County Agent in a New Role

County Agent in a New Role By Prof. Harrison R. Merrill TT 1 SUALLY when we think of county agents we think of youth- J ful men with starched collars, fresh from college, who go ^-^ out to show farmers how to farm. We think of them as talk- ing of harvesting time, haying time; of farm accounts, crop pests and other things in a very ethereal manner with much emphasis on theory and little on practice. I say, we sometimes think of them that way. I would not for the world hint that the county agent is that way. I know that county agents are not like that, for the simple reason that I met one who was no longer a county agent; he was a farmer chasing some of his own dreams which had taken shape while he was yet a county agent. Best of all, he was catching up with those dreams, too. It was a sunny day in Cache valley on which I came across Joe Welch at home. Joe had been our county agent; therefore, I was very curious to see just how he would look on a farm of his own, meeting problems of the farm, face to face. Of course, I'll admit that he had an advantage over most farmers for his land lies in Paradise; but Joe looked very much at home in his rubber boots and "Levi's" that morning. After showing us his grain, which touched the chins of or- dinary men; and his hay, which was as thick as "the hair on a dog's back," he took us to the house and gave us a swig of water drawn from a tap which furnished pure spring water several miles from the spring. Joe looked happy and so did the rest of his flock. "Now let me show you the glory of my Paradise," he chuckled, as he handed the glass to his wife. "I'll show you the part of the farm that pleases me most." With his son at his side, for Joe, strange to say, has some ideas about rearing sons as well as about raising hogs, we went down across his rich bench land towards Paradise creek. One glance at that creek and I was almost as eager to share Paradise with Joe as the thief was to share the glory with One vastly more important than we are. Hills adorned with wheat-grass rolled up from the creek on the far side until they swelled in long green billows against that Cache valley sky, as serene as the face of an angel. Willows, thick and bushy, lined the little stream, permitting it to laugh at us only at intervals. We could hear its throaty chuckle as we approached.

July, 1929 COUNTY AGENT IN A NEW ROLE 741 Hop vines, I believe, thickets of briars and wild currants and berries made the place like a page from the book of eternal youth. We slid down a steep dugway along the upper edge of which tiny springs oozed into the white dust of the trail made by Joe's prize cows and sleek horses. Joe said little. He was enamored of his "glory" and enjoyed it silently. Swimming pools? Scores of them. Laughing water? Scads of it. Flashing pebbles? Millions of 'em! Two fat horses followed us as we walked along the creek bank and seemed determined to be ridden. At last the boy could stand it no longer. "Dad, I think I'll ride," he grinned as he caught the mane of one and slipped the bridle he had been carrying on to the willing head. With an agile hop and a bit of sleight-of-hand with the mane he was up. "Let's show 'em how deep one of our best holes is," Joe said, as he caught the other horse. "You know when you are farming rather than telling others how to do it, you have time for a little of this," Joe spoke half apologetically, as he swung upon the other horse. "We have a lot of fun along this creek." The two of them drove their horses into the clear waters of the Paradise and waded them around, the boy laughing with delight as the cool liquid forced him at times to hold up his legs. Joe, with a look on his face I never used to see in our county, led out. selecting "&£& l^aLjv : * 'ii V .«V ,'^'^&MJ?^^^r^SI^^Laa^t 5.X •■iii&'iia^R:. Ski- pi&fHV, ^" ;^'; ■SBm'y 1 ILL<1 .' ■>.'- 95&&::h£%j¥ 'W^'^SBk • 'i" lQE39Br^ £i>'i;3H mm lv V -■ " f ?yw& ; - ^^ ; jkt < • m*\X H^^^^^u9E|[r^^^ r* S|P ym^M .- r ' ^ff 51 l^fi^B^ iSK . fc<-J»£'3*£t»tC?- -' V-=^t- rfc-i. r 'V 1 nsl _ — ^:'-- ~~~-~~~\ C^-5^=5lliB^2; it -ttPBSEw*^^^^^^^^^ "" ' '.. . t :■.-., Li .'• • • '; .' •■' •■'■ i Joe and His Boy

742 IMPROVEMENT ERA Mv. '^ the deepest water in order to increase the adventure — his, that of watching the fledgling learning how to manage himself and horse; the boy's, that of threading unknown deeps sustained and en- couraged by one who knew his danger and cared. That was Paradise Creek that day and ever will be so long as those two or any two maintain the same trust in each other. We followed over the little farm — it wasn't so very big — listening to the dreams that were taking form and enjoying with Joe his family and his ambitions. He was a county agent in a new role — that of the practical farmer. I could see the theoretical college boy shining through his hopes and dreams, but I could also see, as I thought at least, a man's grit that would hang on to those dreams. Oh, no, Joe isn't any youth in years, but he was youthful that morning; as young as the birds, and as trusting. Our trails haven't crossed since that morning, but I am hoping that Joe's dreams are still expanding. Whether they are or not, he gave me a great thrill that day, for I caught a glimpse of what a man might do for his son on a farm if it is the right sort of farm and if he is the right sort of man. Do you know, I have since wished that more of our farmers could have the training of a county agent behind them and a farmer's grit as an added asset. I don't know how Joe will come out with his hogs or his cows or his grain — he may make a failure with them — but somehow I have confidence in his success with his boy, and boys count. A Woodland Madrigal Hark! How the song birds in the grove Embowered in roses, sing their tender love! 'Tis here kind Nature in her rosy bowers Bids Love awaken us amid the flowers, Inspiring us in tones of merry glee To sing our song of Love's sweet harmony! List! How the finch and mocking-bird attune Their melody to this clear morn in June! Sing, merry birds, express whatever seems To you the dearest thought of summer dreams! Could Man as happily his voice intone — Each voice impassioned for his love alone — Like pealing organs he would voice employ To fill the firmament with tones of joy! Mayiuood, Calif. JOSEPH LONGKING TOWNSEKD