Science of Farming

SCIENCE OF FARMING By H. L. Johnston There is no labor on earth more essential to the well-being of a country than farming. It is also one of the most dignified. Next comes the husbanding of sheep and cattle. Farming is the foundation of prosperity for nations, for when the farmer prospers and reaps larger crops, it stands a fact that the tradesmen and all dealing with the farmer will get a share of his blessing. From Egypt a knowledge of agriculture extended to Greece where it flourished 1000 years B. C. Hesiod, who lived about 800 years B. C, describes in his writings a plow consisting of a beam, a share, and handles. The advance in the art and science of agriculture in the United States during the last half dozen years has been remarkable, having had a tremendous effect upon the Nation's prosperity. For many years it was thought that anyone could turn his hand to farming when he was unfitted to do anything else. That impression went hand in hand with the idea that all farmers sat astride a rail fence, chewed a straw and said "B' gosh!" and that he was the legitimate prey of all city slickers who had a gold brick or a set of patent lightning rods to peddle. During the last dozen years these people holding the idea outlined above have had their eyes opened to the fact that farming, when done right, is a science of the very highest order. Of course there are still some farmers who belong to the "B' gosh!" class, but you will most generally find them struggling on some worn out land and bewailing the hard luck that gives them such scanty crops and so poor a living. They do not understand why their neighbors are doing so well on much smaller tracts of land. These same neighbors have tried to teach them the science of farming, the secrets of the soil, but they have been scoffed at, in many cases. The book "larnin" farmer was scoffed at and the old school farmer went ahead taking everything from his once fertile acres and giving not one tittle in return. Tell him that Nature is one vast laboratory and he cannot under- stand what you mean. Talk about Legumes and Acid soil and he will look at you in a queer manner. Nitrogen, fertility building, lime- stone, crop residue, and crop rotation, all seem a mystery. He will slave along blindly raising ten or fifteen bushels of corn to the acre and growl about his hard luck where, if he used the science at his very door, he could renew his acres and grow a bumper crop. The U. S. Department of Agriculture publishes numerous pam-

1048 IMPROVEMENT ERA phlets, to be had for the mere asking. These pamphlets contain the result of years of scientific agricultural methods. In every state in the Union can be found agricultural schools headed by men noted for their knowledge of the science of the soil. These men under- stand the innermost secrets of Mother Nature's Laboratory. There is no longer any excuse for a man to farm blindly, nor is there any excuse for anyone to be ashamed to be called a farmer. We now have such slogans as, "Better Babies on the Farm." We have radio, automobiles, and up-to-the-minute tools and machinery. We have telephones and parcel post, rural free delivery; in fact, we can hold a daily intercourse with the world from our own doorstep. Above all we have the pure free air of God's great out-of-doors, the boon of healthy exercise and the knowledge that we know every Tom, Dick, and Harry and all their folks for fifty miles around us. Compare this last blessing with the great city where everyone is a stranger and one soon feels like the "Babes in the Woods." Stay on the farm. Be the backbone of the Nation and feel proud that such an honor rests upon you. If it wasn't for the farmer there would be no great cities, no railroads, no giant steamships, no modern wonders of the world; in fact, there would be — nothing. lobar, Nevada Autumn on the Old Homestead Autumn days at last have gowned everything in brightness round, And the gorgeous leaves of autumn lie shapeless on the ground. In the barns a garden heap, vegetables and fruit we keep From the icy hand of winter as he ventures forth to reap. The lands that held the harvest of the summer's eaily toil, Now lie trampled and forgotten, as if poor producing soil. Round a leaping, crackling fire, sat the old folks in their chair. The snowy hands of winter had left traces in their hair. The old homestead had been a home for four young lads, Who had hurried to the city for a career not quite like Dad's. But as autumn in her glory came creeping o'er the earth, They longed for Dad and Mother and the same old crackling hearth. The tired couple dozed by the fire in calm repose, As the Nightingale out yonder sang its farewell to the rose. Just like the spring of seasons, passed the spring time of their life. They entered middle age prepared for toil and strife. They endured till chilly autumn left its traces on their head, And winter cold as ever o'er the earth white blankets spread. Now they sit in patient silence listening to the winds that moan, Waiting ever for the reaper that will take them safely home. Flora D. Robinson.