The Idaho Republican. [volume] (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1904-1932, 1918-08-27
SEVEN SACKS OF WHEAT

NO more beautiful 1S the story o
Ruth, who gathered the fallen spear
of barley in the fields of Boaz, thar
the story of the cleaner about whom
| am going to tell you.
Ruth went out and by her devo
tion to Naomi won the love of Boaz
My cleaner plucked the heads o.
wheat in an Idaho field without
thought of the appreciation of men;
without hope of material reward
without desire to win the applause
or attention of the world.
Love for Naomi caused Ruth to
toll in the harvests of Bethlehem.
Love for country, for righteous
ness, for liberty-for all that these
mean-sent my cleaner out into the
fields of Idaho.
AS the story was told to me l pass
it on to you
She Is old-eight-one years old.
She lives with her son on an irri-
gated Idaho farm out in the Snake
river basin.
When the war came she was eager
to help.
Eighty-one years oil dand eager to
help!
She knew the price Of war. Fifty
years had not blotted out the men,
DRY of the toll war must always take
Father, brother, husband she had
given that this nation, under God,
Nigh thave new birth and be pre-
served in truth, a nation Of freemen.
Eyes dim, hands trembling, hair
white as the driven snow, body
stopped and worn by the long, long
years-yet heart and soul aflame
with passionate love for America, for
humanity-she wanted to help.
She could knit. Patiently. hour by
hour, she wove the grey yarn into
warm garments for our lads, our
lads, over there.
Every Red Cross appeal found her
anxious to help.
Eighty-one years old and anxious
to help.
Then came the call for war saw
ings stamps.
Son." she said, ~ don't feel like
we are doing all we ought tot
takes q terrible lot of help from the
people TOR the government to carry
on awar remember in the sixties
how scarce money and food were,
how we drank acorn coffee, never
had any bread but corn bread,
sweetened our victuals with molasses
how sometimes we gave up our only
pig or killed our last chicken to feed |
the soldiers When father and your
Uncle John were killed but that's |
past and gone. It's now-now-l
we've got to help. I----I--wish had |
some money"
why, mother-your're helping,
ook at the sweaters you've made
and ii you want money you know I'll
give 1t to you. How much do you
vant?"
"No, no-I don't want your money,
hat would be you helping, not me.
You spend it for stamps for you
or your part-I want some money
we earned. money I've saved myself
% it will be my help not somebody
,lses-''
Eighty-one years old and eager,
nxious, to earn money that she
night help her government.
Then one night the ditch broke
s bitches sometimes do where men
rrigate. The water poured out and
CODED a field of wheat. 1t was
eavy. ripe, ready to cut. Where {
he water washed thru 1t the grain
ell and lodged"
1t was a tangled mass, ruined. No
inder, no machine, could harvest
Work presses. Labor was unob- !
ainable. The son had no time to
ather the grain by hand "It is a t
hame for it to waste" he said, "but t
can't be helped-Id be glad to
i've it to anyone who could save it," c
One morning few weeks later he
as going to town.
"Will you have a load?" the
lother asked.
mot much. Do you want to go b
18th me, mother?" {
mo, but I'd like to send my
heat" r
"Your wheat?"
She took him out to the woodshed. a
There it is-seven sacks-you h
i'd you'd give it to anyone who v
ould save it and l wanted to earn a
me- money so bad" p
Eighty-one years old and she had
me out and plucked, one by one, d
g ripened heads, patiently gath d
ed them into her apron and carried A
EN- to the woodshed; as the gleon- in
8. TN the days of Ruth threshed out Il
cir grain so had she with sticks te
lied it out or shattered 1t by rub til
1g the heads between her withered or
nds and saved the precious grains, O,
en- Widowed out the chaf with
. singing winds of summer. re
Get the picture.
Age-old, old age-gleaning in the
Ids Of Idaho--toling under the hot
4, gathering grain by grain the
len wheat that she might save 1t
1 sell it and help her government,
1r government, my government, in ia
time of great need. TO
'There--there-are seven sacks. to
wish you'd take 1t to town and we
1t and take the money and buy sa
ne war savings stamps for me-" he
seven sacks of wheat. an
seven priceless monuments to the ms
Mortal spirit. of patriotism. sa,
Earl Wayland Bowman. ha
/ cd