PREPARATION OF SOIL BY DRAINAGE
Excessive moisture will often prevent the immediate cultivation of our
ideal strawberry land. Its absence is fatal, its excess equally so. Let
me suggest some of the evil effects. Every one is aware that
climate--that is the average temperature of the atmosphere throughout
the year--has a most important influence on vegetation. But a great
many, I imagine, do not realize that there is an underground climate
also, and that it is scarcely less important that this should be
adapted to the roots than that the air should be tempered to the
foliage. Water-logged land is cold. The sun can bake, but not warm it
to any extent. Careful English experiments have proved that
well-drained land is from 10 to 20 degrees warmer than wet soils; and
Mr. Parkes has shown, in his "Essay on the Philosophy of Drainage,"
that in "draining the 'Red Moss' the thermometer in the drained land
rose in June to 66 degrees at seven inches below the surface, while in
the neighboring water-logged land it would never rise above 47
degrees--an enormous gain."
In his prize essay on drainage, Dr. Madden confirms the above, and
explains further, as follows: "An excess of water injures the soil by
diminishing its temperature in summer and increasing it in winter--a
transformation of nature most hurtful to perennials, because the vigor
of a plant in spring depends greatly on the lowness of temperature to
which it has been subjected during the winter (within certain limits,
of course), as the difference of temperature between winter and spring
is the exciting cause of the ascent of the sap." In other words, too
much water in the soil may cause no marked difference between the
underground climate of winter and spring.
Dr. Madden shows, moreover, that excess of water keeps out the air
essential not only in promoting chemical changes in the soil itself and
required by the plants, but also the air which is directly needed by
the roots. Sir H. Davy and others have proved that oxygen and carbonic
acid are absorbed by the roots as well as by the foliage, and these
gases can be brought to them by the air only.
Again, drainage alters the currents which occur in wet soil. In
undrained land, evaporation is constantly bringing up to the roots the
sour, exhausted water of the subsoil, which is an injury rather than a
benefit. On the other hand, the rain just fallen passes freely through
a drained soil, carrying directly to the roots fresh air and
stimulating gases.
Wet land also produces conditions which disable the foliage of plants
from absorbing carbonic acid, thus greatly decreasing its atmospheric
supply of food. Other reasons might be given, but the reader who is not
satisfied had better set out an acre of strawberries on water-logged
land. His empty pocket will out-argue all the books.
The construction of drains may be essential, for three causes: 1st.
Land that is dry enough naturally may lie so as to collect and hold
surface water, which, accumulating with every rain and snow storm, at
last renders the soil sour and unproductive. 2nd. Comparatively level
land, and even steep hillsides, may be so full of springs as to render
drains at short intervals necessary. 3rd. Streams, flowing perhaps from
distant sources, may find their natural channel across our grounds. If
these channels are obstructed or inadequate, we find our land falling
into the ways of an old soaker.
It should here be stated, however, that if we could cause streams to
overflow our land in a shallow, sluggish current, so that a sediment
would be left on the surface after a speedy subsidence, the result
would be in miniature like the overflow of the Nile in Egypt, most
beneficial, that is, if means for thorough subsequent drainage was
provided.
If there is an abundance of stone on one's place suitable for the
construction of drains, it can often be used to advantage, as I shall
show; but for all ordinary purposes of drainage, round tile with
collars are now recommended by the best authorities. It is said that
they are cheaper than stone, even where the latter is right at hand;
and the claim is reasonable, since, instead of the wide ditch required
by stone, a narrow cut will suffice for tile; thus a great saving is at
once effected in the cost of digging. Tile also can be laid rapidly,
and are not liable to become obstructed if properly protected at points
of discharge by gratings, so that vermin cannot enter. They should not
be laid near willow, elm, and other trees of like character, or else
the fibrous roots will penetrate and fill the channel. If one has a
large problem of drainage to solve, he should carefully read a work
like Geo. E. Waring's "Drainage for Profit and for Health;" and if the
slope or fall of some fields is very slight, say scarcely one foot in a
hundred, the services of an engineer should be employed and accurate
grades obtained. By a well-planned system, the cost of draining a place
can be greatly reduced, and the water made very useful.
On my place at Cornwall I found three acres of wet land, each in turn
illustrating one of the causes which make drainage necessary. I used
stone, because, in some instances, no other material would have
answered, in others partly because I was a novice in the science of
drainage, and partly because I had the stones on my place, and did not
know what else to do with them. I certainly could not cart them on my
neighbors' ground without having a surplus of hot as well as cold
water, so I concluded to bury them in the old-fashioned box-drains.
Indeed, I found rather peculiar and difficult problems of drainage, and
the history of their solution may contain useful hints to the reader.
In front of my house there is a low, level plot of land, containing
about three acres. Upon this the surface water ran from all sides, and
there was no outlet. The soil was, in consequence, sour, and in certain
spots only a wiry marsh grass would grow. And yet it required, but a
glance to see that a drain, which could carry off this surface water
immediately, would render it the best land on the place. I tried, in
vain, the experiment of digging a deep, wide ditch across the entire
tract, in hopes of finding a porous subsoil. Then I excavated great,
deep holes, but came to a blue clay that held water like rubber. The
porous subsoil, in which I knew the region abounded, and which makes
Cornwall exceptionally free from all miasmatic troubles, eluded our
spades like hidden treasures. I eventually found that I must obtain
permission of a neighbor to carry a drain across another farm to the
mountain stream that empties into the Hudson at Cornwall Landing. The
covered drain through the adjoining place was deep and expensive, but
the ditch across my land (marked A on the map) is a small one, walled
with stone on either side. It answers my purpose, however, giving me as
good strawberry land as I could wish. On both sides of this open ditch,
and at right angles with it, I had the ground plowed into beds 130 feet
long by 21 wide. The shallow depressions between these beds slope
gently toward the ditch, and thus, after every storm, the surface
water, which formerly often, covered the entire area, is at once
carried away. I think my simple, shallow, open drain is better than
tile in this instance.
[Illustration: Map showing experiments in the drainage of a strawberry
farm]
As may be seen from the map, my farm is peculiar in outline, and
resembles an extended city lot, being 2,550 feet long, and only 410
wide.
The house, as shown by the engraving, stands on quite an elevation, in
the rear of which the land descends into another swale or basin. The
drainage of this presented a still more difficult problem. Not only did
the surface water run into it, but in moist seasons the ground was full
of springs. The serious feature of the case was that there seemed to be
no available outlet in any direction. Unlike the mellow, sandy loam in
front of the house, the swale in the rear was of the stiffest kind of
clay--just the soil to retain and be spoiled by water. During the first
year of our residence here this region was sometimes a pond, sometimes
a quagmire, while again, under the summer sun, it baked into
earthenware. It was a doubtful question whether this stubborn acre
could be subdued, and yet its heavy clay gave me just the diversity of
soil I needed. Throughout the high gravelly knoll on which the house
stands, the natural drainage is perfect, and a sagacious neighbor
suggested that if I cut a ditch across the clayey swale into the gravel
of the knoll, the water would find a natural outlet and disappear.
The ditch was dug eight feet wide and five feet deep, for I decided to
utilize the surface of the drain as a road-bed. Passing out of the clay
and hard-pan, we came into the gravel, and it seemed porous enough to
carry off a fair-sized stream. I concluded that my difficult problem
had found a cheap and easy solution, and to make assurance doubly sure,
I directed the men to dig a deep pit and fill it with stones. When they
had gone about nine feet below the surface, I happened to be standing
on the brink of the excavation, watching the work. A laborer struck his
pick into the gravel, when a stream gushed out which in its sudden
abundance suggested that which flowed in the wilderness at the stroke
of Moss's rod. The problem was now complicated anew. So far from
finding an outlet, I had dug a well which the men could scarcely bail
out fast enough to permit of its being stoned up.
My neighbors remarked that my wide ditch reminded them of the Erie
canal, and my wife was in terror lest the children should be drowned in
it. Now something had to be done, and I called in the services of Mr.
Caldwell, city surveyor of Newburgh, and to his map I refer the reader
for a clearer understanding of my tasks.
Between the upper and lower swales, the ridge on which the house stands
slopes to its greatest depression along its western boundary, and I was
shown that if I would cut deep enough, the open drain in the lower
swale could receive and carry off the water from the upper basin. This
appeared Tobe the only resource, but with my limited means it was like
a ship-canal across the Isthmus of Panama. The old device of emptying
my drains into a hole that practically had no bottom, suggested itself
to me. It would be so much easier and cheaper that I resolved once more
to try it, though with hopes naturally dampened by my last moist
experience. I directed that the hole (marked B on the map) should be
oblong, and in the direct line of the ditch, so that if it failed of
its purpose it could become a part of the drain. Down we went into as
perfect sand and gravel as I ever saw, and the deeper we dug the dryer
it became. This time, in wounding old "Mother Earth," we did not cut a
vein, and there seemed a fair prospect of our creating a new one, for
into this receptacle I decided to turn my largest drain and all the
water that the stubborn acre persisted in keeping.
I therefore had a "box-drain" constructed along the western boundary of
the place (marked C) until it reached the lowest spot in the upper
swale. This drain was simply and rapidly constructed, in the following
manner: a ditch was first dug sufficiently deep and wide, and with, a
fall that carried off the water rapidly. In the bottom of this ditch
the men built two roughly faced walls, one foot high and eight inches
apart. Comparatively long, flat stones, that would reach from wall to
wall, were easily found, and thus we had a covered water-course, eight
by twelve inches, forming the common box-drain that will usually last a
lifetime.
The openings over the channel were carefully "chinked" in with small
stones and all covered with inverted sods, shavings, leaves, or
anything that prevented the loose soil from sifting or washing down
into the water-course.
At the upper end of the box-drain just described, a second and smaller
receptacle was dug (marked D), and from this was constructed another
box-drain (E), six inches square, across the low ground to the end of
the canal in which we had found the well (F). This would not only drain
a portion of the land but would also empty the big ditch (G), and
prevent the water of the well from rising above a certain point. This
kind of stone-work can be done rapidly; two men in two short winter
days built thirteen rods with a water-course six inches in the clear.
To the upper and further end of the canal (G), I constructed another
and cheaper style of drain. In the bottom of this ditch (H), two stones
were placed on their ends or edges and leaned together so as to form a
kind of arch, and then other stones were thrown over and around them
until they reached a point eighteen inches from the surface. Over these
stones, as over the box-drains also, was placed a covering of any
coarse litter to keep the earth from washing down; and then the
construction of one or two short side-drains, the refilling the ditches
and levelling the ground completed my task.
It will be remembered that this entire system of drainage ended in the
excavation (B) already described. The question was now whether such a
theory of drainage would "hold water." If it would, the hole I had dug
must not, and I waited to see. It promised well. Quite a steady stream
poured into it and disappeared. By and by there came a heavy March
storm. When I went out in the morning, everything was afloat. The big
canal and the well at its lower end were full to overflowing. The
stubborn acre was a quagmire, and alas! the excavation which I had
hoped would save so much trouble and expense was also full. I plodded
back under my umbrella with a brow as lowering as the sky. There seemed
nothing for it but to cut a "Dutch gap" that would make a like chasm in
my bank account. By noon it cleared off, and I went down to take a
melancholy survey of the huge amount of work that now seemed necessary,
when, to my great joy, the oblong cut, in which so many hopes had
seemingly been swamped, was entirely empty. From the box-drain a large
stream poured into it and went down--to China, for all that I knew. I
went in haste to the big canal and found it empty, and the well lowered
to the mouth of the drain. The stubborn acre was now under my thumb,
and I have kept it there ever since. During the past summer, I had upon
its wettest and stiffest portion two beds of Jucunda strawberries that
yielded at the rate of one hundred and ninety bushels to the acre. The
Jucunda strawberry is especially adapted to heavy land requiring
drainage, and I think an enterprising man in the vicinity of New York
might so unite them as to make a fortune. The hole was filled with
stones and now forms a part of my garden, and the canal answers for a
road-bed as at first intended. In the fortuitous well I have placed a
force-pump, around which are grown and watered my potted plants. The
theory of carrying drains into gravel does hold water, and sometimes
holes can be dug at a slight expense, that practically have no bottom.
I have no doubt that in this instance tile would have been better and
cheaper than the small stone drains that I have described.
In the rear of my place there was a third drainage problem very
different from either of the other two. My farm runs back to the rise
of the mountain, whose edge it skirts for some distance. It thus
receives at times much surface water. At the foot of the
mountain-slope, there are about three acres of low alluvial soil, that
was formerly covered with a coarse, useless herbage of the swamp.
Between the meadow and the slope of the mountain, "the town" built a
"boulevard" (marked II on the map), practically "cribbing" an acre or
two of land. Ahab, who needed Naboth's vineyard for public purposes, is
the spiritual father of all "town boards."
At the extreme end of the farm, and just beyond the alluvial ground,
was the channel of a brook (marked J). Its stony bed, through which
trickled a rill, had a very innocent aspect on the October day when we
looked the farm over and decided upon its purchase. The rill ran a
little way on my grounds, then crept under the fence and skirted my
western boundary for several hundred yards. On reaching a rise of land,
it re-entered my place and ran obliquely across it. It thus enclosed
three sides of the low, bushy meadow I have named. Its lower channel
across the place had been stoned up with the evident purpose of keeping
it within limits; but the three or four feet of space between the walls
had become obstructed by roots, bushes, vines and debris in general.
With the exception of the stony bed where it entered the farm, most of
its course was obscured by overhanging bushes and the sere, rank
herbage of autumn.
In a vague way I felt that eventually something would have to be done
to direct this little child of the mountain into proper ways, and to
subdue the spirit of the wilderness that it diffused on every side. I
had its lower channel across the place (K K) cleared out, thinking that
this might answer for the present; and the gurgle of the little
streamlet along the bottom of the ditch seemed a low laugh at the idea
of its ever filling the three square feet of space above it. Deceitful
little brook! Its innocent babble contained no suggestion of its hoarse
roar on a March day, the following spring, as it tore its way along,
scooping the stones and gravel from its upper bed and scattering them
far and wide over the alluvial meadow. Instead of a tiny rill, I found
that I would have to cope at times with a mountain torrent. At first,
the task was too heavy, and the fitful-tempered brook, and the
swamp-like region it encompassed, were left for years to their old wild
instincts. At last the increasing demands of my business made it
necessary to have more arable land, and I saw that, if I could keep it
from being overwhelmed with water and gravel, the alluvial meadow was
just the place for strawberries.
I commenced at the lowest point where it finally leaves my grounds, and
dug a canal (K K), twelve feet wide by four or five deep, across my
place, stoning up its walls on either side. An immense amount of earth
and gravel was thrown on the lower side so as to form a high, strong
embankment in addition to the channel. Then, where it entered the farm
above the meadow, I had a wide, deep ditch excavated, throwing all the
debris between it and the land I wished to shield. Throughout the low
meadow, two covered box-drains (L and M) were constructed so that the
plow could pass over them. On the side of the meadow next to the
boulevard and mountain, I had an open drain (N N) dug and filled with
stones even with the ground. It was designed to catch and carry off the
surface water, merely, from the long extent of mountain-slope that it
skirted. The system of ditches to protect and drain the partial swamp,
and also to manage the deceitful brook, was now finished, and I waited
for the results. During much of the summer there was not a drop of
water in the wide canal, save where a living spring trickled into it.
The ordinary fall rains could scarcely more than cover the broad,
pebbly bottom, and the unsophisticated laughed and said that I reminded
them of a general who trained a forty-pound gun on a belligerent mouse.
I remembered what I had seen, and bided my time.
But I did not have to wait till March. One November day it began to
rain, and it kept on. All the following night there was a steady rush
and roar of falling water. It was no ordinary pattering, but a gusty
outpouring from the "windows of heaven." The two swales in the front
and rear of the house became great muddy ponds, tawny as the "yellow
Tiber," and through intervals of the storm came the sullen roar of the
little brook that had been purring like a kitten all summer. Toward
night, Mature grew breathless and exhausted; there were sobbing gusts
of wind and sudden gushes of rain, that grew less and less frequent. It
was evident she would become quiet in the night and quite serene after
her long, tempestuous mood.
As the sun was setting I ventured out with much misgiving. The
deepening roar as I went down the lane increased my fears, but I was
fairly appalled by the wild torrent that cut off all approach to the
bridge. The water had not only filled the wide canal, but also, at a
point a little above the bridge, had broken over and washed away the
high embankment. I skirted along the tide until I reached the part of
the bank that still remained intact, and there beneath my feet rushed a
flood that would have instantly swept away horse and rider. Indeed,
quite a large tree had been torn up by its roots, and carried down
until it caught in the bridge, which would also have gone had not the
embankment above given way.
The lower part of the meadow was also under water. It had been plowed,
and therefore would wash readily. Would any soil be left? A few moments
of calm reflection, however, removed my fears. The treacherous brook
had not beguiled me during the summer into inadequate provision for
this unprecedented outbreak. I saw that my deep, wide cut had kept the
flood wholly from the upper part of the meadow, which contained a very
valuable bed of high-priced strawberry plants, and that the slowly
moving tide which covered the lower part was little more than backwater
and overflow. The wide ditches were carrying off swiftly and harmlessly
the great volume that, had not such channels been provided, would have
made my rich alluvial meadow little else than a stony, gravelly waste.
And the embankment had given way at a point too low down to permit much
damage.
The two swales in the front and rear of the house appeared like
mill-ponds. In the former instance, the water had backed up from the
mountain stream into which my drain emptied, and, therefore, it could
not pass off; and in the latter instance I could scarcely expect my
little underground channel to dispose at once of the torrents that for
forty hours had poured from the skies. I must give it at least a night
in which to catch up. And a busy night it put in, for by morning it had
conveyed to depths unknown the wide, discolored pond, that otherwise
would have smothered the plants it covered. As soon, also, as the
mountain stream fell below the mouth of the lower drain, it emptied at
once the water resting on the lower swale. Throughout the day came
successive tales of havoc and disaster, of dams scooped out, bridges
swept away, roads washed into stony gulches, and fields and gardens
overwhelmed with debris. The Idlewild brook, that the poet Willis made
so famous, seemed almost demoniac in its power and fury. Not content
with washing away dams, roads, and bridges, it swept a heavy wall
across a field as if the stones were pebbles.
My three diverse systems of drainage had thus practically stood the
severest test, perhaps, that will ever be put upon them, and my grounds
had not been damaged to any extent worth naming. The cost had been
considerable, but the injury caused by that one storm would have
amounted to a larger sum had there been no other channels for the water
than those provided by nature.
My readers will find, in many instances, that they have land which must
be or may be drained. If it can be done sufficiently, the very ideal
strawberry soil may be secured--moist and deep, but not wet.