—the 
New England hill 
country — in March ! 
We came on the 
22nd ; came from a 
steam-heated, well- 
appointed city 
house to a bleak, 
desolate - looking, 
shivery hillside. 
M y grandfather 
used to say that you 
could tell how good 
a Christian a man 
was just by looking 
at his woodpile, so 
I went out to look at ours. If John had stood sponsor for it I 
never could have read his title clear to the skyey mansions, but, 
luckily, I recalled that he had ordered forty cords. That was 
the first blow. Next came the hens. They ranged freely be¬ 
cause the theory is that a free range is best for both orchard and 
hens. Unfortunately for my disposition, the hens thought the 
orchard was located on the front porch and on what ought to 
be the front lawn. John and 1 nearly came to “words” over 
them, but later, when he found how they devastated our garden 
and had no respect for his barn and his wagons, he decided to 
build a hen-yard—or rather, let the "Chicken Lady" build it! 
Before we were married I had seen the house, but because of 
John I wore rose-colored glasses. His practical pen had dis¬ 
coursed so eloquently about the stability of the underpinning of 
huge slabs of Vermont granite, the fine way his tiresome apples 
kept in the cellar, the ever-running spring water and the two 
old fireplaces that I, too, was sure nothing else mattered. 
Then, too, ! had been accumulating a lot of what the country¬ 
folk discredit as “book knowledge,” and I saw myself transform¬ 
ing not only the house interior, but “uplifting” the manners, 
morals and house interiors of all my neighbors. Why not? Had 
I not had superior home training at the hands of that efficient 
housewife—my mother? I forgot when I contemplated all this 
that at home we always had a servant and always the possibility 
of extra help across the way. Again, why not, since I had not 
only taken two domestic science courses, but had taught several 
branches of housewifely arts for nearly a decade in two of the 
best-known household arts schools? 
Metropolitan friends who looked a little pityingly on living in 
the country, even with John, said: “How much you can do for 
the country woman!” I disclaimed modestly, but secretly thought 
T could. However, it wasn't long before I found the country¬ 
folk were uplifting me! When there is only one woman to 
do every bit of work, it doesn’t matter that she knows how to 
cook a delicious variety of food dietetically correct. One comes to 
understand why plain boiled potatoes supersede mashed and 
French-fried; why pie is the daily piece-de-resistance — delectable, 
For forty-six years the charm of this fireplace had 
been lost 
