The First Farm in Dry Valley

The First Farm in Dry Valley* By Elsie Chamberlain Carroll "Guess I'll see if I can get Lem Watkins to help with the spring work. We ought to begin plowing right away. If this weather keeps up it won't be long till we can put in the early crops." Jerry Mortimer addressed the family in general as he sat down a little late to the breakfast table. The old man at the other end of the table looked up in surprise. "Why, we don't need anybudy, do we, Jerry? Ain't we always got along with the spring work ourselves?" The younger man hesitated a moment as he helped himself to the brown hash. He might as well have it out with father, he argued with himself. He had hoped the old man would be able to see how things were without him having to explain. "Well, — you see, father, you — you ought not to work in the fields any more. You're getting too old. And besides you have had the rheumatism extra bad this winter. There's more work than Fred and Jim and I can do, and of course Johnny is too young to help. Lem is a good hand, so I thought we might as well get him before someone else does. You've had your day of hard work in the fields, so it's time you had a chance to stay in and rest and enjoy yourself." Jerry began briskly on his hash, complimenting himself that he had rather cleverly handled a delicate problem. The faded, grey eyes across the table stared for a moment uncomprehendingly, but only for a moment. The old eyes were not as keen as they had once been, it is true. Neither did the old man's mind work as rapidly as in his earlier days, but the eves were still keen enough, the mind was still quick enough to grasp the meaning back of the son's words. A slow flush crept over the wrinkled face, and the toil-worn hand trembled a little as it pushed the plate back on the table. "Stay in the house and rest and enjoy himself" when the rich brown earth, new from its winter's sleep, was calling him with its smell of loamy dampness, and its tender, sprouting green grass blades and tiny opening leaflets? "Stay in the house and enjoy yourself" when the meadowlarks were pouring their liquid sweetness into the fresh spring air from every budding willow *This story was awarded first place in the February, 1917, Improvement Era story contest.

682 IMPROVEMENT ERA clump, and the frogs were croaking their throaty medleys from every nog in the meadow? "Stay in the house and enjoy him- self" when his own blood was tingling with the sublime miracle of spring, just as he could remember it tingling with all the springs of his seventy active years? The red on the sunken cheeks grew deeper. There was no doubt as to Jerry's meaning. The father had seen a foreboding shadow of this day, away last fall when one afternoon the damp- ness of the newly plowed field had made him limp with the rheumatism, and Jerry had insisted on his going to the house. He had caught a glimpse of the unwelcome spectre of old age and outgrown usefulness then, but he had pushed the tantalizing image from him with a determined hand. But there was no turning from its grim features now. "Here, grandpa, have another biscuit. Why, you haven't eaten your egg! Is anything the matter?" His daughter-in- law, all unconscious of the tragedy going on there, at the end of the table, passed the bread plate to him. "No, they ain't nothing the matter, Molly, but somehow I don't feel very hungry this morning. Guess I'll go out and walk about a bit." "Well, be careful and not get your feet damp. You don't want another spell of rheumatism," she called after him as he shuffled from the room. "Yes, I'll go right over and see about getting Lem," Jerry remarked as the old man's bent form passed the window. I should have got someone a year or so ago. I really didn't realize how old and feeble father was getting. He always seemed to enjoy the work. Well, he's going to have it easier from now on." Jeremiah Mortimer stood looking over the land into which he had sown the energy and wisdom and faith of an active life. The familiar stretches of brown earth seemed suddenly to have grown strange to him. This was no longer his farm; it was Jerry's. He was no longer needed in the operation of it. The realization gave him a dull pain. One after another he regarded the landmarks of his toilsome, sacrificing years, yet withal, happy years because they were filled with activity and useful- ness. There was the old granary where he and Harriet had commenced housekeeping fifty years ago. There were the apple trees and pear trees and currant bushes they had set out that first year. There was the old well and the milk-house and tool- shop, and even the miniature fort he had built for Jerry when he was a little chap of seven. These objects had always seemed a part of his very life before, but now they stared at him mock-

THE FIRST FARM IN DRY VALLEY 683 ingly, reminding him in their unchanging utility, of his own vanished usefulness. He had wandered down through the orchard, past the garden-plot to the fence dividing the meadow land from the stretches of hare fields. He leaned listlessly against the meadow hars and stared before him unseeingly. Life, which had always seemed so sweet a thing to him, had suddenly become a desolate, empty void; a period of dreary waiting for the end. The dull pain grew to an aching numbness. He hoped the waiting would not be long. He was ready now for the uncertainties of the Great Beyond — now that his usefulness was past. A mist was gathering in the faded grey eyes. He hoped Harriet would be waiting for him there on the other side. "Why, hello Gramp! I didn't know you wuz down here. Did ye see my butterfly? It had big brown wings with yeller slreaks. I been a chasm' him clean down frum the upper pasture. Gee! but ain't it a bully day?" and nine-year-old Johnny lifted his freckled face and seemed to fill himself with the fresh sweetness of the April morning. The old man had started at his grandson's unexpected ap- pearance. With one horny hand he wiped the mist from his eyes and looked down into the animated little face upraised to his. But he did not speak for a moment and Johnny chat- tered on. "I seen a bluejay this mornin' and two robins an' I heard a meader lark over by the south hedge. An' say, Gramp, ole Dominick's got a nest up in the hay with 'leven eggs in it an' she's settin' on 'em. How long is it takes the little biddies to git in the eggs?" The youngster had not noticed anything unusual in his grandfather, and this fact made the old man feel more like himself. "It takes three weeks, Johnny," and the aching tenseness in grandpa's throat began to relax. "Gee! I wisht I knew how long she's been settin'. I like to watch the little chicks come out, don't you, Gramp?" There was a little pause and then Johnny chattered on, "Say, but ain't this the bulliest day? I like spring betterin' any time. It makes a feller feel like gittin' right down an' diggin' in the dirt with his hands, and hunt fer baby plants an' smell the earth an' — even taste it. Spring sure is bully!" Then a tiny shadow settled on the small face as Johnny dug the toe of his well-worn shoe into the soft dirt. His next words came after a short silence, and were spoken wistfully. "I wisht I had a garden. Daddy give Jim one two years ago, an' now he's goin' t' let Fred have a piece up in the north field all fer hisself. Sam Kirk's pa's goin' t' give Sam some land and so is

684 IMPROVEMENT ERA Bill Harding's, an' Ted an' Tom Peters is goin' to have a hull strip t' do jist what they please with." The big blue eyes looked longingly across the stretches of brown earth waiting for the tiller's hand. "Daddy says I'm too little to be anything but a nuisance on the farm," the little fellow explained with a sigh. Something gripped the old man's heart as he looked down sympathetically into the face of this little partner in suffering uselessness. The child's disappointment suddenly loomed up as of vastly greater importance than his own. His eyes turned again to the broad stretch of fields — and there was not one little corner for them! His gaze drifted beyond the field to the bounding hillside. Then it seemed to penetrate to the other side of that hill; to a broad valley — great waiting tracts of un- touched, inviting lands. It was Dry Valley. Something stirred in the old man's memory. It was a vision he had once had in the old busy years, when once he had read an article on "Dry- farming in the West." He had seen Dry Valley transformed into waving grain fields. But it had only been one of the unful- filed, fleeting visions of his active, useful years. He stood very still now as the vision flashed back with vivid clearness. His blood, which had been coursing through his body with numbing pain, suddenly went rioting with the realization that the vision had not been an impossible one. He had read olher articles on dry-farming since that time. He had actually heard of dry-farming in the northern part of the state. Why could it not be done in the southern part as well? Strangely the vision took the form of a wonderful purpose. He felt as young as the boy beside him. "Johnny!" he exclaimed impulsively, "what do you say if we go over on to'ther side of that hill an' make us a farm?" "Jerry, ye goin' t' be usin' Dobbin an' the light wagon to- day?" It was two weeks later, and the Mortimers were again a*, the breakfast table. "Why, I guess not, father. Why?" "I thought mebbe Johnny an' me could take 'em an' go to town. We ain't either of us been fer quite a spell." "Why, sure you can take 'em," Jerry answered a little puz- zled at his father's unusual manner as well as at the unusual re- quest. "But wouldn't the surrey be better for a pleasure trip?" "I reckon I'm old-fashioned," grandpa replied with a little chuckle, but I always would ruther ride in a wagon than any fancy contraption. Besides the girls or Molly might want the surrey 'fore we git back. Maybe we'll decide to make a hull day of it, seem' yer not needin' Dobbin. Johnny," grandpa con- tinued as he arose from the table, "you better git yer ma to put

THE FIRST FARM IN DRY VALLEY 685 us up some sandwiches, then we won't need t' hurry hack if we don't want to. I'll go out an' be harnessin' up." "It certainly has done father a lot of good, my taking the whole responsibility of the farm from his shoulders," Jerry re- marked as his father left the house. "I didn't have any idea he would perk up so. I really felt a little worried for fear he'd miss the things he's always been used to doing, but he seems to feel splendid, doesn't he?" "I don't think he has been so contented and happy since before your mother died," Molly answered. "He and Johnny are together all the time, just like a couple of boys. They spend hours off on long tramps nearly every day. It's a good thing for them both. Johnny has always been so full of mischief before." Both Jerry and Molly would have been mystified could they have seen Johnny and grandpa a half hour later. They had driven the light wagon down to the edge of the orchard and into it they were stowing a varied collection of things which had been surreptitiously hidden there during the past week. There were farming tools and bags of seeds and odd pieces of lumber, not to mention garden lines and goods boxes, and old overalls, shoes and gloves. "We'll take these things out to our farm first, then we'll go lo town fer the plow an' harrow an' things an' mabe we can git back an' started to work 'fore noon," Grandpa confided happily to Johnny as they worked. "What'll we do first, an' kin I help?" asked Johnny as they rattled down the road. His freckled face was aglow with mys- tery and pride. "Sure. You'll help do everything. There's lots to do. It'll keep us a hustlin'. Now we've got the rocks off an' the brush grubbed an' it's all laid off we'll plow an' harrer. Then we'll have to make some kind of a shelter fer our tools an' things. 0, they's plenty to do, Johnny. Plenty to do!" The old man clucked happily to Dobbin, and his eyes beamed almost as brightly as Johnny's. After that Grandpa and Johnny often borrowed the light wagon and old Dobbin for an excursion. And they continued also to take long walks over the western hill. Had the members of the family been less interested and busy with their own affairs they might have wondered what it all meant, but there was an occasional comment, such as, "What takes Grandpa and Johnny off so much?" or, "Isn't Grandpa's rest doing him a world of good?" but that was all. And the days of May and June and

686 IMPROVEMENT ERA July passed and the little secret farm over in Dry Valley thrived to the wonder and delight of the two farmers. One morning in the latter part of July as the two were dis- appearing over the hill, Grandpa drew a folded newspaper from his pocket. His wrinkled hands shook with excitement as he opened it. "Johnny, look at that!" he exclaimed indicating a big head- line at the top of the page: Prizes offered by State for best ex- hibit of dry-farm products raised in each county. Prizes to be awarded at county fair this fall. The old man read the announcement tremulously. "That means us Johnny! That means us! They ain't an- other dry-farm in this here county. Nobudy but us knows that dry-farmin' is possible in these big red sand valleys. That's when we'll give 'em our surprise party, Johnny, there at the fair. Kin ye hold in that much longer, sonny?" the old man's face glowed as he patted the youngster's head. "You bet!" Johnny assured him as he turned a somersault in the road ahead of his grandfather. "Gee! but they'll be sur- prised. I measured Daddy's biggest squash this morning an' it only beats our'n a quarter of a inch an' our corn is purt' near as high as his. 0, Gramp, ain't it fun t' farm?" At last the time for the county fair arrived. The day before the wonderful event was a busy one on the Mortimer farm. Jerry had never been so proud of the exhibit he was prepared to make. He usually took a number of ribbons. This year he expected to outdo his former reputation. "Molly, do you know where Father and Johnny are?" he inquired along the middle of the forenoon, as he poked his head in at the kitchen door. "Why, no. I haven't seen them since morning. I believe I did notice them going off down through the orchard right after breakfast. They must be somewhere around." "No, I've been calling and looking all over. They never 8eem to be around any more. I thought they could tie up the vegetables. Johnny's getting plenty big eough to do some- thing and a little work wouldn't hurt Father at a busy time like this, but I'll declare the two of them are off chasing butterflies and hunting birds' nests the whole time. I guess you'll have to let Lizzie and Kate come out and help awhile. We've got to get our stuff to the Fair before five o'clock or there won't be time to fix the exhibit. I don't see where under the sun those two can be," and Jerry turned impatiently back to the barnyard. The morning of the Fair dawned with all the welcome, warmth and radiance of a perfect Indian summer day. The Mortimers were astir early, busy and excited, getting readv to go to town.

THE FIRST FARM IN DRY VALLEY 687 "Well, I'll declare, I don't know what ever has come over Father," Jerry confided to Molly as he wrestled with his collar and tie. "Nothing would do but he and Johnny should take Dobbin and the light wagon and start out a half hour ago. He acts more excited over the Fair than the children do. It's a good thing I got Lem Watkins early in the spring or we would have been hard put for help on the farm this summer. I didn't know he was so near the end of his usefulness. But," he added comfortably, "he seems wonderfully well and happy, doesn't he? And, of course, that is what we want." Glenville was a-buzz with all the gay splendor and happy activity attendant upon the small country fair. Vehicles of every description were drawn up in long lines on both sides of Main street, the greater number being near the Town Hall where the fair was in progress. Flags waved above decorated shop windows. Venders of ice cream and lemonade and cracker- jack and toy balloons persuasively called out their wares. Knots of men gathered here and there and discussed crops and the growing prospects of the county. Neighboring farm wive? greeted each other warmly, and enquired with interest about each other's children, the fall cleaning, sewing and canning. Children ran joyously about, laughing and shouting, enjoying to the full this gala holiday. Inside the long hall a throng of people moved slowly from one splendid display to another. The women paused before tables covered with canned fruits and vegetables and preserves, or exclaimed over the array of fancy quilts and sofa pillows. The men looked with judicious eyes over the trays of vegetables and fruits, halting here and there where a red or blue or white ribbon proclaimed the decision of the judges. Down in the far end of the hall a small boy and an old man waited eagerly. They were before a neat display of varied farm products above which hung the conspicuous information: Exhibit from the Dry-farm of J. and J. Mortimer In the center of the table rested another placard upon which was written: This Display was Awarded the Special $100 Cash Prize Offered by the State "Here they come! Here they come!" Johnny whispered excitedly, clutching his grandfather's arm as he indicated their approaching family. Jerry Mortimer, his wife, two daughters, and sons, Fred and Jim, were slowly making their way down the long hall. They v/ore looks of satisfaction, having just observed a number of ribbons in the Mortimer display.