Middletown transcript., 1881-08-12
A FARMERS BOY.

vista Of departed years and murmur
with apparant pride 81 was once a
farmers boy p 1t is, probably, a very
nice thing, this, for man to be abletO
say, after he gets old, and rich, and
bald-headed, and corpulent, and has a
couple of sons trying the best they
know how to get away with the interest
on the paternal bonds, and who don't
know hoe from patent cow-milker.
Many Of these old fellows who lay claim
to the honorable distinction of having
been farmers boys are frauds, but
there are some who make the boast
with genuine ring about it, and when
they begin to tell you how they used to
go after the COWS and find every one of
them in the back field with their tails
hanging through the line fence to the
adjoining farm, you know right away
they are telling the whole truth and
nothing but the truth, and that here is
another ex-farmer's boy who is proud
of his youthful calling. He feels that
it was an honorable calling, however
trying one, and he is even proud to tell
his friends, now he is a rich and sue
cessful man, how many stOne-bruises
he used to have on his feet, in seasons
when stone-bruises were ripe. Then
he remembers about the old family
grindstone that stood under Summer
Queen" apple tree, hard by the wood
pile, the handle Of which he has turned
in harvest time until every joint in his
backbone seemed to creak like the
rusty hinges on the smoke-house door.
Yes, he can remember, that after turn
ing the crank of that dear old family
grindstone for six consecutive hours
his backbone would feel like a piece Of
bath-towel at seaside resort on excur-
sion day; but now, after he has rested
for forty-fve years, he can conscien-
tiously look back to childho0d's sunny
hour, and tell his friends that a grind
stone is good thing to tougher boys
backbone for the wear and tear and
hard knocks of the future. Every boy
has future before him, you have no
ticed, though, as Artemus Ward used
to say, great many act as though they
seemed to think it was "behind them. y
And this old ex-farmer's boy loves to
tell about how potatoes are planted on
farm. He well remembers how he
started down a furrOw with a bucket
Of cut potatoes in one hand, while with
the other he stuck the pieces along at
regular distances, marked, perhaps,
by the end of his big toe. He was bent
up in the shape of an ox-bow, Of
course, and his one suspender was so
short that it drew the bottoms of his
pantalOons up to his knees. He thinks
it is very funny now, and he laughs
about it heartily, but then he used to
wonder why in the mischief potatoes
couldn't grow on trees SO that the
farmer could see what kind Of a crop
he was going to have without digging
it up to look at it. He knows now
that he was wrong to find fault with
Natures ways, and he acknowledges it.
Then he goes on to tell about how he
used to climb out of the garret at a.
M, feed the stock and cut off quarter
of cord of fire-wOod before breakfast,
just to give him an appetite, after
which he would drive the cows home
from the back field and help milk to
rest himself. Oh, it is ever SO refresh
ing to hear the solid citizen tell about !
what he used to do when he was
farmers boy. We never tire listening
to him, for it brings up tender memo
ries Of what we, ourself, went through
as farmers boy. Many long, sultry
summers forenoon have we lain up in
the coy front bedroom with mild
mustard-plaster across our epigastric
territory, while another boy turned the
grindstOne under the apple tree. And
then, when the seythes were all ground,
and the picturesque harvesters had
eaten hasty dinner and gone merrily
to the fields, with Tom Tom was the
" other boy'') following after with
two gallon jug of water, how we have
creeped sadly down stairs and eaten
seven apple dumplings, and then felt
that we were able to sit up for the re-
mainder of the day. We were a sickly
farmers boy, and the more work there
was on hand the sicker we got. The
attacks were very sudden, too. Tom
was much healthier farmers boy. but
he was not near so lucky. He used to
get kicked by mule, run over by an
ox-cart, chop his foot open with an
axe and cut finger off with straw
cutter, two or three times a year, Just
for change. We missed all these mis-
fortunes because we were not there
when the mule kicked, we stayed away
from the ox-cart and we never fooled
with the axe or straw-cutter. Gener-
ally, we were sick, But few farmers
boys are so lucky as we were, and to
this day we look with suspicion upon
rich old bald-headed men who claim to
have been farmers boys unless they
can show their credentials in the way
of missing finger or toe, or the straw
berry mark Of mule-shoe about their
person.
Farmers boys, your calling is an
honorable one, though we can't say
that it is very easy one. Men who