--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Nelson, Lowry collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 22 number: 1 published: 1918-11 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Nelson, Lowry, "Rural Labor—Its Endowment," *Improvement Era* 22, no. 1 (November 1918): 26–27.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2201unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2201unse start_page: 26 end_page: 27 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1918-11) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2201unse publication_year: 1918 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1918, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Rural Labor—Its Endowment Rural Labor — Its Endowment By Prof. Lowry Nelson Up to the tasks of the world marches the endless procession of Labor. With its matchless strength and magic touch this giant army manipulates the wheels of industry, pumps trade through the arteries of commerce, turns the yielding sod, and annually shears the earth of its golden fleece. Work moves the universe. Labor is the heart of human institutions. Inspired labor is the summum bonum; the greatest good in the world. Some labor; some drudge. Some meet and do their tasks in the light of inspiration, intelligence and faith; some moil in the dusk of uncertainty, and uninspired necessity. The labor of some is animated by imagination, the beauties of Nature, the joy of living, and hope of the future; that of others is animated by nothing. The laborer is supreme in the consciousness of his own power, and his faith in what the future holds; the drudge is a victim of the monotony of his toil. Across the river, nestling close to the western foothills, is a homestead. The house, the barn, the yards, bear the unmistak- able signs of poverty. It is early spring after a hard winter. Two aenemic cows are reaching at the scanty supply of straw on the low shed that is trying to protect them from the incessant wind. A hungry looking dog rushes from the sunny side of the house to greet you. He indicates that visitors are rare. You approach the one-room house built of logs, and rap on the ill- hung door. After some moments a woman with a child in arms fearfully opens the door. Beyond her sitting by the stove, is a man, his head surrounded by fumes of smoke. He is sitting, elbows on knees, looking into the open oven. He looks around as you enter, and speaks but does not rise. A girl of eight and a boy of six, each like the parents, clothed in rags, are sitting on the floor playing. You comment upon the disagreeableness of the wind, and the uncertainty of the times, which strikes a responsive note immediately. The man slowly assumes an erect posture, takes two or three puffs on his pipe, and then there is a monologue something like this: "I never saw such a God-forsaken country. Blow, blow, blow. It's blowed steady for ten days now without even stop- ping to get a fresh start. I hitched up and started down the country the other day, but I only got down the road about a RURAL LABOR— ITS ENDOWMENT 27 half mile when it blowed so hard and there was so much sand a-flying that I couldn't get the hosses to go any further, so I turned back. Got to get a little something to eat purty quick, too. Guess I'll try again tomorrow. Can't sell nothin', can't raise nothin'." "Why not?" you ask. "Too much wind, and laziness I suppose, to be honest," he admits. Around the hill in a little cove that faces to the south, is another homestead. You can tell from a distance that the house is made of neatly-hewn logs. A small well-constructed barn, also of logs, and a high rail fence, give the yards a trademark of permanency and thrift. In a machine shop nearby you hear the clanging of hammer strokes that tell you industrious hands are at work. You go at once to the source of the noise. A man is standing at the anvil riveting the jaws on a pitman rod. His wife, who has just come to call him to the midday meal, is sitting on a nail keg near the forge. Their five-year-old son is watching in childish admiration the mighty hand that is wielding the heavy hammer. The man steps forward with hand outstretched to greet you as you enter. He introduces his wife and son, and suggests that you tie yovir horse in the barn out of the wind, and stop and have dinner. Their hospitality is accepted. The interior of the house delights you. In every detail it bears evidence of the magic touch of intelligence. You partake of a simple, yet wholesome and well prepared dinner. You learn through conversation that this man and woman dream dreams and cast their visions into the future. You find them deeply interested in the variety and possibilities of their work. He is glad that spring is being delayed a few days to enable him to get all his machinery repaired before spring work comes on. The wind is blowing and it is a bleary day, but these happy beings are unconsciovis of it. They are enamored of their work. They have inspiration sought in the intelligent performance of their tasks, and the vision of the future is theirs. Through intercourse with great books and the school room, their seeing sense has developed. They are the truly great; the masterpieces of modern society. The rich endowments of edu- cation are theirs; they have drunk at the fountain of knowledge. Their neighbors around the point will never know the secret ot their success and happiness. Logan, Utah