MY HOME LIFE—AUNT LYDIA—MISS WOODBERRY—TRIP TO CANYON LAKE.
According to the laws of the Brotherhood each company was entitled to a
fortnightly holiday and as far as possible work was entirely suspended
on Sunday. The day after the convention was Thursday and the company of
which I was a member enjoyed a “lay-off” on that day. Although the
convention had kept me up late the night before I arose early, having
arranged an outing in the country with a small company of friends. The
Co-opolitan lay on the walk as I stepped out to sit upon the veranda
while breakfast was being prepared. I picked it up and sitting down
proceeded to read the news. At that time my residence was on Salem
Avenue where it widened into an extensive park in which was a lake fed
from an artesian well around which a grove of young trees grew
luxuriantly. My house was not a large one. It had been constructed for
me by the association, as all private dwellings had been for their
occupants, upon a plan such as the occupant furnished. The estimated
cost to the Association was one thousand dollars as represented by
orders paid out by it for the labor and material used. It is well to
state here that the construction of a house was to the Association
hardly more than a question of labor. My house was, like all the
dwellings in the city at that time except apartment houses, a frame
structure. The timber had been obtained from the neighboring forests by
our own people without cost. It had been sawed into lumber by our mills.
It had been put together by our carpenters. The stone for the
foundations, the lime for the walls and ceiling, the brick, mortar,
sand, and, in short, all but the nails, screws, locks and gears were
produced by the labor of our own people. Three years later, even these
were manufactured in Idaho. So that the house cost little more than the
cost of the labor employed in its construction. But it was,
nevertheless, as well built and as commodious as one costing three
thousand dollars in an eastern city under the competitive system,
showing that our co-operative system was at least three times as
effective in this line as the competitive system. This showing, however,
is limited to the building trades alone, and does not include the
enormous increase of productivity by the employment of all labor power
in the direction of greatest utility.
The rooms were all provided with open fireplaces for heating purposes,
but the cooking apparatus consisted of a gas stove. Gas, electricity,
steam heating and both hot and cold water were furnished by the
Association at a small cost. In fact the rent of the house, its lighting
and heating as well as its supply of water, cost me only one hundred and
forty-four dollars per year, or twelve dollars per month, and the
service was complete. Besides this, any repairs needed were attended to
at once and the house was kept in perfect order. The furniture was also
provided by the department store as selected by myself. Even the carpets
were manufactured in Co-opolis. This furniture was paid for by me in
Commonwealth orders and was mine without reservation.
In those times most of us preferred to prepare our breakfasts at home,
but we usually either had our other meals sent from the public kitchens
close at hand or went to the public dining halls or hotel. The Domestic
department had charge of the entire domestic work of the city and
companies were stationed in each precinct for that purpose. Whenever any
house wanted domestic work performed it was only necessary to telephone
to the proper station and a well-trained domestic, either man or woman,
as desired, was sent for the purpose. The time of the domestic was
charged to the house and the cost of the service collected by the
department each month, like the rent, gas, telephone, water and heating
bills. The streets and grounds were kept in order by the city at the
public expense.
For nearly a year an aunt of mine, an old widow of most excellent
character, had been keeping house for me. She was not a member of the
association, did no service and drew no pay, but lived entirely on my
bounty. She was a strict Congregationalist of the New England type, read
her bible diligently, assisted in maintaining a religious society of
that denomination, and was one of the most kindly and lovable souls in
our neighborhood. She was, of course, too old to become an active member
of the society and too poor to purchase a membership. She did not
altogether approve the system in operation in Co-opolis, but rarely ever
expressed any criticism upon it.
I think she was as comfortable and happy as any old lady in the country,
for her time was employed, either in sewing, light domestic work,
reading, writing letters home, or riding with the motorcycle which I
kept at her disposal. She was always endeavoring to economize in
household matters because she felt that she was a charge upon me. It was
in vain that I assured her of the growing wealth of Co-opolis, and tried
to get her to realize that I had a share in all this wealth which would
last me my lifetime. She could not comprehend it and still continued to
save.
This morning she was quite busy, according to her usual custom, and it
was not long after I sat down to read that her cheerful voice called me
to partake of the morning meal. It was not an elaborate one, but it was
an Idaho production almost entirely. The rolled oats were grown, rolled
and prepared in Co-opolis; the flour, maple syrup, butter and even the
sugar were made in Idaho, and none better were ever made elsewhere. The
sugar was the product of the beet-sugar factory at Laselle, which had
been established by the National Brotherhood two years before. The salt
was manufactured by our Association, and this morning we had plates
which were among the first productions of a new industry added by the
Department of Manufactures just two months previously. The silver on the
table was some which I had inherited from my mother and was highly
prized. The oak extension table, sideboard and chairs in the dining room
also represented our Co-opolitan labor. Aunt Lydia sat at the table with
me and served the coffee.
“Willie,” said she, as she reached me the cream, “I guess I won’t go
to-day. I promised Mrs. Cressy that I would spend a day with her, and
she has a holiday; so, if you have no objection, I will go there instead
of the lake.”
“Why, Aunt Lydia,” I exclaimed, “what has made you change so suddenly?
Of course you must go with us. Mr. Fuller and Joe Preston are all going
and if you don’t go I’ll simply have to ride alone. You must go.”
“No, Willie.” She always called me Willie. “No,” she declared again.
“The Prestons have company just from Boston, a Miss Woodberry; I met her
yesterday. She seems to be a very nice young lady and I want you to go
with her and show her the valley.”
“Why, aunt,” I replied, “I will do nothing of the kind. I want you to go
and have made my arrangements accordingly.”
But my aunt was obdurate and all I could say was unavailing. The truth
was she was anxious that I should marry and was, very much to my
annoyance at times, always contriving to throw me in the way of young
ladies, hoping that I would meet my fate. I suspected that this was
another scheme of that kind and felt provoked. If I could have found a
good excuse I would have canceled my engagement and remained at home.
But no excuse presented itself. What was even worse, as I thought, my
aunt had gone so far as to invite Miss Woodberry to take her place in
the party, which that young lady as a guest of the Prestons, who were
also going, very naturally and promptly accepted. Of course I could not
scold the dear old meddling lady, and so, although much put out, I
philosophically submitted to the inevitable.
After breakfast Joe Preston, a young man about twenty, who had just
entered the Industrial Army, in the Transportation department, but who
had a holiday also, came over and said that he had been to the precinct
kitchen and had all the edibles put up for the trip and that Miss
Woodberry was ready to go whenever I was. He took the motorcycle from
the shed back of the house, adjusted the storage battery, and conducted
the vehicle around to the front door. I entered and a minute later we
were at the door of the Preston cottage, where we found the entire
party, Miss Woodberry among the rest, waiting with their vehicles. The
formalities of an introduction over I assisted Miss Woodberry to her
place and seating myself by her side we started away, the rest of the
party following.
Our destination was the lake made by damming the waters of Deer River
and flowing about two hundred acres of land in the canyon where the
stream emerges from the mountains. We called it Canyon Lake and laid out
a park around it, which at that time was not completed, but gave promise
of much beauty. It was my intention to ascend the divide south of the
city, pursue the road which ran along the slope and take in the scenery
which delighted the eye from that elevation. So we followed the asphalt
pavement as far as it went in that direction and then rolled along the
smoothly macadamized country driveway. The Co-opolitans of that day were
very proud of their roads and spent much time and labor upon them. They
were all wide, smooth and well shaded and accommodations for drinking
both for man and beast—horses were still in use for drawing heavy
burdens at that time—were provided from the big flume and the reservoirs
of our system of irrigation.
The lady by my side was enthusiastic over all she saw and so bright and
unaffected were her remarks and exclamations that, before we had gone
very far, I began to enjoy her society. She was not a remarkably
handsome person, but she had what I suppose my female acquaintances
would call “style.” That, of course, was a matter of dress, all of which
had its effect on me as fashion intended, but none of which I could
describe. In a general way I could see that she had a jaunty hat full of
bright-colored artificial flowers, a loose-fitting white waist and a
gown of some blue material. Her form was tall and rather slender, her
hair auburn, her features somewhat pronounced, but intellectual, her
mouth indicated firmness, but was in an everlasting conspiracy with a
pair of large blue eyes to express all that is bright and sunny in the
feminine character.
She had one of those faces, in which no feature was above criticism, but
upon which so many happy thoughts and kindly emotions were continually
expressing themselves, that criticism was as soon forgotten as made, and
once forgotten was never recalled. I was seized, as we walked together,
with a great desire to show her novel or beautiful scenes, and to tell
her what I knew. I never enjoyed anything so much as the varying
expressions of her face, always intelligent, always pure, always gentle,
and withal full of strong character. It was evident that she had read
much, seen many places and had a clear understanding. But it was also
apparent that she was in search of the pure, the beautiful, the good,
and she was altogether like what she sought. One most remarkable fact
about her was that although a Bostonian she did not insist that Boston
should be the sole subject of conversation.
After an hour’s journey from the city, moving rapidly along the levels,
swiftly down the inclines and slowly up the steep road which ascended to
the divide, we reached the place which I have always considered the best
from which to view Co-opolis. Here our party halted for a time,
remaining in our carriages and discussing the many objects of interest.
The mountains, black and threatening, looked down upon us as if with
sullen displeasure, and beyond the wild wastes of treeless and houseless
valleys, far to the south, rose the weird forms of the Seven Devils,
presiding over a kind of a golden Hades. But it was not the mountains
nor the wilderness which attracted us mostly.
Before us lay the garden of brotherly love, in whose bosom nestled the
fair city of Co-opolis. That city was indeed a picture of peace and
loveliness, with all its great public buildings, its wide streets, its
artificial lakes and magnificent urban parks. I pointed out the
buildings and parks to my lady companion and took much pleasure in
giving her brief historical sketches of several of them. But even
Co-opolis, with all its artificial beauty, was not the greatest object
of interest. The valley itself, subjected to the most thorough
cultivation to which the most approved methods could reduce it, lay
before us “as fair as the garden of the gods upon the slopes of Eden.”
Directing our attention to the north we saw the silvery expanse of
Canyon Lake glistening in the sun. Along both the northern and southern
slopes of the valley extended the finely constructed ditches and flumes
conducting the waters of the lake to many different reservoirs, where
they were stored and distributed when occasion demanded.
I explained, what was a fact, that the rainfall in this region had
increased to such an extent since the valley became inhabited and
cultivated that for two years the supply of water had been comparatively
little used in irrigation. But irrigation assured us our crops and there
was no danger that a drought would ever destroy them. Eighty thousand
acres constituted our cultivated farm. I pointed out the apple, peach
and pear orchards and vineyards and spoke of the promise these orchards
and vineyards gave of a large supply of fruit in perhaps another year. I
showed the corn, wheat and potato fields, the vegetable gardens and the
extensive hothouses, and explained that at times three thousand members
of our Industrial Army were engaged on the farm.
We could also see the numerous sheds constructed in sheltered places,
for the sheep and cattle which our shepherds and herders attended on the
ranges, and the large barns here and there in which the harvests were
stored and kept. The fields and ranges had produced in the last two
years an enormous surplus. This surplus, however, the Brotherhood in the
nation had taken or it had been distributed at the instance of the
Brotherhood among the new colonies which it had established throughout
the state.
My companion asked me the wealth of the colony, and my answer was that
its buildings could not be constructed in any competitive eastern city
for less than $15,000,000.00, but that they probably cost an amount of
labor estimated by our standards at $4,500,000.00. The 80,000 acres of
land, to which the Association had title, were worth $50.00 per acre at
least, or $4,000,000.00. The personal property, consisting of machinery,
stocks of goods, sheep, cattle, horses, wagons, tricycles, bicycles,
motorcycles and farm products, were worth $8,500,000.00 and the water
right, irrigating ditches, electric railroads, gas and electric plants,
water system for the city, heating system and public utilities which
brought or could be made to bring a revenue, were produced by the labor
of the Industrial Army, without an outlay of much cash, and were worth
at least $5,500,000.00. All this has been created by labor in five
years, and, of course, the value of the city lots is not estimated.
Yet the mere fact that 15,000 people lived on these lots was sufficient
to give them an enormous value if they were to be sold for cash. Indeed,
I think the lots in the city at that time wore worth $4,000,000.00 as an
investment, based upon their rental values.
We continued our observation of the valley in this manner for about half
an hour and then rather reluctantly moved on. The day was spent
pleasantly, in fishing, sailing and picnicking. There was at the lake an
Association restaurant where, in the summer time, fish dinners were made
a specialty. Special attention was given to supplying our city with
fresh fish and a large fish hatchery was also located here. The event of
the day, however, was the observation of the scenery from the divide
both on the trip to and the trip from the lake, for we again stopped on
our return and again feasted upon that vision of fertility and
abundance.
When we arrived home that evening we were still intent on the full
enjoyment of our holiday, and, as the great French tragedienne, with a
superb company, had been engaged for the week by the Association, we
went to the theater. Here, again, Aunt Lydia, having an aversion for
theatrical performances, which New England Congregationalism had
instilled into her, preferred to remain at home, and I was once more
obliged to accompany my newfound friend Miss Woodberry. I may say,
however, that whatever my aunt’s aversion to the theater may have been I
did not share it and the aversion which I felt in the morning to leaving
my good, old aunt at home was not so keenly felt in the evening.