In Nineteen Twenty Three, 
JD, He Sez, Sez ’e— 
Thumbing through my 1923 seed catalogue, 
I ran across the following written by me 
21 years ago. “That’s my story, and I stick 
igeit. = Quote: 
A customer wrote at the bottom of her 
order, “If you include any extra please don’t 
send flowers. We can’t eat flowers.” Ive 
thought about that a good deal. Seems to me 
this is getting the wrong slant on life. True, 
we can’t eat flowers. Neither can we eat a 
smile, a song, a joke, a sermon, a band con- 
cert, a movie, a circus. 
We can’t eat a marigold, neither can we mas- 
ticate a piano, phonograph, radio or auto. We 
can’t swallow moonlight, blue skies, fleecy 
clouds, twinkling stars or glorious sunsets, 
We can’t chew the Grand Canyon, Pike’s 
Peak, Boulder ‘Falls, or the Rocky Mountain 
National Park. We can’t eat shoe polish, a 
necktie or a new Easter bonnet. We can’t di- 
gest a checker board, a golf ball, a tennis 
court, a Christmas tree—but who would wish 
to tarry long in this world if we could enjoy 
none of these uneatable things” 
“But” someone says, ‘don’t you know some 
of us farmers are having a hard tussle and 
can’t afford luxuries? Your talk sounds fine 
but you don’t know what hard times are on 
the farm, 3Ah; don’t. I though! -You have 
another guess coming. 
Never shall I forget those pioneer days on 
the farm in northern Iowa, when I was a little 
shaver. One calamity followed another until 
one day an implement dealer drove out to our 
place with the sheriff and took stock of every- 
thing in sight, planning a foreclosure. I re- 
member riding my pony, for the last time, as 
I thought, At the eleventh hour a loan was 
negotiated and saved the day. 
I well recall, some years before this, a cer- 
tain night when father and mother sat at the 
kitchen table counting their money in the dim 
light of a kerosene lamp. It’s about the earliest 
thing I can recollect. But I can still see the 
stacks of money. Such a lot, it seemed to me! 
Yet it fell short of being enough to pay off 
the hired man, who demanded his wages. 
Yes, there were stacks of coins, but mostly 
those old-time one and two-cent pieces almost 
as big as dinner plates! There were also the 
old three-cent pieces, still to be seen in mu- 
seums. These coins made a big bluff when 
stacked up but didn’t go far toward paying 
debts. The coins were counted and re-counted, 
but still refused to total enough. Grasping the 
critical situation, my brother, ‘‘Willie’, three 
years my senior, came forth with his little 
bank, containing only a few pennies, saying, 
“Don’t cry, Mama, here’s my bank. Take all 
you need to pay the hired man,” 
But we had flowers. Not many, but some, 
and always, I can see the old path now, in 
front of the house, and the cheerful old- 
fashioned flowers on either side—bachelor but- 
tons, poppies, balsams, pinks, calliopsis, etc., 
and a tuft of striped ornamental grass at one 
end. Flowers were not a luxury during those 
dark days. They were a necessity, as they are 
now, to cheer us up and keep us fit for the 
daily grind. Unquote. 
According to an article in the army’s news- 
paper, the Stars and Stripes (North 
edition) FLOWERS are the first choice of our 
overseas soldiers in their Christmas shopping. 
It was revealed that flowers led by far in 
the ll-day purchase period which was ar- 
ranged by the army exchange service. Orders 
for flowers are handled through the Florists’ 
Telegraph Delivery Association. 

A bed of flowers helps morale. 
Cheers Betty, Mom and Dad and Hal. 
Line up for Iris, come next summer. 
Africa ~ 
FCO (Father Carries On) 
Before Pearl Harbor, I had dreams of 
gradually turning over most of my work 
and worries to my son Everett, who has 
been associated with me since 1934, both in 
field and office work. 
But now it’s vice versa. Everett is flying 
for Uncle Sam. I’m elected to continue my 
own work, and take over also many details 
formerly handled most efficiently by Everett. 
Having put in over 40 years’ hard labor 
here in Boulder, I’m no longer a glutton for 
work, nor can I keep humped up over that 

EVERETT C. LONG 
grindstone the long hours that used to be 
all in the day’s work, with no time and a 
half for overtime. 
Am not complaining. Just explaining. 
Everett volunteered, with our consent and 
blessing, He even bought a plane of his own 
to speed up hours in air. 
Goodness knows, the alphabet has been 
overworked. But if room for just one more 
fraternity or whatever, I vote for FCO. 
I know many fathers eligible for charter 
membership. And the list grows apace. 
But Shucks! Why talk so much about us 
fathers only? Mothers, too, are left to carry 
on, many having both sons and daughters 
serving directly or indirectly in winning the 
war that we are going to win. 
To all such parents I extend fraternal 
ereetings and good wishes. And to the young 
folks, assuming the greater burden and risk. 
One thing we must do is to reduce cor- 
respondence. So if your letters are not 
answered in detail, nor at all, at times, you 
will know why. 
You can get many helpful suggestions 
from our catalogues. Also, from folders, 
slips and booklets sent with orders.—J.D. 
e 33 
A little dough will buy a hummer. 
