Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1900-06-19
THE HILL FARM AND THE
PRATRIE,
l[Keokuk Gate city.l

farm staring out of the broken vim
.dows upon wasted lands. No harvests
grow there now. Unplowed. unshorn,
unsown. no rhythm OF the scytlle. no
llustrous blades Of corn waving. no pale
green breadths OF rye glimmering in
the sun. The flowers had died from
the walk for want OF womanly care and
the snake crept OF among the weeds as
AZ ashamed OF the estate of which it
was the tenant. You can read the
poem Tor yourself, but the loyal heart
OF New England pulsed in the veter-
An's love of his land and he entreated
Young New England, altho the gains
were small, to build the ancestral home
once more; to till the fields their
fathers titled, as manly men as they
to reclaim the waste and outworn
lands and reign thereon as kings.
But there are times when the poet
and his art must yield to political econ
omy or the lines of least resistance in
Industry. Those of us who have seen
those rocky, sterile hill tracts Of de-
serted New England farms. with the
stones showing their teeth against the
intrusion of the pillow and then have
gone over such an Iowa farm as we
the whole matter has passed out of the
province Of the poets longing into the
realm Of political economy. There are
5000 square miles OF the Iowa farm.
calling to the plow as to a buggy ride
nothing to hinder the scythe, nothing to
hinder the reaper. "A young fellow could
hitch his pillow to a phaeton, get in his
best girl and go counting mile after
mile In an euthanasia of bliss while the
plow would turn over the unresistilig
+ soil for the growing Of the greatest
crops In the world for the maintenance
OF his offspring. There was thou
sand acres OF land in the farm we are
speaking OF, almost all in grass. for the
maxim Of that farmer Is: Grass is king.
He hitched up two thoroughbred horses
10 q carriage and we went driving for
hours over the grass lands OF his farms.
Miles and miles of luscious meadows.
fimothy. clover and bluegrass, an ocean
4 OF glorious green where like Neptune
Cor the Tritons you rode on the waves.
There was temptation to look miles
and miles away over prairies and
WOODS and the river valley and the
villages, and the other farms near and
far glowing in the perfect charm Of
June. Yet our farmer knew his own
and held is to 1t tho he was modest.
& He had sold OF pretty close but we
must zee his cattle, only 2os Of them
now. That nne fellow here weighed
!, 800 pounds at the last weighing. He
was proud Of the calf. See his calf
horns, fourteen months old and weigh
ed nearly 400 pounds at the last
weighing. The hogs? There were
about $50 OF them. He aimed to aver
age about one and one-half times as
many OF them as OF cattle. They were
too tat and lazy to get up but he said
ne was not crowding them. So he drove
his carriage team thru the grasses and
talked modestly Of farming. He will
have none Of the scant and barren
economies that make farm life drudg-
cry and slavery to- SO many women
What was that building? That was a
boarding house where all his hands
stayed He payed a man and women
/ for keeping II and boarding them. He
would not put upon his wife, whois not
strong. the burden of providing for
hired hands. And so on. That Is the
way come Iowa farmerstliv We make
4 q ashrewd guess that the poets ghost
will keep on looking out of the broken
swindows on the stony deserted landt
OF that hill sarm. The American farm-
aers has entered upon broader and morS
fertile acres.