HOW JOHN JOHNSTON MANAGES HIS MANURE.
One of the oldest and most successful farmers, in the State of New York,
is John Johnston, of Geneva. He has a farm on the borders of Seneca
Lake. It is high, rolling land, but needed underdraining. This has been
thoroughly done--and done with great profit and advantage. The soil is a
heavy clay loam. Mr. Johnston has been in the habit of summer-fallowing
largely for wheat, generally plowing three, and sometimes four times. He
has been a very successful wheat-grower, almost invariably obtaining
large crops of wheat, both of grain and straw. The straw he feeds to
sheep in winter, putting more straw in the racks than the sheep can eat
up clean, and using what they leave for bedding. The sheep run in yards
enclosed with tight board fences, and have sheds under the barn to lie
in at pleasure.
Although the soil is rather heavy for Indian corn, Mr. Johnston succeeds
in growing large crops of this great American cereal. Corn and stalks
are both fed out on the farm. Mr. J. has not yet practised cutting up
his straw and stalks into chaff.
The land is admirably adapted to the growth of red clover, and great
crops of clover and timothy-hay are raised, and fed out on the farm.
Gypsum, or plaster, is sown quite freely on the clover in the spring.
Comparatively few roots are raised--not to exceed an acre--and these
only quite recently. The main crops are winter wheat, spring barley,
Indian corn, clover, and timothy-hay, and clover-seed.
The materials for making manure, then, are wheat and barley straw,
Indian corn, corn-stalks, clover, and timothy-hay. These are all raised
on the farm. But Mr. Johnston has for many years purchased linseed-oil
cake, to feed to his sheep and cattle.
This last fact must not be overlooked. Mr. J. commenced to feed oil-cake
when its value was little known here, and when he bought it for,
I think, seven or eight dollars a ton. He continued to use it even when
he had to pay fifty dollars per ton. Mr. J. has great faith in
manure--and it is a faith resting on good evidence and long experience.
If he had not fed out so much oil-cake and clover-hay, he would not have
found his manure so valuable.
“How much oil-cake does he use?” asked the Deacon.
“He gives his sheep, on the average, about 1 lb. each per day.”
If he feeds out a ton of clover-hay, two tons of straw, (for feed and
bedding,) and one ton of oil-cake, the manure obtained from this
quantity of food and litter, would be worth, according to Mr. Lawes’
table, given on page 45, $34.72.
On the other hand, if he fed out one ton of corn, one ton of clover-hay,
and two tons of straw, for feed and bedding, the manure would be worth
$21.65.
If he fed one ton of corn, and three tons of straw, the manure would be
worth only $14.69.
He would get _as much manure_ from the three tons of straw and one ton
of corn, as from the two tons of straw, one ton of clover-hay, and one
ton of oil-cake, while, as before said, the manure in the one case would
be worth $14.69, and in the other $34.72.
In other words, a load of the good manure would be worth, when spread
out on the land in the field or garden, more than two loads of the straw
and corn manure.
To get the same amount of nitrogen, phosphoric acid, and potash, you
have to spend more than twice the labor in cleaning out the stables or
yards, more than twice the labor of throwing or wheeling it to the
manure pile, more than twice the labor of turning the manure in the
pile, more than twice the labor of loading it on the carts or wagons,
more than twice the labor of drawing it to the field, more than twice
the labor of unloading it into heaps, and more than twice the labor of
spreading it in the one case than in the other, and, after all, twenty
tons of this poor manure would not produce as good an effect the first
season as ten tons of the richer manure.
“Why so?” asked the Deacon.
“Simply because the poor manure is not so active as the richer manure.
It will not decompose so readily. Its nitrogen, phosphoric acid, and
potash, are not so available. The twenty tons, _may_, in the long run,
do as much good as the ten tons, but I very much doubt it. At any rate,
I would greatly prefer the ten tons of the good manure to twenty tons of
the poor--even when spread out on the land, ready to plow under. What
the difference would be in the value of the manure _in the yard_, you
can figure for yourself. It would depend on the cost of handling,
drawing, and spreading the extra ten tons.”
The Deacon estimates the cost of loading, drawing, unloading, and
spreading, at fifty cents a ton. This is probably not far out of the
way, though much depends on the distance the manure has to be drawn, and
also on the condition of the manure, etc.
The four tons of feed and bedding will make, at a rough estimate about
ten tons of manure.
This ten tons of straw and corn manure, according to Mr. Lawes’
estimate, is worth, _in the field_, $14.69. And if it costs fifty cents
a load to get it on the land, its value, _in the yard_, would be
$9.69--or nearly ninety-seven cents a ton.
The ten tons of good manure, according to the same estimate, is worth,
_in the field_, $34.72, and, consequently, would be worth, _in the
yard_, $29.72. In other words, a ton of poor manure is worth, in the
yard, ninety-seven cents a ton, and the good manure $2.97.
And so in describing John Johnston’s method of managing manure, this
fact must be borne in mind. It might not pay the Deacon to spend much
labor on manure worth only ninety-seven cents a ton, while it might pay
John Johnston to bestow some considerable time and labor on manure worth
$2.97 per ton.
“But is it really worth this sum?” asked the Deacon.
“In reply to that,” said I, “all I claim is that the figures are
comparative. If your manure, made as above described, is worth
ninety-seven cents a ton in the yard, _then_ John Johnston’s manure,
made as stated, is _certainly_ worth, at least, $2.97 per ton in the
yard.”
Of this there can be no doubt.
“If you think,” I continued, “your manure, so made, is worth only half
as much as Mr. Lawes’ estimate; in other words, if your ten tons of
manure, instead of being worth $14.69 in the field, is worth only $7.35;
then John Johnston’s ten tons of manure, instead of being worth $34.72
in the field, is worth only $17.36.”
“That looks a little more reasonable,” said the Deacon, “John Johnston’s
manure, instead of being worth $2.97 per ton in the yard, is worth only
$1.48 per ton, and mine, instead of being worth ninety-seven cents a
ton, is worth forty-eight and a half cents a ton.”
The Deacon sat for a few minutes looking at these figures. “They do not
seem so extravagantly high as I thought them at first,” he said, “and if
you will reduce the figures in Mr. Lawes’ table one-half all through, it
will be much nearer the truth. I think my manure is worth forty-eight
and a half cents a ton in the yard, and if your figures are correct,
I suppose I must admit that John Johnston’s manure is worth $1.48 per
ton in the yard.”
I was very glad to get such an admission from the Deacon. He did not see
that he had made a mistake in the figures, and so I got him to go over
the calculation again.
“You take a pencil, Deacon,” said I, “and write down the figures:
Manure from a ton of oil-cake $19.72
Manure from a ton of clover-hay 9.64
Manure from two tons of straw 5.36
--------
$34.72
“This would make about ten tons of manure. We have agreed to reduce the
estimate one-half, and consequently we have $17.36 as the value of the
ten tons of manure.
“This is John Johnston’s manure. It is worth $1.73 per ton in the field.
“It costs, we have estimated, 50 cents a ton to handle the manure, and
consequently it is worth in the yard $1.23 per ton.”
“This is less than we made it before,” said the Deacon.
“Never mind that,” said I, “the figures are correct. Now write down what
your manure is worth:
Manure from 1 ton of corn $6.65
Manure from 3 tons of straw 8.04
--------
$14.69
“This will make about ten tons of manure. In this case, as in the other,
we are to reduce the estimate one-half. Consequently, we have $7.35 as
the value of this ten tons of manure in the field, or 73½ cents a ton.
It costs, we have estimated, 50 cents a ton to handle the manure, and,
therefore, it is worth _in the yard_, 23½ cents a ton.”
“John Johnston’s manure is worth in the yard, $1.23 per ton. The
Deacon’s manure is worth in the yard, 23½ cents per ton.”
“There is some mistake,” exclaimed the Deacon, “you said, at first, that
one load of John Johnston’s manure was worth as much as two of my loads.
Now you make one load of his manure worth more than five loads of my
manure. This is absurd.”
“Not at all, Deacon,” said I, “you made the figures yourself. You
thought Mr. Lawes’ estimate too high. You reduced it one-half. The
figures are correct, and you must accept the conclusion. If John
Johnston’s manure is only worth $1.23 per ton in the yard, yours, made
from 1 ton of corn and 3 tons of straw, is only worth 23½ cents per
ton.”
“And now, Deacon,” I continued, “while you have a pencil in your hand,
I want you to make one more calculation. Assuming that Mr. Lawes’
estimate is too high, and we reduce it one-half, figure up what manure
is worth when made from straw alone. You take 4 tons of wheat straw,
feed out part, and use part for bedding. It will give you about 10 tons
of manure. And this 10 tons cost you 50 cents a ton to load, draw out,
and spread. Now figure:
“Four tons of straw is worth, for manure, according to Mr. Lawes’ table,
$2.68 per ton. We have agreed to reduce the figures one half, and so the
10 tons of manure from the 4 tons of straw is worth $5.36
Drawing out 10 tons of manure at 50 cents 5.00
--------
Value of 10 tons of straw-manure _in yard_ $0.36
“In other words, if John Johnston’s manure is worth only $1.23 per ton
in the yard, the straw-made manure is worth only a little over 3½ cents
a ton in the yard.”
“That is _too_ absurd,” said the Deacon.
“Very well,” I replied, “for once I am glad to agree with you. But if
this is absurd, then it follows that Mr. Lawes’ estimate of the value of
certain foods for manure is not so extravagant as you supposed--which is
precisely what I wished to prove.”
“You have not told us how Mr. Johnston manages his manure,” said the
Deacon.
“There is nothing very remarkable about it,” I replied. “There are many
farmers in this neighborhood who adopt the same method. I think,
however, John Johnston was the first to recommend it, and subjected
himself to some criticism from some of the so-called scientific writers
at the time.
“His general plan is to leave the manure in the yards, basements, and
sheds, under the sheep, until spring. He usually sells his fat sheep in
March. As soon as the sheep are removed, the manure is either thrown up
into loose heaps in the yard, or drawn directly to the field, where it
is to be used, and made into a heap there. The manure is not spread on
the land until the autumn. It remains in the heaps or piles all summer,
being usually turned once, and sometimes twice. The manure becomes
thoroughly rotted.”
Mr. Johnston, like the Deacon, applies his manure to the corn crop. But
the Deacon draws out his fresh green manure in the spring, on sod-land,
and plows it under. Mr. Johnston, on the other hand, keeps his manure in
a heap through the summer, spreads it on the sod in September, or the
first week in October. Here it lies until next spring. The grass and
clover grow up through manure, and the grass and manure are turned under
next spring, and the land planted to corn.
Mr. Johnston is thoroughly convinced that he gets far more benefit from
the manure when applied on the surface, and left exposed for several
months, than if he plowed it under at once.
I like to write and talk about John Johnston. I like to visit him. He is
so delightfully enthusiastic, believes so thoroughly in good farming,
and has been so eminently successful, that a day spent in his company
can not fail to encourage any farmer to renewed efforts in improving his
soil. “You _must_ drain,” he wrote to me; “when I first commenced
farming, I never made any money until I began to underdrain.” But it is
not underdraining alone that is the cause of his eminent success. When
he bought his farm, “near Geneva,” over fifty years ago, there was a
pile of manure in the yard that had lain there year after year, until it
was, as he said, “as black as my hat.” The former owner regarded it as a
nuisance, and a few months before young Johnston bought the farm, had
given some darkies a cow on condition that they would draw out this
manure. They drew out six loads, took the cow--and that was the last
seen of them. Johnston drew out this manure, raised a good crop of
wheat, and that gave him a start. He says he has been asked a great many
times to what he owes his success as a farmer, and he has replied that
he could not tell whether it was “dung or credit.” It was probably
neither. It was the man--his intelligence, industry, and good common
sense. That heap of black mould was merely an instrument in his hands
that he could turn to good account.
His first crop of wheat gave him “credit” and this also he used to
advantage. He believed that good farming would pay, and it was this
faith in a generous soil that made him willing to spend the money
obtained from the first crop of wheat in enriching the land, and to
avail himself of his credit. Had he lacked this faith--had he hoarded
every sixpence he could have ground out of the soil, who would have ever
heard of John Johnston? He has been liberal with his crops and his
animals, and has ever found them grateful. This is the real lesson which
his life teaches.
He once wrote me he had something to show me. He did not tell me what it
was, and when I got there, he took me to a field of grass that was to be
mown for hay. The field had been in winter wheat the year before. At the
time of sowing the wheat, the whole field was seeded down with timothy.
No clover was sown, either then or in the spring; but after the wheat
was sown, he put on a slight dressing of manure on two portions of the
field that he thought were poor. He told the man to spread it out of the
wagon just as thin as he could distribute it evenly over the land. It
was a very light manuring, but the manure was rich, and thoroughly
rotted. I do not recollect whether the effect of the manure was
particularly noticed on the wheat; but on the grass, the following
spring, the effect was sufficiently striking. Those two portions of the
field where the manure was spread were _covered with a splendid crop of
red clover_. You could see the exact line, in both cases, where the
manure reached. It looked quite curious. No clover-seed was sown, and
yet there was as fine a crop of clover as one could desire.
On looking into the matter more closely, we found that there was more or
less clover all over the field, but where the manure was not used, it
could hardly be seen. The plants were small, and the timothy hid them
from view. But where the manure was used, these plants of clover had
been stimulated in their growth until they covered the ground. The
leaves were broad and vigorous, while in the other case they were small,
and almost dried up. This is probably the right explanation. The manure
did not “bring in the clover;” it simply increased the growth of that
already in the soil. It shows the value of manure for grass.
This is what Mr. Johnston wanted to show me. “I might have written and
told you, but you would not have got a clear idea of the matter.” This
is true. One had to see the great luxuriance of that piece of clover to
fully appreciate the effect of the manure. Mr. J. said the manure on
that grass was worth $30 an acre--that is, on the three crops of grass,
before the field is again plowed. I have no doubt that this is true, and
that the future crops on the land will also be benefited--not directly
from the manure, perhaps, but from the clover-roots in the soil. And if
the field were pastured, the effect on future crops would be very
decided.