The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1889-06-15
ON THE OLD FARM.
"reminiscences Of the Good Days
Long Agone.
The Giant Wood-Pile With It's Many Fas-
citations, tho Moss-Grown Well,
the Woods. the Birds, All, All
Are Changed.

''1n Winters tedious nights sit by the lire,
With good old folks. and let them tell thee tales
OF woeful ages long ago."
This was my wont forty years ago;
hut such nights were never tedi-
GUS; nor were the ages woeful of which
the old folks chatted. Sitting by the
fire tonight, am led to contemplate.
not so much the heaped-up logs and
cheerful blaze before me as that other
feature of days gone by, the old farm S
wood-pile.
Recalling both what saw and heard
when lad of few summers, am
startled to find that, one after the
other, the prominent features of my
childhood's days have largely disap-
peared. Improved farm machinery
may delight the economist, but its
Introduction has added no new
charm to country life, and robbed
it of more than one. Was there
not a subtle something in the swish of
the scythe to be preferred to the click
of the modern mower? Harvest comes
and goes now without ripple OF ex-
element upon the farm. A hum of
the reaper for few hours. and the
work is done. A portable steam-engine
puffs in the field for day, and the
threshing is over. But what long
series of delights, at least to the on
locker, when grain was Graded,
shocked, and then carted to the barn!
And, later, far in the winter, what
music was the measured humping of
the fails!
In due course came the present order,
the natural outcome of relentless evolu-
ton. and it is affectation to decry it.
Mankind in the long run has been
benefited, and all should be thankful.
But with these major changes
have come minor ones that trust
can be mourned without risking a
charge of Stiffness. l need not
name them. Mention of any one
calls up the rest, so closely related
were they all. Who can think Of the
old wood-pile, a maze of gnarly sticks,
huge chopping-log. and the rudely-
HATED axe, without vision also of the
old kitchen with its cavernous fireplace.
and, just outside the door, the mossy
well with its ungainly sweep! Ali
these were practically out of date in
my time, but here and there were re-
tanned on more than one old farm l
knew, and are still in use within walk
ing distance of my home.
To many. perhaps, awood-pile is but
a pile of wood; but it is something
more. Can you not see that the ground
is depressed. as though the earth had
been beaten down by the continued
blows of axe and beetleP Do you not
notice that the outlying weeds are diff
ferent from those that are scattered
elsewhere about the dooryarde Here.
there is not only wood-pile now, but
there has been one for many a long
year. perhaps for more than century.
Turn up the soil and you will
find it black; examine it with a
lens, and you will find it filled
with wood fiber in every stage of de-
composition. Dig deeper and you will
find many relic of bygone genera
ton. Pewter buttons, that once shone |
like silver, the pride of beaux, who.
though Quakers, loved smart-looking |
coat; buckles worn at the knee and |
upon the shoes; bits of spectacle rims
that once held circular glasses of |
enormous diameter; thousand odds |
and ends, indeed, of metal, glass, and |
china, discarded, one by one, as they
were broken; for the wood-pile was a
dust-heap as we'll, and the last resting
place of every small object that could
not be burned.
My own earliest recollection of out
door sport is of playing house, about
the generous heap of gnarly logs and
crooked branches that had been brought
from the woods during the winter. At
some convenient corner the loose
earth would be scooped away, water
brought until the hollow was filed,
and long row of mud pies nodded in
the product of a happy
work. 1t was usually when
thus engaged that some curious object
would be brought to light and referred
Tor explanation to the wood-chopper,
i he were present can see two old
men now, whose sole occupation in
heir later years, so far as can recall,
vas to split wood. These two men,
Uz Gaunt and Miles Overfeld. were
master hands with an axe" as thew
promptly said of themselves. With
'ne foot resting upon the chopping-
block, and leaning upon his axe. Uz or
Milesiwould critically examine what
aver l had found; and then. after ST.
emily gazing into the distance to recall
he past, with what an air of wisdom
would the information be forthcoming!
Nor would either of these old men
over promptly resume his labor. Such Il