himself is necessarily absent several hours every morning with his
milk-wagon; but, although he cannot lend a hand at the early field work,
this work must go on with promptness, and he must arrange in advance for
its proper performance. From the moment when he has finished his late
breakfast until the last glimmer of twilight, he is doomed to harrowing
and often anxious toil. There is no wide margin of profit that will
admit of a slackening of the pace. Land must be prepared for planting;
planting must be done when the condition of the ground and the state of
the weather permit. Weeds grow without regard to our convenience, and
they must be kept down from the first; and well on into the intervals of
the hay-harvest the corn-field needs all of the cultivation that there
is time for. Regularly as clock-work, in the late hours of the night and
the early hours of the afternoon, the milking must be attended to; and
the daily trip to town knows no exception because of heat, rain, or
snow. At rigidly fixed hours this part of the work _must_ be done; and
all other hours of the growing and of the harvest seasons are almost
more than filled with work of imperative need. These alone seem to make
a sufficient demand on the patience and endurance of the most
industrious farmer; but, aside from these, he is loaded with the endless
details of an intricate business, and with the responsibility of the
successful management of a capital of from fifteen to twenty thousand
dollars, upon the safety and the economical management of which his
success entirely depends; he must avoid leakage and waste, and make
every dollar paid for labor, or seed, or manure, or live stock, bring
its adequate return.
Probably no occupation in the world can compare with farming in the
opportunity that it offers for the _losing_ of money. Nothing is so
enticing as slate-and-pencil farming. Ten acres of land can be ploughed,
manured, and planted with corn, and the crop can be well cultivated and
harvested for so many dollars. Such land with such manuring and
cultivation may be trusted to yield so many bushels of corn to the
acre; and, after making due allowance for chance, the balance of the
calculation shows a snug profit. In like manner we may figure out a
corresponding return from the hay-fields, from the root-crops, from two
or three acres of potatoes, and from a patch of garden-truck for which
the neighboring village will furnish a good market. Then the poultry
will return a profitable income in eggs and in "broilers;" and
altogether it is easy for an enthusiastic person to show how interest on
invested capital and good compensation for labor are to be secured in
agriculture.
But when the test of practice is applied to our well-studied and proven
scheme; when we see how far our allowance for "chances" has fallen below
what is needed to cover the contingencies of late springs, dry summers,
early frosts, grasshoppers, wire-worms, Colorado beetles, midge, weevil,
pip, murrain, garget, milk-fever, potato-rot, oats-rust, winter-killing,
and all the rest; when we learn the degree of vigilance needed to keep
every minute of hired labor and team-work effectively employed; and when
we come finally to the items of low markets and bad debts,--we shall
see how far these and similar drawbacks have undone our arithmetic, and
how often our well-contrived balance must be taken into the footings of
the other column of figures.
The regular work of the farmer, as indicated in the foregoing sketch of
his occupations, and as perceptible to the summer boarder who watches
his work from the piazza, although arduous and exacting, may be quite
compatible with a happy life; and, when we estimate the promise of the
occupation as offering a pleasant livelihood, no able-bodied man need be
deterred by it. But when we add this long list of contingencies, and
consider the ceaseless anxiety that they bring, we may well hesitate
before adopting such a life for ourselves or desiring it for our
children. No true estimate of the developed character of the farmer can
be formed without giving due value to this uncertain factor in the
calculation.
Instances are hardly exceptional where a clear natural intelligence, an
indomitable courage, and great industry, have turned themselves into a
real source of mental and moral strength. Success achieved in spite of
such drawbacks is all the sweeter and all the more inspiriting because
of them. But if we take the case of the average farmer with average
human weaknesses, we cannot fail to see, that, however well he may have
borne up against the more obvious requirements of his work, he has been
warped and cramped, and often made in many ways unlovely, by the hard
and anxious toil through which his halting success has been attained.
In nearly every other occupation than farming, the hardest worker finds
a daily relief from his toil, and from the suggestion of toil, in a home
that is entirely apart from his industry. However arduous and anxious
and long-continued the work, there comes a time when it is laid aside,
and when the workman goes into a new sphere, where the atmosphere is
entirely changed. His home is a place of rest and pleasure, or at least
a place of change. The pen and the hammer are left in the counting-room
and in the shop; and, however far the home may fall below his desires
and ambition, it is at least free from the cares of the day's
occupation.
The American farmer has no such relief. His house is a part of his farm;
his fireside is shared by an uncongenial hired man, his family circle
includes too often a vulgar and uninteresting servant; and from one year
to another, his living-room being the kitchen and work-room of the busy
farmhouse, he rarely knows what it is to divest himself of the
surroundings of his labor and business, and to give himself over to the
needed domestic enjoyment and recreation. It is this feature of his
life, more than any other, which seems objectionable. If it is
objectionable for him, it is infinitely more so for his wife and
daughters, who, lacking the frequent visit to the town or occasional
chat with strangers, and the invigorating effect of open-air work, yield
all the more completely to depressing cares. They become more and more
deficient in the lightness and cheerfulness and mental gayety to which
in any other occupation the chief toiler of the family would look for
recreation at his own fireside.
So far as interest in his business is concerned, the farmer's condition
is in every way elevated when he devotes himself to some improved form
of agriculture, or to some special industry which gives him better
compensation for his work. This benefit by no means generally results
from an attempt at "scientific" agriculture, nor is the adoption of a
special industry by any means generally successful. Failure in either of
these directions is disheartening and discouraging to those who are
watching his example. There are many well-tried improvements upon the
old methods of our fathers which are universally adopted, especially in
the direction of the use of better implements and more judicious care in
the application of manure. But the average agricultural newspaper, while
doing great good, has naturally led enthusiastic men to see a chance for
ameliorating their condition by the adoption of processes which are not
suited to their circumstances, or which they themselves are not
qualified to carry out. It is this that has led to the outcry--much more
prevalent a generation ago than now--against "book-farming." On the
whole, whatever may have been the influences of agricultural writers
upon the fortunes of their early converts, they have vastly modified and
improved all modern farm-work, and have greatly benefited the more
recent farmer.
The conditions of the industry are hard, chiefly because the business of
farming is a laborious one, and one in which an enormous population is
working, with dogged industry, for a moderate reward. However
enterprising and intelligent a farmer may be, when he goes to market to
sell his crops he finds himself in active competition with men who are
working for their bare subsistence.
Much is said about the competition of the farmers of the rich West as a
serious obstacle to success at the East. This is the case only in so far
as the Eastern farmer attempts to compete with the Western in the
production of crops which will bear storage and long transportation. As
a business proposition, it seems clear that this drawback is to be
overcome only by the cultivation at the East of such products as it is
not within the power of Western competition to supply, or only such as
our situation and the good quality of our land will enable us to produce
at low cost. Milk, fresh butter, and hay are the three most promising
staples, for which so large a demand exists as to furnish employment for
the whole farming population. Hay from its bulk does not bear a very
long transportation. Milk will always bring a higher price when
produced near to the point where it is to be consumed. Butter-making is
not an especially profitable industry if we depend upon the average
grocery-store demand; but it is possible for any farmer at the East, who
will take the trouble to make and to retain a good reputation for his
dairy, to secure a price enough higher than that of the regular market
to constitute a good margin of profit.
So far as relief in Eastern farming is to be achieved with no material
change in the character of life and work, it must apparently be sought
in these directions. In his relation to Eastern civilization, past,
present, and prospective, it may fairly be questioned whether the
influence of the Eastern farmer is increased since the general
introduction of railroads; and we are justified in looking with some
anxiety to the relative position which he is to hold hereafter.
There are well-known influences at work which are not promising. The
desire of the sons and daughters of the farmer to obtain some other
means of livelihood, and the too frequent yielding to this temptation on
the part of the more intelligent of these young persons, is the most
obvious danger to the future of the industry.
Much has been said of the dignity and independence which come of the
ownership of land; but it is possible that this influence has been
over-estimated, and that our ideas of it have been derived more or less
from our European traditions. Perhaps, after all, we ought to and do
attach the most importance to that which is the most rare. In England,
where the ownership of land carries with it a certain social dignity,
and where the mere possession of money has a less marked influence in
this direction, there is no doubt that the title-deeds to broad acres
constitute a certain sort of patent of nobility. In this country, where
land is plenty and cheap and where large fortunes are rare, a farmer
gets consideration less for the amount of land that he himself owns,
than for the sum-total of the mortgages which he holds upon his
neighbors' land. That is to say, it is better to be rich in money than
in land; and instances are comparatively rare, even among those who are
cultivating their ancestral acres, where the farm would not be gladly
sold for a sum of which the income would secure a better and easier mode
of life. The farm is not regarded with especial affection: it is mainly
regarded--along with its stock and tools--as an instrument for making
money.
The American farmer is distinguished from the English farmer chiefly by
having his capital invested in the land which he cultivates, rather than
in the tools and live stock and working capital needed to carry on his
business. As a general rule the farmer's whole fortune is invested in
his land. Often his farm is mortgaged, and he has little loose money
with which to improve his system of work. The necessity for making a
living and paying interest, without sufficient capital for the best
management, makes the life of the farmer too often a grinding one. If he
is skilful and industrious and prudent, he may hope with certainty to
free himself from debt, and to accumulate a respectable support for his
old age.
When we consider any class of working people, as a class, this is
perhaps all that we can hope for under any circumstances. The unhopeful
thing about it all is that while farmers work less hard than their
fathers did, and while they get a better return for their work, the
surroundings of their life have not improved as have those of men
engaged in other industries, so that although actually much better off
than their ancestors were, they are relatively less well off in the more
attractive conditions of other classes of workmen; and this deficiency
is driving away the children on whom they ought to depend for assistance
and for succession.
In the abstract, farming is a dignified occupation, and in proportion as
it borrows aid from science it becomes more dignified. So far as the
casual observer can see, it combines more of what is desirable than does
any other pursuit. While it promises no brilliant reward, it insures a
steady, reliable, and sufficient return for the capital and labor
invested in it. It promises a sure provision for old age, and it secures
the wholesome pride that comes of the ownership of visible property.
Indeed, look at it and argue about it as we may, it is not easy to see
why it is not the best occupation for a wholesome and intelligent man.
Those who know the condition of the art intimately, and who have studied
the influences of its work and its life upon those who are engaged in
it, recognize serious drawbacks which must in some way be removed unless
it is to fall away still more from its original character, and is to be
given over to German and Irish immigrants, who, during one or two
generations, will be contented with what it has to offer. It is
difficult even to theorize as to the means of relief, if farming must be
considered, first of all, as a means for obtaining a livelihood and for
making money; and no effort to improve the situation of the farmer will
be successful which does not keep this prime necessity always in view.
It is easy to see how the condition of any farmer's family might be
improved by a large additional income; but there is no obvious source
from which this increase is to be drawn, nor will he adopt any scheme
that will endanger the income that he now receives.
If we could convert the farmer into a chemist and physiologist, and give
him the satisfaction that comes of controlling the combinations of
physical and chemical materials according to laws which he understands,
and of securing his results with scientific accuracy, we should
accomplish our purpose; for no man with such scientific knowledge,
realizing its relation to his daily work, could fail of an enthusiastic
fondness for his profession. But the worst of it is that all efforts in
this direction have generally ended in producing a "smatterer," whose
theories are baffled by constant disappointment, and whose worldly
prosperity is lessened by his mistaken experiments.
Successful farming implies, first of all, steady and dogged hard work,
coupled with prudent and watchful skill. When the hopes of enthusiastic
agricultural reformers are considered with the practical eye of cold
common sense, they must inevitably be condemned to disappointment. In so
far as they constitute an incentive towards improvement, they work great
good; but the success of the future is to be attained too often through
the distressing failure of the present. The art is an experimental one,
and the temptations to extend experiments are enticing. Unfortunately,
novel processes depend for their success upon contingencies which are
likely to be disregarded at the outset; and, however much any
improvement may be destined to prosper after its application shall have
been practically tested and modified, it is altogether likely that its
first introduction will result in failure. The mere money losses coming
of these failures are not so serious; but the discouragement and
disappointment that they entail exert the gravest influence where what
is chiefly needed is the encouragement of success.
It is something to know the direction that improving effort should take;
and it seems to be generally conceded that what American agriculture
needs, at the East and at the West, but especially at the East, is _an
improvement in the character of its personnel_. There is everywhere
ample opportunity for the profitable and successful introduction of
modified processes and of new industries. There is, too, hardly an
instance where the processes and industries now pursued are not
susceptible of great improvement of detail. There are few farms so well
managed and so successful, that if given into the hands of better, more
intelligent, and more enterprising farmers, they would not produce
better results. The father is working according to his light, and is
directing his work by such intelligence as his natural capacity and his
training have given him. His brighter son, with more natural
intelligence, with a better education, and less trammelled by
traditions and prejudices, might so modify the same industry as to make
it more certain, more profitable, and in every way more satisfactory.
The change that is now taking place, especially in New England, is
toward the greater economy of living, and the harder work and closer
management of business, that comes with immigrant proprietorship; and
this element is by no means to be depended upon for the improvement of
our farming. It may result in a more money-making agriculture, but it
will supplant our best political element by the introduction of what has
thus far seemed to be one of the worst.
Look at this question as we will, it is difficult to see how else than
by improving the race of American farmers we are to accomplish any
result whose good effect will be radical and lasting. This brings us
around to that threadbare subject of the vague discussion of
agricultural writers: "How to keep the boys on the farm."
The devices recommended for accomplishing this result have thus far
failed of their object. The average farmer boy is not a sentimentalist,
and he is not likely to be moved by the sort of talk so often lavished
upon him. To use a vulgarism, he has an extremely "level head." He fails
to realize the attraction and the dignity which are implied by what he
is told of the nobleness of his father's calling, of the purifying and
elevating influences of a daily intercourse with nature. He is not to be
caught with this sort of chaff. His cultivation has not been of that
aesthetic character that he has an especial drawing toward nobleness, or
purity, or elevation. Nature, as he knows it, shows at times an
unattractive side; and he fails to recognize precisely what is meant by
Mother Earth as a source of dignity. To him Mother Earth is an exacting
parent, calling for constant and regular toil, and whipping him on day
by day with weeds to be hoed, dry gardens to be watered, snowdrifts to
be shovelled, and an almost endless round of embarrassments to be
overcome. As for the purity and simplicity of the farmer's life, he
knows very much better than to pin his faith to it. To him the farmer's
house is too often a place where the mother is overworked, tired,
wearied with constant annoyance, and made peevish and fretful. The
conversation of hired men and young neighbors and brothers is not
marked by refined delicacy and simplicity, as he understands these
terms. At the end of all our preaching he will say, at least to himself,
that this is probably the sort of talk that we consider appropriate to
the occasion, but that, if we knew what he knows about farming, we
should see how little effect it is likely to have. If he sought our
motive in saying it, he would conclude that we were interested in
keeping up the supply of farm labor; and that so far as _he_ was
concerned, since he must work for a living, he would work at some other
industry if he could get a chance, and leave those who were less
fortunate to work on the farm.
The more sentimental and more influential considerations governing in
this matter were very well set forth by Dr. Holland in a paper on Farm
Life in New England, published in "The Atlantic Monthly" some twenty
years ago. While acknowledging the frequency of bright exceptions to the
rule, he does not hesitate to set it down as a rule that the life
described is in every way a hateful one; where every member of the
family, from father to child, is driven by the lash of stern necessity,
and where many conditions which are deemed requisite in the life of all
other classes of the same wealth are comparatively rare; where the
expectant mother of the child is worked without stint to her last day,
while the mother of the colt is relieved from all hard toil and treated
with consideration throughout the last months of her time; where, in
short, whether from interest or from a mistaken idea of necessity, hard
work long hours, poor food, and dismal surroundings are the rule of the
farmer's household.
Since that time there have been noticeable modifications, involving the
introduction of more or less tastefulness, because of the cheap
literature and cheap music of these later days. But, much as these have
done to affect the individual characters of the younger members of the
family, they have only aggravated the evil, so far as farm-work is
concerned, by creating a desire, born of knowledge, for the pleasanter
manner of life which the town has to offer. The young girls whom one now
sees about railway stations in the most distant part of the country are
dressed after the instructions of "Harper's Bazar" and "Peterson's
Magazine;" and they know more than their older sisters did of the
difference between their own life and that of their city cousins. They
are certainly not to be blamed if they long for some vocation in which
they can more freely indulge their growing ideas of luxury, and gratify
their growing desire for better dress and more interesting
companionship.
All that has here been said is seriously true and important. The
circumstances described are so generally prevalent as to constitute,
with constant minor variations, an almost universal rule. Where we are
to look for relief, is the most serious problem. Relief must be found,
or the character of our farming class must assuredly degenerate. In one
way or another we must change, in a radical degree, the conditions of
the farmer's life. We can perfectly understand why it should be
distasteful to any young person of ordinary ambition or intelligence;
and we know, from the constant flocking of farmers' sons and daughters
to even the least attractive employments of the town or village, that
this distaste is everywhere a controlling one.
It is easy to say that the farmer's life must be made more cheerful,
attractive, and refined, and less arduous; but it is by no means easy
to see how the improvement is to be brought about. The cardinal defect
is the loneliness and dulness of the isolated farmhouse. Intelligent and
educated young women, brought up among the pleasantest surroundings,
marry young farmers, and undertake their new life with the determination
that, in their case at least, the more obvious social requirements shall
be met. During the earlier years after marriage they adhere to their
resolution, and are regular in attendance at the church and public
lecture; and they keep up, so far as possible, social intercourse with
their neighbors. But as time goes on, as the family increases, as toil
begins to tell on health and strength and energy, they drop out, little
by little, from the habit of going abroad, until often for weeks
together they never exchange a look or thought with any human being
outside of their own households. Aside from the overworked members of
their own families, their companionship is confined to hired men who
smell of the stable, and to hired girls with whom they are yoked in the
daily round of household duties.