199 
American Agriculturist, February 23, 1924 
“The Long Pull” 
9 
Mid - Winter Thoughts on Women s Problems 
«t X 7INTER is such a hard season for 
VV a farm wife,” confessed one of 
0U r country sisters. “Spring is so busy 
and full of hope that there isn’t time 
for discouragement. Summer is one long, 
bright, perspiring rush. Autumn is a race 
against frost and ‘freezing in.’ But in 
winter there are so many long, lonely, dull 
hours in which to remember all one’s 
disappointments.” 
“I’m trying to get John to sell the 
farm and move into town,” another 
admitted. “It seems as if I cannot stand 
jt another year. John isn’t too old yet 
to learn a trade, but he soon will be. 
I have no foolish illusions about city 
life—but, oh, the freedom from worry 
and discouragement! A pay envelope 
every week; the supreme indifference to 
weather conditions; no mortgage or 
interest or taxes!” 
How our sympathy goes out to these 
discouraged sisters! How well most of 
us know the disheartening thoughts 
that will come when the corn crop fails 
and sickness overtakes the live stock; 
when we wonder how in the world John 
can get together enough for the taxes and 
interest. 
Not every one can stand a long pull. 
So many who make a magnificent effort 
for a brief time give out on a long pull 
that it long ago grew into a Proverb: 
“Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.” 
Big Investment and Long Wait 
When John and Mary put their little 
savings into stock and machinery and a 
first payment on a farm they are in for a 
long pull. There are bound to be years 
when the crops fail and even keeping up 
the interest becomes a serious problem. 
There are bound to be years when sickness 
visits the stock or, worse yet, the family. 
John outside, preparing for the new 
I crop that he hopes will bring plenty, 
I finds it possible to keep up his courage. 
I It is Mary, shut in with the worry and 
the calendar, who dreads the day of 
interest and grows sick at heart. 
On the long pull every step ahead 
counts a little. If this year’s prospects 
look gloomy, how about the past five 
years? Have we gone ahead any in that 
time? If tHe stock has been improved 
and the interest kept up and ever so 
little paid on the mortgage each year we 
are at least holding our own. It often 
makes me think of walking over a long 
hill road; we go so slowly and are hardly 
conscious when we reach the top, but 
after a time we know the traveling is 
easier and we are going down grade at 
last. The first half is always the hardest. 
Let’s look at the rest of our Proverb: 
“But when the desire cometh, it is a 
tree of life.” Think of that, dear dis¬ 
couraged sister and keep cheerful if you 
possibly can. Spend the stormy shut-in 
hours trying to learn why there have been 
so many disappointments. Often— 
though, of course, not always—they 
were due to causes which we can remedy 
if we try. 
Enthusiasm is what carries us over 
these weary stretches successfully. Let’s 
plan and work for better cows in a better 
pasture. Better hens. A better garden. 
Some inexpensive improvements for the 
home. Clubwork for the children. 
All these things are so much better 
than worrying about the long pull. And 
they all help hasten the hour “when 
the desire cometh.”— Alice Margaret 
Ashton. 
WET BLANKETS 
AGNES rushed excitedly into the 
room, intent on telling the family 
about the tennis match. She had not 
finished two ''sentences when Jack, who 
had reached the fastidious stage in his 
existence, interrupted. 
“Gee, you’re a sight! Mother, can’t 
you make her fix her hair better? It’s 
■orever tumbling down; other chaps’ 
sisters don’t look the way she does.” 
Mrs. Norris said gently: “Jack, let 
Agnes tell her story!” 
Agnes made a grimace at Jack, but 
went on with her tale, on account of the 
game she had won against odds. She 
was making a very good narrative of it, 
but now it was Big Sister who said: 
“Don’t talk so fast. Nobody can under¬ 
stand a word you say.” 
Agnes ignored this, too, but when a 
minute later her father remarked mildly: 
“Daughter, bully is not a nice word for 
a young lady to use,” the child, already 
overwrought with the strain of the game, 
burst into tears, and left the room, sob¬ 
bing out: “When I tell you folks any¬ 
thing again you’ll know it.” 
Something to be Said for Her 
The family commented in resigned 
tones on Agnes’s dreadful temper, but 
my sympathies were all with the girl, for 
I remembered my own childhood. I was 
the intense, emotional type, my mother 
calm, reserved, and a purist in the use of 
English. 
I would rush in all eagerness to share 
my news with mother. Probably her 
first comment would be, “Alice, your 
voice is several octaves too high. Get it 
down.” 
A little subdued, I would recommence, 
only to hear: “That word is accented on 
the first syllable, not on the second.” 
When I had been stopped several times 
A CHESTNUT OF OUR OWN 
A LL this about “Eastman’s chest¬ 
nuts”—which take up a lot of 
room, it seems to us (quite without 
jealousy, of course)—makes us re^ 
member that sometimes “mere man” 
considers himself to belong to the 
only sex with a sense of humor. We 
wouldn’t think of contradicting him, 
but sometimes we have to chuckle 
secretly over his funny little ways. 
So when we recently heard of an 
incident which turned the tables 
rather neatly we thought it only fair 
to pass it on to our sisters. 
The gentleman’s wife is one of these 
quiet little women. You know the 
kind. She has been watching with 
some alarm the growing girth of his 
waistline—a fact of which he seemed 
sublimely unconscious. 
Then one day after a prolonged 
hunt he said helplessly: “Mary, have 
you seen my belt around the house? ” 
She looked up at him innocently. 
“Why no, dear,” she answered. 
“Did you put it around the house?” 
in that fashion, my enthusiasm had 
evaporated. Mother, noticing this, would 
laughingly say: “Now go on and tell me 
all about it. X simply wanted to call your 
attention to that word before I forgot.” 
And many times I, too, flounced out of 
the room with the silent resolve never to 
tell mother anything again. Now, I 
know that it was mother’s love for me, 
her deep desire that I should excel, that 
made her critical, but to this day I have 
a fear of her criticism of any talk I may 
give, or any article I may write—the 
childish impression is still too strong. 
And as a consequence, mother has been 
hurt many times at my reserve over my 
personal affairs. 
So I have firmly resolved that both for 
my sake and theirs, I will not “wet 
blanket” my children’s first enthusiasms. 
If criticism must come, let it be later, 
after the first excitement has worn off.— 
E. G. Peterson. 
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pared if the water they are in contains 
the juice of half a lemon. 
Renew your everlasting yeast by 
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water, sugar and flour to stiffen. 
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TOWN 
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