The Fat of the Land Part 28

CHAPTER LXIII

AN HUNDRED FOLD

Kate declared that she had had the time of her life during her nine weeks' stay at Four Oaks. "People here every day, and the house full over Sunday. We've kept the place humming," said she, "and you may be thankful if you find anything here but a mortgage. When Tom and I get rich, we are going to be farm people."

"Don't wait for that, daughter. Start your country home early and let it grow up with the children. It doesn't take much money to buy the land and to get fruit trees started. If Tom will give it his care for three hours a week, he will make it at least pay interest and taxes, and it will grow in value every year until you are ready to live on it. Think how our orchards would look now if we had started them ten years ago!

They would be fit to support an average family."

"There, Dad, don't mount your hobby as soon as ever you get home. But we _have_ had a good time out here. Do you really think farming is all beer and skittles?"

"It has been smooth sailing for me thus far, and I believe it is simply a business with the usual ups and downs; but I mean to make the ups the feature in this case."

"Are you really glad to get back to it? Didn't you want to stay longer?"

"I had a fine trip, and all that, but I give you this for true; I don't think it would make me feel badly if I were condemned to stay within forty miles of this place for the rest of my life."

"I can't go so far as that with you, Dad, but perhaps I may when I'm older."

"Yes, age makes a difference. At forty a man is a fool or a farmer, or both; at fifty the pull of the land is mighty; at sixty it has full possession of him; at seventy it draws him down with other forces than that which Newton discovered, and at eighty it opens for him and kindly tucks the sod around him. Mother Earth is no stepmother, but warm and generous to all, and I think a fellow is lucky who comes to her for long years of bounty before he is compelled to seek her final hospitality."

"But, Dad, we can't all be farmers."

"Of course not, and there's the pity of it; but almost every man can have a plot of ground on which each year he can grow some new thing, if only a radish or a leaf of lettuce, to add to the real wealth of the world. I tell you, young lady, that all wealth springs out of the ground. You think that riches are made in Wall Street, but they are not; they are only handled and manipulated. Stop the work of the farmer from April to October of any year, and Wall Street would be a howling wilderness. The Street makes it easier to exchange a dozen eggs for three spools of silk, or a pound of b.u.t.ter for a hat pin, but that's all; it never created half the intrinsic value of twelve eggs or sixteen ounces of b.u.t.ter. It's only the farmer who is a wealth producer, and it's high time that he should be recognized as such. He's the husbandman of all life; without him the world would be depopulated in three years.

You don't half appreciate the profession which your Dad has taken up in his old age."

"That sounds all right, but I don't think the farmer would recognize himself from that description. He doesn't live up to his possibilities, does he?"

"Mighty few people do. A farmer may be what he chooses to be. He's under no greater limitations than a business or a professional man. If he be content to use his muscle blindly, he will probably fall under his own harrow. So, too, would the merchant or the lawyer who failed to use his intelligence in his business. The farmer who cultivates his mind as well as his land, uses his pencil as often as his plough, and mixes brains with brawn, will not fall under his own harrow or any other man's. He will never be the drudge of soil or of season, for to a large extent he can control the soil and discount the season. No other following gives such opportunity for independence and self-balance."

"Almost thou persuadest me to become a farmer," said Kate, as we left the porch, where I had been admiring my land while I lectured on the advantages of husbandry.

Polly came out of the rose garden, where she had been examining her flowers and setting her watch, and said:--

"Kate, you and the grand-girls must stay this month out, anyway. It seems an age since we saw you last."

"All right, if Dad will agree not to fire farm fancies and figures at me every time he catches me in an easy-chair."

"I'll promise, but you don't know what you're missing."

Four Oaks looked great, and I was tempted to tramp over every acre of it, saying to each, "You are mine"; but first I had a little talk with Thompson.

"Everything has been greased for us this summer," said Thompson. "We got a b.u.mper crop of hay, and the oats and corn are fine! I allow you've got fifty-five bushels of oats to the acre in those shocks, and the corn looks like it stood for more than seventy. We sold nine more calves the end of June, for $104. Mr. Tom must have a lot of money for you, for in August we sold the finest bunch of shoates you ever saw,--312 of them.

They were not extra heavy, but they were fine as silk. Mr. Tom said they netted $4.15 per hundred, and they averaged a little over 260 pounds. I went down with them, and the buyers tumbled over each other to get them.

I was mighty proud of the bunch, and brought back a check for $3407."

"Good for you, Thompson! That's the best sale yet."

"Some of the heifers will be coming in the last of this month or the first of next. Don't you want to get rid of those five scrub cows?"

"Better wait six weeks, and then you may sell them. Do you know where you can place them?"

"Jackson was looking at them a few days ago, and said he would give $35 apiece for them; but they are worth more."

"Not for us, Thompson, and not for him, either, if he saw things just right. They're good for scrubs; but they don't pay well enough for us, and if he wants them he can have them at that price about the middle of October."

The credit account for the second quarter of 1898 stood:--

23 calves . . . . . $270.00 Eggs . . . . . . 637.00 b.u.t.ter . . . . . . 1314.00 Total. . . . . . $2221.00

CHAPTER LXIV

COMFORT ME WITH APPLES

September added a new item to our list of articles sold; small, indeed, but the beginning of the fourth and last product of our factory farm,--fruit from our newly planted orchards. The three hundred plum trees in the chicken runs gave a moderate supply for the colony, and the dwarf-pear trees yielded a small crop; but these were hardly included in our scheme. I expected to be able, by and by, to sell $200 or $300 worth of plums; but the chief income from fruit would come from the fifty acres of young apple orchards.

I hope to live to see the time when these young orchards will bring me at least $5 a year for each tree; and if I round out my expectancy (as the life-insurance people figure it), I may see them do much better. In the interim the day of small things must not be despised. In our climate the Yellow Transparent and the d.u.c.h.ess do not ripen until early September, and I was therefore at home in time to gather and market the little crop from my six hundred trees. The apples were carefully picked, for they do not bear handling well, and the perfect ones were placed in half-bushel boxes and sent to my city grocer. Not one defective apple was packed, for I was determined that the Four Oaks stencil should be as favorably known for fruit as for other products.

The grocer allowed me fifty cents a box. "The market is glutted with apples, but not your kind," said he. "Can you send more?" I could not send more, for my young trees had done their best in producing ninety-six boxes of perfect fruit. Boxes and transportation came to ten cents for each box, and I received $38 for my first shipment of fruit.

I cannot remember any small sum of money that ever pleased me more,--except the $28 which I earned by seven months of labor in my fourteenth year; for it was "first fruits" of the last of our interlacing industries.

Thirty-eight dollars divided among my trees would give one cent to each; but four years later these orchards gave net returns of ninety cents for each tree, and in four years from now they will bring more than twice that amount. At twelve years of age they will bring an annual income of $3 each, and this income will steadily increase for ten or fifteen years. At the time of writing, February, 1903, they are good for $1 a year, which is five per cent of $20.

Would I take $20 apiece for these trees? Not much, though that would mean $70,000. I do not know where I could place $70,000 so that it would pay five per cent this year, six per cent next year, and twenty per cent eight or ten years from now. Of course, $70,000 would be an exorbitant price to pay for an orchard like mine; but it must be remembered that I am old and cannot wait for trees to grow.

If a man will buy land at $50 or $60 an acre, plant it to apple trees (not less than sixty-five to the acre), and bring these trees to an age when they will produce fruit to the value of $1.50 each, they will not have cost more than $1.50 per tree for the land, the trees, and the labor.

I am too old to begin over again, and I wish to see a handsome income from my experiment before my eyes are dim; but why on earth young men do not take to this kind of investment is more than I can see. It is as safe as government bonds, and infinitely safer than most mercantile ventures. It is a dignified employment, free from the ordinary risks of business; and it is not likely to be overdone. All one needs is energy, a little money, and a good bit of well-directed intelligence. This combination is common enough to double our rural population, relieve the congestion in trades and underpaid employments, and add immensely to the wealth of the country. If we can only get the people headed for the land, it will do much toward solving the vexing labor problems, and will draw the teeth of the communists and the anarchists; for no one is so willing to divide as he who cannot lose by division. To the man who has a plot of ground which he calls his own, division doesn't appeal with any but negative force. Neither should it, until all available lands are occupied. Then he must move up and make room for another man by his side.

The sales for the quarter ending September 30 were as follows:--

96 half-bushel boxes of apples $38.00 9 calves 104.00 Eggs 543.00 b.u.t.ter 1293.00 Hogs 3407.00 -------- Total $5385.00

This was the best total for any three months up to date, and it made me feel that I was getting pretty nearly out of the woods, so far as increasing my investment went.

Including my new hog-house and ten thousand bushels of purchased grain, the investment, thought I, must represent quite a little more than $100,000, and I hoped not to go much beyond that sum, for Polly looked serious when I talked of six figures, though she was reconciled to any amount which could be stated in five.

My buildings were all finished, and were good for many years; and if they burned, the insurance would practically replace them. My granary was full enough of oats and corn to provide for deficits of years to come; and my flocks and herds were now at their maximum, since Sam had turned more than eight hundred pullets into the laying pens. I began to feel that the factory would soon begin to run full time and to make material returns for its equipment. It would, of course, be several years before the fruit would make much showing, but I am a patient man, and could wait.