Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 55, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 March 1915 — THE BOY FARMER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE BOY FARMER

Late tn the fall be dug the acre of sweet potatoes, after stripping off the vines and feeding them to his hogs,, and found that he had 150 bushels of “punkin yams." He stored twenty-five bushels for home use and sold the other 125 bushels at $1 per bushel. Sam Powell never forgot what the government agent told him about seed.: When his contest acre was at maturity, he went down the rows and tied strings to the stalks that bore the most and the finest ears. In the same way, also, the young farmer selected bls cotton seed. Here and there in the rows he found stalks that were unusually large and perfect in shape. These were generally in some rich place where they had been particularly favored. If they were heavily loaded with bolls and the bolls were large and low down on the stalks, indicating that they would open early, Sam tied white strings on them in conspicuous places. It may seem that with all this work Sam Powell had little or no time for pleasure or recreation. Such was not the case, however, though be sometimes had to work longer hours than he liked because he was not able to get help. I** But Sam bad got in the habit of using his mind. He never imitated other peo pie In doing a thing without stopping to think why it was done or If there was a better way. He soon found out that it pays to keep oneself fresh and vigorous. By taking the proper rests and breathing spells and working at certain hours he found that he could do as much or more work tn eight hours as in twelve. After that be did not commence work before daylight or quit after dark, as be had been doing. He saw also that it was a good Idea to take a half day or fl day off now and then. One of the things that Sam enjoyed a great deal was to ramble through the woods and fields and study nature. He was what Is called a nature lover—that is, he never tired of studying trees and flowers and birds and insects and animals. It was a mighty bard matter for him to go after the calves and get back In time for breakfast It was not more than a quarter of a mile to where the calves were usually found—in a little meadow beyond the creek—but the earlier Sam started in the morning the later he would usually be In re turning.

He would gee up sometimes while |t was still dark and only the first red streaks of dawn showing in the east. He would get out in the fresh air and throw out fils arms and take deep breaths and walk about the yard for a few minutes; tben fie would be off suddenly, whistling a lively tune and scattering the dew from the grass and plants with his feet. He liked to sit down on the creek bank in the dim light of morning and watch the world just waking up. A slight noise from some big treetops told him that crows were leaving their roost. A louder flapping meant bus sards. A splash in the creek announced that a bullfrog was taking his morn Ing bath. Now and tben a possum would waddle by or a belated "coon returning from bis fishing up the creek would stop to eye Sam inquisitively. Crossing the creek and getting pretty close to the calves, be would stop suddenly again to watch three or four rabbits at their morning romp in the dewy grass. Farther on he might find a strange flower or shrub and study it ever so long, trying to determine the name of it Sam and Florence were both nature enthusiasts, and there were few flowers or trees the names of which they didn’t know. Finally, the young farmer would find the calves and start them borne, and he might get there by sunrise if be didn’t find something else to interest him. , When be came in, frqph, bright eyed and hungry from bls walk and found breakfast waiting, bls mother would ask: “Why. what makes you so late getting back, Sam?” “Oh, I’ve been watching of Br’er Rabbit and Br’er Possum.” he would reply. He had read the stories of Uncle Remus and always called animals by the names the old darky gave them. One Saturday morning Bill Googe climbed over the fence and Came to where Sam was at work. "Hello, Sam!” he greeted. “Bay, let’s go fishin*. this evenin’.” *■„ "Are you up with your work?” ask* ed Sam. “You bet I’ve quit loafin’ round when tbey’s work needin’ doin’. Everything's right up to now.” "AU right then,” said Sam; “I’ll be Siad to go. I was just ’thinking about It” “Well, I’U git the bait and be ’long •bout 1 o’clock after you. Say, Sam, you shore are raisin’ a powerful lot o’ track m ttHs plara- I declare, I don’t oeeteowyqu J*Jkcourse I knownow that it’s a good deal In the way

you work the land, but I didn’t thinly anybody could raise ■> crops like this. And you never let up—fast as you git one crop off you’ve got another cornin’ on.”

"Yes,” said the boy farmer. “I’m doing prefty well. Everything’s been favorable, though, and we’ve bad plenty of rain. As ‘for growing more than one crop, you’ve got to do that if you want to make any mpney. Besides, land needs something on it all the time to keep down the weeds and keep humusdn the ground. When 1 get my corn and cotton gathered I want to hire you again to plow this land and sow it with some kind of a cover crop for the winter.”

“All right,” agreed Bill. “I’ll do IL And since you mentioned It I guess I’ll sow my field In something—wheat or rye. I could use it for pasture, too. couldn’t I?” "Certainly,” replied Sam. “It would not hurt to pasture it even If you were going to let it stand. But speaking of land producing stuff, why, man. this place hasn't done half what it can be made to do. Here’s something 1 clipped from a farm paper. It’ll give you an Idea what land produces when it’s handled right” Sam took from his pocket a little slip of paper and read: “ ’There are few who know the possibilities of the soil when well manured and watered. One acre has produced

210 bushels of corn, and three bales of cotton have rewarded another man. On Long Island 400 bushels of Irish potatoes Is not an excessively large crop, and at Greeley, Colo.. 400 bushels is not an. uncommon yield. In the Sacramento valley. California. Mr. Cleek has for the past thirty years made a good living and saved ass average of S4OO per year from one acre. On the Island of Jersey rents are as high as S2OO .and S3OO per acre, and near the city of Paris they are higher still Near San Diego, CaL, there is a colony of “littlelanders” who believe that one acre is enough, and many of them are making good with their smaU farms. With good soils, plenty of manure and all the water needed the possibilities of the soil are enormous, and one crop follows another in rapid succession.* “What do you think of S2OO and S3OO an acre for rent?” Sam asked when be bad finished reading. “They’ve got to raise something on -that land, haven’t they?” “I should say they have!” exclaimed Bill That afternoon at 1 o’clock Bill Googe came by for Sam, and the two put off down the creek to fish for the perch and cat that were to be found In the blue pools of the little stream. Bill had intended to take his shotgun along, but found that he was out of powder and so bad to leave off that part of the sport. They hadn’t gone far when an old quail with her brood of young ones, just old enough to fly, rose out of tbe grass in front of them with a loud whir of wings and sailed off into a nearby thicket ■ ■ “They’s goto’ to be some good buntin’ here this fan and winter,” Bill Googe remarked. “You’re a farmer, aren’t you. Bill?” Sam asked. “Of course, a kind of. one. But what yds askin’ that for?” Bill inquired, surprised at the Question. "Wen. ;a farmer oughtnot to kin a farmer’s friends,ought be?” "Sure, be ougbtn’tr George replied.

"Well, you just take it from me that those quails and hearty alt the other birds that live around here are good friends of ours. We ought not to kill them, and we ought not to allow others to come on our places to kill them.” "Why. I didn’t think a quail was any good to us except to eat.” said Bill. "Bo far as any one knows,” Sam explained, “they’re the only bird that destroys the potato beetle.' They eat all they can find, and they do us a good turn every time they gobble one. More than that, every single quail eats thousands upon thousands of boll weevils. Some people used to argue that a quail didn’t eat anything exdept grain. But we know better now. They eat insects of all kinds, as well as weed seed.”

"If that’s so they ought not to be killed,” said Bill. “Of course not,” said Sam. "We don’t have any idea how much good they do us. It ought to be against the law to kill a quail at any time. As it is. they say Insects destroy one-tenth of all we produce. If we were to kill all the birds there’d be such a plague of insects that they’d kill everything—all the trees and vegetation of all kinds.”

Farther on Bill saw a woodpecker hammering lustily on a dead tree. He stopped and pointed with bls finger. "Bet I could knock Im off with a rifle from here.” be said. “Don’t ever do it,” cautioned Sam. “He’s another friend.” “What?” exclaimed Bill. "A wood pecker kills trees.” "No, he doesn’t,” said Sam. "He saves trees. A woodpecker never bores a hole tn a tree for fun. He’s after worms or making himself a home, and be makes his home in dead trees. When be bores into a green tree he’s after a worm every time, and be always gets him. The hole the bird makes will grow up. but if the worm stays it’ll kill the tree. One woodpecker will go over 600 trees in a day and examine them for bugs, egg deposits and worms. It doctors the tree inside and out. I saw a woodpecker go over nearly ev* ery tree tn our orchard.” “Well, now, 1 didn’t know that.” said Bill. "I been knowln’ woodpeckers all my life, but I never paid no attention to ’em. Guess I won’t shoot no more of ’em.” “To tell the truth,” Sam went on, there are mighty few birds or animals but what do more good than barm. I believe the common-old bouse cats kill more birds and chickens than all the varmints put together. I think it’s a good deed to kill a cat whenever yon find one. There are two kinds of hawks—the cooper and the sharp shinned—that are bad to kill birds and chickens. These two hawks lookalike. They are small. The females are a mottled brownish color, and the males are a dull blue. It’s a good thing to kill them whenever you get a chance. The other hawks and owls don t do much harm, and they do lots of good because they live mostly on rats and mice and such things. Once in awhile an owl will bother chickens, but it’s only when its regular food Is scarce.

“It’s pretty much the same way about the fox. mink, weasel and skunk. Once in awhile one of these varmints will get to be bad after chickens. But we could hardly do without them because they keep down the swarms ot field mice, rabbits, grasshoppers, crick ets, hornets and wasps.” "Where’d you find out these things?” asked Bill. “I know they’re true when T bear you say ’em. but somehow 1 never did think of ’em before.” “I’ve learned a little by reading.' Sam told him, “but mostly by keeping my eyes and ears open when I’m out in the woods and fields. Sister and I like to study plants and animals, especially plants. We’re going to take a correspondence course to botany next year in the state university. Florence says she’s going to be a florist, and I want to know all about plants, so 1 can farm." I

During the long afternoon Sam and Bill fished and talked, every now and tben throwing out a blue cat or a goggle eye to add to their strings that they kept fastened to the edge of tbe water.- It was cool and shady along the creek. Birds sang and squirrels chattered in the branches overhead. The two farmers enjoyed tbe quiet coolness after the hot days in tbe field. Late to the afternoon they wound up their lines and went borne, each carrying a long string of fish, Sam sat on the doorstep in the gathering dusk and breathed the perfume from tbe honeysuckle that clam bejCdp ver tbe yard fence. He saw the stars coming out. one by one, and tbe moon creeping up behind a big oak. Be beard the “who-who-wbo” of an owl away off on the creek. Tben suddenly stars, moon and owl all vanished. He smelled fried fish and beard his mother calling him to supper. (To be Continued.)

The Two Put Off Down the Creek to Fish For Porch.