LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Holden Harrison, 1935 6
Harrison dairy barn, 1936 6
McNair Guernsey bull, 1918 7
Interior Harrison dairy barn 7
Spring plowing on McNair farm 12
Shock of wheat, Ellmore farm, 1925 15
Mechanical hay loader, 1935 15
Small orchard apiary, 1925 17
Inventory of 1920 farmer 20
Plan of Smith farm, 1929 21
Rebecca Rice canning fruit 25
Elizabeth Harrison, Herndon 25
Homemade manure sled 27
Broadcast harvester, 1921 37
Wheat being mechanically harvested, 1925 37
Tractor-drawn drill, 1922 40
McNair aboard a Row Crop 70 tractor 40
Soybeans on a demonstration farm, 1925 43
A wild cherry tree destroyed by web worms 45
"Hard Work Made Easy and Quick" 54
The Fairfax County Grange meeting, 1940 60
The Floris Home Demonstration Club, 1930 63
A 4-H Club, "Achievement Day" displays, 1930 63
A community fair, 1922 64
A suggested model farm for Fairfax County, 1924 64
The 4-H Girls Camp at Woodlawn, 1925 66
A Piedmont Dairy Festival parade float, 1930 66
Map of improved and unimproved roads, 1930 70
Stuck in the mud on one of county's roads 71
Aerial of Kidwell farm and Floris vicinity 75
1930 map of Floris community 88
G. Ray Harrison, 1925 90
Early threshing machine 118
Laura Parham and Kim Stanton work in vegetable garden 118
The farmyard at Frying Pan Farm in the early fall 118
Farmer's house--Frying Pan Farm 120
Two young girls meet two young goats 120
John Hopkins in the Moffett Blacksmith Shop 120
Pat Middleton at 4-H Club Fair 121
Cattle judging, Floris School, 1950 121
Dressage competition at Frying Pan Park, 1978 123
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Cooperation and goodwill were the essential characteristics of the
agricultural communities examined in this study, and it has been my
pleasure to discover that those qualities are still very evident today
among the county's rural folk. Many residents of the Herndon area shared
their personal memories and offered really old-fashioned Virginia
hospitality to those doing research. Without the help of Neal Bailey,
Elizabeth Ellmore, Emma Ellmore, Virginia Greear, Holden Harrison, Mr.
and Mrs. Ray Harrison, Margaret Mary Lee, Edna Middleton, John
Middleton, Rebecca Middleton, Richard Peck, Elizabeth Rice, Louise
Ryder, and Mary Scott, this monograph could not have been completed.
Special mention must be made of retired County Agricultural Extension
Agent Joseph Beard, who shared his detailed knowledge of county
agricultural practices on numerous occasions. He willingly arranged
interviews with county farmers, and often helped to break the ice by
accompanying the interviewer. This was always done with abundant good
humor and his enthusiasm was infectious. I am also particularly grateful
to Dr. John T. Schlebecker of the Extractive Industries Division of the
Smithsonian Institution. His expertise in the field of agricultural
technology and special interest in living historical farms added
significantly to the quality of the monograph. Additional thanks go to
Anthony Pryor of the Rockefeller Foundation who read this paper and
helped to put its conclusions in perspective with trends of agricultural
economics.
Nan Netherton originally conceived the project and did much of the
initial groundwork. The majority of interviews with Floris area farmers
were conducted by her. Mrs. Netherton's reputation in the county made it
possible for us both to acquire private papers and photographs which
might otherwise have been overlooked or withheld. What is more, she
sympathetically "initiated" me into the project, offering suggestions
and constructive aid without discouraging my own ideas about the
direction the study should take.
Elizabeth Brown Pryor
Fairfax, Virginia
June 21, 1979
INTRODUCTION
In 1925 Fairfax County was still predominantly rural in character.
Farmers occupied over half of the county's land, living on individual
holdings which averaged 62.5 acres. Nearly 85% of these farmers were
white and of this group only 15% did not own their own farm. They shared
their domain with 3,605 horses, 11,636 head of cattle, 5,408 swine,
171,526 chickens and 178 mules. One-tenth of the farms enjoyed the use
of a tractor and 25% had a radio. The average capital holding on land
and buildings was $8,229, and the Fairfax County farmer netted something
less than $1,000 income annually.[1]
These figures give a skeleton picture of Fairfax County's most prominent
citizen in the period between the two World Wars; when the statistics
are translated in prose, his shadowy form gains weight. The farmer at
this time was a small landowner, possessing a farm only as large as his
own family and a few hired laborers could manage. Although his capital
holdings were not huge, they were well above the state average. He had
the prestige of being a homeowner, and the pride of working his own
soil, perhaps the same soil his grandparents had tilled. The rural
family raised livestock for their own use, but principally for the
market, and favored draft horses over tractors, mules or oxen to power
farm equipment. This farmer's time was spent on a myriad of duties and
details--his function was not yet totally specialized--ranging from
butchering hogs to building chicken coops to thinning corn. He worked
for himself, planning the day's activities, relying on his own judgment
and initiative to cope with the varying responsibilities he shouldered.
His numerical prominence gave him political and social leverage. It was
the rural way of life that shaped the county and his demands which
needed to be met.
At first glance this farmer's life seems tempered by nature and largely
self-contained. The daily routine was established by seasons and
sunlight; fortunes were made or lost at the mercy of the wind and rain.
A farm was not only the farmer's livelihood and workshop but his home.
Thus, unlike the city worker whose occupation was entirely separate from
home concerns, country life had a total integration.[2] Moreover, the
family farmer possessed a sense of continuity with the long tradition of
the small landowner in America. In many respects his life was little
changed from that of the thrifty, energetic and shrewd subsistence
farmer whom Thomas Jefferson had praised in the eighteenth century as
the ideal citizen of a democracy.[3]
In both startling and subtle ways, however, the traditional role of the
family farmer was changing in the 1920s and 1930s. In Ellen Glasgow's
novel _Barren Ground_, which examines the uncertainties of life on a
northern Virginia dairy farm, the heroine, Dorinda Oakley, describes her
emotional and economic reaction to the post World War I period:
With the return of peace she hoped that the daily life on the farm
would slip back into orderly grooves; but before the end of the
first year she discovered that the demoralization of peace was more
difficult to combat than the madness of war. There was no longer an
ecstatic patriotism to inspire one to fabulous exploits. The world
that had been organized for destruction appeared to her to become
as completely disorganized for folly.... The excessive wages paid
for unskilled labour were ruinous to the farmer, for the field
hands who had earned six dollars a day from the Government were not
satisfied to drive a plough for the small sum that had enabled her
to reclaim the abandoned meadows of five oaks.... She was using two
tractor-ploughs on the farm; but the roads were almost impassable
again because none of the negroes could be persuaded to work on
them. Even when she employed men to repair the strip of "corduroy"
road between the bridge and the fork, it was impossible to keep the
bad places firm enough for any car heavier than a Ford to travel
over them....[4]
Thus, social and technical advances that had long been desired in rural
areas bolstered the farmer's optimism. Yet curiously enough this same
progress often jarred his expectations and financial security. Improved
roads meant improved markets, and increased contact with outside
communities but, along with the advent of the radio, they resulted in a
homogenizing of city and country ways, and lured many away from the
farm. Concern for rural welfare prompted all levels of government to
design programs to aid the farmer--programs which indeed furthered
agriculture, but at the price of well-meaning interference in a
previously highly individual sphere. Amid regulations and forms the
farmer felt a nagging loss of independence. Perhaps most strikingly,
widespread use of gasoline-powered equipment changed the pace of work,
made him reliant on outside sources for fuel and parts, and involved
investments which often prohibited purchase or encouraged
specialization.
Hence, the family farm retained its size and shape but it could no
longer revel in complete self-reliance.
The model farm at Frying Pan Park is a representation of this changing
way of life. It recognizes especially the role of the family subsistence
farmer and his contributions to the economy and solidarity of Fairfax
County's rural communities. Although this study focuses on the
institutions and personalities of the Floris-Herndon area, it is meant
to be generic in scope. Dairying, which forms one emphasis of this
monograph, was widespread in the area, and though each district had its
distinctive elements, the underlying social values and farming methods
were consistent throughout the county. In essence, Frying Pan Farm works
much as a snapshot would to recall an important phase in Fairfax
County's history. It gives a brief glance at a world we have lost, but
which lingers significantly in the region's memory.
NOTES
_Introduction_
[1] _United States Census of Agriculture, 1925, Statistics for Virginia_
(Washington. D.C., 1928).
[2] See, E. P. Thompson, _The Making of the English Working Class_
(London, 1966), 76-78.
[3] For an overview of Jefferson's political beliefs, including his
admiration for the small farmer, see John C. Miller, _The Federalist Era_
(New York, 1968), 70-83.
[4] Ellen Glasgow, _Barren Ground_ (Richmond, 1925), 448-49.
PART I
_Continuity_
Tradition and personal experience colored the 20th century farmer's
reactions. He was accustomed to a world in which his occupation and
social status were assured, and childhood experience probably led him to
assume the farmer's role naturally. The rhythms of farm life were based
on the immutable round of the seasons. Each day's sun and wind pulled
the tiller in its direction as did the unceasing need to tame the growth
and habits of beasts and land. Nature was the farmer's clock, and though
he bid the land to produce what he desired, it was the earth which fixed
his hours and chores. From this close association with nature came a
continuity and special bond between farmers, which defied both time and
place.
Although the early years of the 20th century heralded a new era of
specialization in agriculture, the farmers of Fairfax County persisted
in executing the varied functions of general farming. Dairying might be
the emphasis on many farms, but it was rarely pursued at the expense of
production of grain or food for home consumption. Variety continued to
be an important quality of farm work. Families on large and specialized
farms still did chores similar to those done by subsistence farmers,
though the amount of time allotted for each task might differ. The
relentlessness of certain activities, such as feeding the stock, was the
same whether the farm boasted one cow or fifty. Thus distinctions
between general and specialized farmers were not so clear-cut in this
period. The following pages detail the work done on a small dairy farm,
yet the kinds and methods of activities also pertain to the farmer whose
acreage was devoted solely to general farming.
Perpetuity--a continual need to perform certain tasks and watch over
specific events on a daily basis--was the most fundamental aspect of
farming. The farmer's day began with such an interminable chore: milking
the cows. This twice-daily task was, of course, particularly important
on dairy farms and its relentlessness is often the first aspect to be
mentioned in any farming recollection. "When you have dairy cows,"
Joseph Beard, who grew up in the Floris area, acknowledged, "that's a
365-day proposition regardless of whether you're sick or anything like
that." Another resident, Margaret Mary Lee, explained it more tersely:
"Cows and hens and milk trucks did not take holidays."[5] The first
milking was early in the morning and most farmers rose around four
a.m.[6] The men and any hired hands usually began milking around 4:30
a.m., while the women prepared breakfast. What might initially appear to
the outsider as a pleasing novelty was hard and demanding work. This was
especially true in the morning when both the new and often the
previous night's milk needed to be hauled to Herndon for the early train
into Washington. Ray Harrison, with his brother the owner of one of the
area's biggest herds, could milk a cow in six minutes--"quicker than a
lot people could do it"[7]--but even at this rate, milking his 80-odd
cows was a formidable undertaking. John Middleton, who lived down the
road from the Harrisons, estimated it took about 1-1/2 hours for seven
people to milk his herd of 40 cows; they barely finished in time for the
hired man, who took the milk to Herndon, to grab a sandwich and cup of
coffee to eat en route.[8]
[Illustration: Portrait of a confident and successful farmer. Holden
Harrison, c. 1935. Photo courtesy of Ray Harrison.]
[Illustration: The well-equipped dairy barn owned by the Harrison
Brothers, c. 1936. The Harrisons owned one of the county's largest
herds. Photo courtesy Holden and Ray Harrison.]
[Illustration: A Guernsey bull owned by Wilson D. McNair. Acquired in
1918, it was among the earliest pure-bred stock in the area. Photo
courtesy of Louise McNair Ryder.]
[Illustration: The interior of a large and well-maintained dairy barn on
the farm of Holden and Ray Harrison. The barn could house over 50 cows.
Photo courtesy of Holden and Ray Harrison.]
The milk which traveled to Herndon was strained to remove any extraneous
matter and cooked to about 35 deg. F to retard spoilage and reduce the risk
of spreading bacterial infections. This was a real problem until
mechanized refrigerators became available, and the farmers had to use
considerable ingenuity to keep their milk chilled. Some, like the
Middletons, kept the milk in the well overnight, and Wilson McNair wrote
that his family stored the milk in tall cans set in cold water.
Occasionally more drastic action was needed. "Can you imagine going out
to Herndon and getting great big chunks of ice and putting it in a
washing tub and setting a can of milk in and keeping it cool all night
long?" queried Joseph Beard.[9]
Milk earmarked for home use underwent the further process of separating
the thick cream from the rest of the milk. In the days before mechanical
separators the milk had to stand several hours for the cream to rise,
and it was then skimmed by hand or the milk drawn off from the bottom of
a can with a spigot. Mechanical separators streamlined this task by
allowing the milk to be separated while still warm, using centrifugal
action to bring the heavier cream particles to the bottom of the
machine.
While the farmers sat down to breakfast the roads started filling with
wagons and trucks bringing the day's milk from the entire area. Like
Alexandria and Falls Church, the county's other major shipping centers,
Herndon served what was known as a "milkshed" area, that is a community
whose milk could be transported to that locality without spoiling. Here
too the freshness of the milk was of crucial concern. Herndon, with its
electric cars on the Washington and Old Dominion Railroad, served most
of the county's Dranesville district; however, Floris' close proximity
to Herndon gave it an added advantage, for even packed in ice water,
milk could easily spoil during the sultry summer months.[10]
A farmer with a good-sized herd such as John Middleton would haul eight
or more ten-gallon cans of milk to the depot depending on the time of
year. The milk was transported in a light wagon with two horses, which
generally held only one farm's milk, though sometimes two or more
families shared this duty. Rebecca Middleton recalled her brother
collecting cans in an early model truck with a canvas top; he traded
hauling with the neighboring Bradleys.[11] For a short time a community
co-op, based in Floris, was also established to collect milk for
shipment to Washington, D.C.[12] As this milk-laden caravan approached
Herndon, the small station there bustled suddenly with activity. For at
least one local resident, the sight and sounds were memorable. The
"banging of the milk cans at the depot," recalled Lottie Schneider, who
grew up in Herndon, "... resounded far and wide." "I liked to hear [it]
... for busy men were working and it was a friendly sound."[13]
Milking was, of course, just one of many chores involved on the family
farm. After a 6:30 breakfast (still early in the eyes of many city
dwellers) there were stalls to clean, equipment to sterilize, other farm
animals to be cared for. Most Fairfax farms retained a few animals for
home use even when concentrating on milk production. Before
mechanization completely revolutionized farm work, draft horses provided
the farm's muscle and a fifty-acre farm would need two to four for
plowing, raking hay, and cutting wheat with a binder. The feeding and
grooming of these animals formed a vital task. Though Lang and Hurst's
commercial meat wagon came through Floris and other communities each
Saturday, many families kept hogs and chickens for their own
consumption.[14] Elizabeth Rice from the Oakton area stated that,
despite her husband's reluctance to spend energy on any facet of farming
outside dairying, they raised hogs, "kept on the back end of the farm in
the woods."[15] In Floris nearly every family also raised hogs and
chickens and Holden Harrison remembered that they "used to get about a
hundred chicks each spring--we'd eat them all up by fall."[16] Few
Floris area farms kept sheep, though census figures show about 1,200 in
the county during this period.[17] In addition, dogs, cats, mules and an
occasional goat made up the farm population, all demanding the farmer's
attention and time.
With the stock watered, fed, given fresh bedding, and possibly turned
out to pasture, the farmer could turn his attention to crops and other
matters. Census records show hay and corn to be Fairfax County's most
important crops. Little of these were sold commercially, however, rather
they were used as support crops for the dairy industry.[18] Hay and feed
stores abounded in neighboring towns but most dairymen attempted to
supply their own straw, ensilage and grain, thus cutting costs by making
the most efficient use of their land. This involved raising several
crops and a year-round effort of cultivation.
Work began in early spring when a team of horses--later a
tractor--pulled a steel plow across each field, turning up the earth
into a rough and lumpy mass. Little was known of contour plowing or
planting at this time, and the team was driven back and forth in
straight rows. C. T. Rice and County Agricultural Extension Agent H. B.
Derr both noted that erosion was a major problem in the area at the
time.[19] The newly broken ground was then worked with a "drag,"
generally made of heavy logs chained together and topped with a platform
on which the driver stood. The purpose of this implement was to use the
weight of the "drag" to break up the soil clods. After this was
finished, a field still needed to be worked once more before planting,
this time with a harrow. The harrow resembled a large, spike-toothed
rake, with two sections, each containing four rows of teeth. Passed over
the field, it stirred up the ground and continued the pulverization of
the soil to make a mellow, friable seed bed.[20]
These chores were exacting and time-consuming. Neal Bailey, who has
spent many of his 66 years in working fields around Floris, estimated
that a man and strong team could harrow or drag but a ten-acre field in
about 6-1/2 hours. Plowing took even longer. "Most of the land was hard
to plow and we had to start as soon as possible in the spring in order
to get through before it got too hard and sometimes we didn't make it,"
wrote Wilson McNair. The majority of farmers could plow only an acre or
acre and a half in a day's time.[21]
Fairfax County's soil (principally Chester loam, a clay soil with a
slightly acidic base) was deep, fertile and, as Joseph Beard put it,
"adapted to growing the kinds of things cows like to eat at a reasonable
price."[22] Because it was somewhat acidic, the soil benefitted from the
addition of lime and, of course, needed other fertilizers. Fertilization
techniques had been known for hundreds of years (George Washington
burned oyster shells to obtain lime for his fields), however, their
benefits were not always fully understood. Most farmers spread manure
and some guano on their cropland, but correct chemical balances for
specific crops were achieved only infrequently. Often the small
landowner did not have spare fields to lie fallow for a year--the ideal
situation for soil enrichment. "We spread some lime a time or two, but
not nearly enough," admitted Wilson McNair. "We got burned lump lime and
dumped it on the ground in piles of one bushel and when it had slaked we
spread it with a shovel." The spreading itself could be a problem,
especially when the earliest trucks began to be used in the mid-1920s. A
truck hauling seven or eight tons of lime would bog down in a wet field:
"The only way you could get out was to dump the lime, and if you dumped
the lime you were in the hole you got stuck in." Thus, a lack of
understanding of soil building techniques was coupled with the physical
difficulty of fertilization, to inhibit the optimum efficiency of the
land in the early 20th century.[23]
With the soil prepared, the crops could be sown. In the fall, generally
between mid-October and Thanksgiving, winter wheat was planted. A
"drill" or mechanical planter drawn by horses was used, which could be
adapted for use with oats, barley or rye. The area had once been a
principal wheat-growing region, but in the early 20th century dairymen
cultivated wheat chiefly for the straw which was used for bedding. In
the mid-1930s, however, the availability of certified seed (seed which
was grown to be of a uniform and established varietal type, much as
genetically pure livestock was bred) raised the quality of Fairfax
wheat and slightly increased the grain's marketability.[24] Edith
Rogers, a long-time Floris resident and for many years a member of the
Fairfax County Board of Supervisors, grew wheat on her family's farm to
use in chicken feed, and to have milled into flour for home use. It was
ground at the Herndon Milling Company.[25] Like the use of certified
seed, increased understanding of fertilization and crop rotation
practices boosted production of wheat per acre, yet it never gained
prominence as even a secondary crop. In large part this was due to the
fact that wheat was a less desirable ingredient in cattle feed than was
corn or even soybeans.[26]
Corn was planted in the spring, generally in late April. Again a drill
was employed, which, planting two rows at a time, enabled the farmer to
plant about ten acres in one day. The wide variety of uses for corn made
it Fairfax County's most important grain crop and a 1926 report on the
area's agriculture observed that "nearly every farm has more or less
corn."[27] Not only was the grain a chief ingredient in the dairy
cattle's "concentrate" or feed mixture, but it was used to feed horses,
chickens and to fatten pigs near butchering time. The leaves and stalks
were ground for ensilage or stored in the shock for dry fodder. During
the 1920s, County Agent Derr promoted a continual campaign to improve
the area's corn production and even introduced a new variety, dubbed
"Fairfax County White Corn," because of its local success. He also
worked to increase yields of other popular strains, notably Reid's
Yellow Dent. In a report on his work in this field in 1925, Derr shows
his methods to be not far removed from the early genetic experimentation
of Gregor Mendel.
For the past four years the writer has assisted one of his best
demonstrators in improving his crop of Reid's Yellow Dent Corn. The
first year the best 50 ears were planted in 50 separate rows and at
harvest time the best yielding 10 rows were selected for the next
year's work. This work was continued, each year the number of rows
being reduced. This year the results show a very uniform type of
corn....[28]
Soybeans began to be introduced into the area during this period and
Fairfax County farmers also sowed various grasses for summer pasturage
and to make hay for winter feeding. Timothy and clover predominated
among pasture crops. Some farmers persisted in raising alfalfa, despite
H. B. Derr's repeated protests that it was unprofitable on the county's
lime-poor soil.[29] A few ambitious farmers even experimented with
grasses attempting to find those which produced the highest milk yields
and one went so far as to have a special ladino clover seed brought from
Oregon because he felt it increased the richness of his milk.[30] As
with wheat and corn, improved varietal types and stricter control over
the uniformity of the seed greatly aided the cultivator.
[Illustration: Spring plowing on the McNair farm near Floris. The serene
aspect of the pre-mechanization farm is evident in this photograph taken
in the first decade of the twentieth century. Photo courtesy of Louise
McNair Ryder.]
Naturally, the farmer's work only began with the sowing of the seed, for
activity continued throughout the year. The work of calving, of pruning
orchard trees, digging garden beds, and trimming cattle hooves occurred
in the spring. In early summer the corn was thinned from four to two
stalks per hill, by using a sharp stick to dig the stalks out. Then,
toward the end of June the winter wheat was harvested. Cut with a binder
and tied in bundles, it was shocked (put in stacks of ten to twelve
bundles, wigwam fashion, with a bundle on top to shed water, or stacked
on poles in a mound with the outside sloping a bit to let the rain run
off) and left to dry in the field. If threshed by hand after about a
month it had to be gathered and taken to the barn for further drying.
In the 1920s, however, only a few farmers still wielded the flail; most
threshing was done by steam and later gas-powered threshing machines
which travelled from farm to farm. Wilson McNair described these
cumbersome and sometimes dangerous machines this way:
The thresher was run and pulled by a traction engine. They moved
slowly only about 2 mi. an hour. The engine had a water tank
mounted on each side in the rear to carry water while it was moving
from one place to another.... The engines all had whistles and they
would blow them every once in a while when they were on the road so
we would know they were coming. We had to haul up some wood to fire
the engine before we threshed....
In later years we had self-packing and weighing threshers with
blowers that moved the straw further from the thresher. One time
Mr. Hornbaker threshed for us. We had a small engine and thresher
that was pulled by a team. While we were washing up for dinner some
one looked up and saw smoke, [on] the other side of the barn where
the thresher was. All hands ran up there and pulled the thresher
out of the way and saved the wheat that was threshed, but the straw
burned up. A spark from the engine had fallen into the straw.[31]
During the summer months of the cultivation process, insect control was
also a major consideration. By the late 1930s a few large farms, such as
the Harrisons, could hire an airplane to dust their crops, but modest
farms of necessity relied on hand labor for this, as most other chores.
"As ... new varieties of clover, alfalfa, and other plants came to be
used, seems like the insects came along with them," lamented one
farmer.[32] The Japanese beetle, introduced into America in the 1920s,
wrecked particular havoc with the crucial corn crop. "The Japanese
beetle was just awful," recalled Ray Harrison, "it would eat the tassel
up which pollinated the corn ... then would get right into the ear of
the corn and go right down into the shuckings."[33] Against these pests,
and the inevitable destruction of wildlife, weather, and weeds, the
farmer had to maintain an eternal vigilance. Much of the growing season
was spent in monitoring these destructive forces.
The benefits of this watchfulness became apparent with the harvest. As
mentioned above, wheat was the earliest crop reaped but the major
harvesting was done early in September. Corn was cut and shocked at this
time, and the large task of filling the silo was undertaken. To do this
stalks and leaves of the corn were chopped by an ensilage cutter. Like
the thresher, this machine was generally owned by an outside agent; it
travelled from farm to farm to process each farmer's fodder. The early
cutters were powered by steam, but like numerous other farm instruments,
gasoline-driven equipment was developed during World War I. On a large
farm up to twenty men were needed to keep a threshing machine or
ensilage cutter going. Bundles of corn were chopped by the machine and
then conveyed to a fan which blew the ensilage through a pipe into the
silo. There one to four men tamped it down and guided the nozzle on the
blower pipe to insure even distribution. It was dirty work, the corn
stalks oozing juice and sticking as tenaciously as burrs to the clothes,
hands and hair of those working in the silo. A small landowner might
complete the silo filling process in a day, but for large farms it often
took the better part of a week.[34]
Just as the spring brought forth a burgeoning activity, so did things
happen with a rush in the fall. Haying was done just before the corn
harvest, in the hot, late summer days which would cure the new-mown
grass in the field. To cut the hay the county's farmers often used a
one- or two-horse rake with a single attachment to raise or lower the
rake's teeth when passing over a meadow. The dried hay, with its almost
overpoweringly sweet smell, was lifted by forks into a wagon, tramped
down, then transported to fill bursting barns. The least mechanized
farms forked the hay into the lofts by hand but later barns were
equipped with a mechanical fork for lifting the hay. Haying had to be
done at precisely the right time or the grass would not cure properly
and the hay would spoil. The combination of heat, hard, backbreaking
work, and the necessity for hurry made haying a particularly fatiguing
time.[35]
Most of the harvest was used right on the farm. Like manure, which was
recycled to enrich fields and gardens, the grain and hay crops went to
nourish the farm's dairy animals. Little was marketed and little was
wasted. "That proved to be the best thing you could do," noted Holden
Harrison, "grow as much of your own feed for your cattle as you could.
You sold your ... crop production through your milk can."[36]
[Illustration: A shock of wheat on the Ellmore farm near Floris. On this
particularly successful farm the wheat was sold for seed to help improve
the stock on other area farms. Photo in Annual Report of County Agent H.
B. Derr, 1925, Virginiana Collection, Fairfax County Public Library.]
[Illustration: This mechanical hay loader on the Harrison Brothers' farm
near Floris dates from 1935. Photo courtesy of Holden Harrison.]
The fruits of the year's labor came not only from the hay fields but
from garden and orchard, whose abundance had to be gathered, preserved
and stored in the late summer season. Fairfax County had once been a
major truck farming section but the onslaught of insects and competition
from large commercial orchards (such as those in the Shenandoah Valley)
had relegated this produce to the realm of home use. The A. S. Harrison
farm included plum, apple, peach and cherry trees and Margaret Mary Lee
recalled that cherries, pears and apples grew in her family's orchard.
Sometimes pears and apples were made into cider but most of the fruit
was dried or canned for winter use. Many farmers made the extra effort
to keep bees under their fruit trees because they aided pollination and
produced honey from the blossoms. The Lees were among those who enjoyed
the soft hum of the bees among the orchard trees. Margaret Lee
especially liked to recall them darting busily between the fragrant
white sheets, when the washing was hung in the yard.[37]
The vegetable garden, too, had a prominent place in the farm scheme.
Elizabeth Rice noted that "everyone had a good garden, growing such
things as sweet corn, limas, string beans, potatoes, tomatoes, and
asparagus."[38] Others mentioned lettuce, herbs and popcorn in the
family vegetable patch and many farms had grape arbors.[39] Like other
areas of cultivation, the garden plot required care and attention for
three seasons of the year. The round of soil preparation, planting,
nourishing and harvesting added additional responsibilities to the
multitude of duties which already crowded the sunlight hours. Still, the
rewards were great: self-sufficiency, economy, and the enjoyment of the
earth's fresh bounty.
With the harvest over the farmer would fill the less hectic winter hours
with the unending minutia of the farm. Fence and equipment mendings,
cutting ice from ponds and rivers, chopping wood, and grubbing up trees
all had a part in his busy life. Another burst of activity occurred in
early winter when animals were butchered for the year's meat. Most farm
families bought their beef in Herndon, but nearly everyone kept hogs for
home consumption.[40] Neal Bailey, a veteran of many local butcherings,
described them in this particularly detailed manner:
Two to three meat hogs per year were raised and slaughtered, all
about Thanksgiving. Farmers used to do everything by the almanac.
Two men would grab a hog and throw it on its back and cut the
jugular vein with a butcher knife. The pig was thrown then into a
scalding trough--a metal trough with water placed over a wood fire
burning in a trench.... In the old days, the local farmers heated
rocks red hot and threw them in a big barrel of water. It was a
day's work to haul rocks for this. The hair was scalded and scraped
off. Then the hog was gutted. Old folks used to take the insides
and make chitlins out of them. I never ate them myself. The hogs
were hung up overnight in a shed or in a tree where dogs couldn't
get it, to let the carcasses cure. The skin was left on the
carcass, and next day, it was cut up and salted down in a box. It
was kept tight so flies and mice couldn't get in.... Anything that
was left in spring was smoked to preserve it through the
summer.[41]
[Illustration: A small orchard apiary kept to provide honey and aid
pollination of the fruit trees. Photo in Annual Report of County Agent
H. B. Derr, 1925, Virginiana Collection, Fairfax County Public Library.]
Each family preserved its own meat and as Emma Ellmore related,
"everybody had his own pet recipe ... for mixing the salt and the brown
sugar--and some smoked the meat and some didn't." Lard had to be
rendered for storage in the cellar, sausage hand-ground and canned or
frozen, the heads boiled until the meat left the bones, then chopped and
pressed into a pan with the pot liquor to make headcheese. Butchering
time seems to have been an especially unforgettable occasion, for its
details stand out sharply in the minds of many. "After butchering each
year, Mother made ... buckwheat cakes to eat with fresh sausage,"
reminisced Margaret Peck. "Baked on a long black griddle, over a wood
stove, spread with homemade butter and topped with corn syrup, they were
the right beginning for a winter day."[42] For Floris residents, the
smells and tastes of a time seem to whirl the memory backward with
particular acuity.
Even in the hectic activity of harvest, a farmer was obliged to move
through the evening routine of milking, feeding and bedding his animals.
With these tasks completed, and a final check on the barns to see that
all was snug, the farmer's day was nearly complete by about 6:00. He ate
a hearty supper, then read _The Southern Planter_, and possibly mended
farm machinery or did a little work in the barn.[43] For those who arose
at 4:00 a.m. "in all kinds of weather," sleep came early and the house
was usually dark by 9:00 p.m.[44]
* * * * *
In all of this activity of cultivation, the rush of harvest, and
regularity of day-to-day chores, the farmer worked, not alone, but in
conjunction with his family. Unlike the industrial worker, whose
employment was discrete and separate from his home life, the farmer's
home was his workshop, and his labor directly connected to his
sustenance. His family was an integral part of this scheme; far from
being removed from the household's form of support, they were intimately
bound up in it. Wife, husband, children and grandparents all contributed
in their distinct sphere. The term "family farm" was no idle
denomination, but a recognition of the importance the entire family
played in the smooth operation of the farm.
The relationship of a farm husband and wife was in many ways a truer
partnership than that of the urban marriage. "A farmer needs a wife like
he needs the rain," is an old farm saying, expounded for decades in the
farmer's almanacs. It has now been collaborated by rural sociologists to
show that farm efficiency was based largely on the partners' shared
duties.[45] The farmers themselves seemed to realize this. In a 1932
nationwide survey of factors which farmers regarded as most important to
their success, "co-operation of wives" was ranked second.[46]
The activities of rural men and women were co-equal, not identical.
Women rarely worked in the fields except in the press of harvesting when
they might drive a horse to pull up the hay fork--"what we've all done,
I guess," agreed one group of Floris women.[47] They only occasionally
aided the men in the barn. Edith Rogers remembered working with the
stock as did Margaret Mary Lee, who helped with milking and also
recalled washing the milk storage tank and other equipment. This pleased
the local milk inspector who told her, "When women are in the barn, I
know the equipment is clean."[48] Except for such intermittent work, the
outside duties were left to the men. Instead, most women's activity was
to be found in the farmhouse and garden. Her responsibilities
encompassed the expected areas of housekeeping, decorating and sewing,
and often the less obvious work of bookkeeping or lawnmowing.
The farm woman's most demanding task probably centered around the
preparation and preservation of food, a vitally important function, for
to waste or misuse food was to negate the hard labor of a year. In the
current era of convenience foods, the time-consuming nature of cooking
is easily forgotten. Just operating a wood-burning stove was a
complicated task, attested to by the directions for laying a fire in a
contemporary cookbook.
To build a fire, first let down the grate, and take up the ashes
and cinders carefully to avoid raising a dust, sifting the cinders
to use in building the fire; brush the soot and dust out of the
upper part of the stove, and from the flues which can be reached;
be sure that all parts of the ovens and hot-boxes are clean; if
there is a water-back attached to the stove, see that it is filled
with water; if it is connected with water-pipes, be sure in winter
that they are not frozen; brush up the hearth-stone. Lay the fire
as follows: Put a few handfuls of dry shavings or paper in the
bottom of the grate; upon them, some small sticks of pine wood laid
across each other; then a few larger sticks, and some cinders free
from ashes; a few small lumps of coke or coal may be mixed with the
cinders. Open all the draughts of the stove, close all the covers,
and light the fire; when the cinders are lighted, add fresh coke
and coal gradually and repeatedly until a clear, bright fire is
started; then partly close the draughts. To keep up a fire, add
fuel often, a little at once, in order not to check the heat:
letting the fire burn low, and then replenishing it abundantly, is
a wasteful method, because the stove grows so cold that most of the
fresh heat is lost in raising the temperature again to the degree
necessary for cooking.[49]
INVENTORY OF THE ESTATE OF GEORGE W. KIDWELL
December 9, 1925
ARTICLE VALUE.
8 Grade Guernsey Cows, $40.00 each $ 320.00
12 Holstein Cows 480.00
1 Bull 50.00
1 Holstein Calf 10.00
2 Black Heiffers, $40.00 each 80.00
2 Small Black Heiffers 30.00
2 Black Horses 100.00
2 Double Sets Harness 25.00
15 milk Cans 15.00
2 Milk Buckets 1.00
1 Strainer .25
133 Shocks Fodder 39.90
120 Barrels Corn 360.00
6 2/3 Tons Hay Bailed, $20.00 Ton 133.33
6600 Lbs. Loose Hay @.75 49.50
20 Tons Ensilage 40.00
160 Bu. Wheat @ $1.40 per Bu 224.00
1 High Wheel Wagon 25.00
1 Truck Wagon 20.00
1 Top Wagon 10.00
1 Manure Spreader 100.00
1 Hay Ladder 10.00
1 Blizzard Ensilage Cutter 15.00
1 Gasoline Engine 20.00
1 Milk Wagon 10.00
1 Platform Scale 10.00
1 Set Single Harness 1.00
1 Buggy 2.00
1/2 Ton $16.00 Rock 9.00
1 Oil Drum .50
1 One Horse Wagon 2.00
1 Basket Sleigh 3.00
1 Top Wagon 3.00
1 Smoothing Harrow 5.00
2 Single Shovel Plows 1.00
1 Single Cultivator .50
1 Oliver 2 Horse Plow 2.00
1 Spring Tooth Harrow 5.00
1 Set Blacksmith Tools 25.00
1 Lot of Lumber at Mill House 40.00
1 Lot of Tools and Repairs in Mill House 5.00
1 Cut off Saw 1.00
Contents of Well House 15.00
1 Dort Automobile 100.00
Contents of Garage 25.00
1 Lot of Ladders and Contents of Wood House 25.00
Contents of Tool House 25.00
1 Grindstone 2.00
1 Iron Boiler 5.00
1 Wheelbarrow 3.00
1 Hay Rake 20.00
2 Mowing Machines, $5.00 each 10.00
1 Riding Cultivator 5.00
1 Corn Planter 20.00
1 Lath Mill and Bench 1.00
1 Grain Drill 80.00
1 Hay Tedder 25.00
1 Dish Harrow 1.00
1 Three Horse Plow 5.00
1 Binder 5.00
1 Note dated Aug. 30th, 1921 payable 3 yrs. after date 500.00
Interest on above note from Aug. 30th, 1924, to the
present time @ 6% 38.33
Cash in Herndon National Bank 901.88
Cash on Savings Account Farmers & Mechanics National 685.60
Cash on Savings Account The Potomac Savings Bank 549.80
Liberty Bonds 200.00
------
5630.59
This inventory, attached to the will of a small farmer, shows the
diverse equipment found on the 1920's farm.
[Illustration: Plan of the family farm of Mason F. Smith, drawn by Mason
Smith, Jr., for a 4-H Club project. The farm was bought in 1932 by Floyd
Kidwell and now constitutes the nucleus of Frying Pan Farm Park. From
Mason Smith, Jr. Livestock Record Books in Annual Report of County Agent
H. B. Derr, 1929, Virginiana Collection, Fairfax County Public Library.]
Though the wood-burning stoves often imparted a special flavor to the
food prepared on them (for example, one farm cooking devotee opined that
no waffles could taste like those from a wood-burning stove[50]), the
stoves were fearfully hot in the summer and needed constant refueling
and expert attention to heat evenly. Few Fairfax County farm women had
the luxury of electricity in their kitchens until well after 1935.
Statistics show that only 65% of farm women cooked with electricity even
in 1940.[51]
In addition to the large regular meals required by a hard-working
family, the farm woman prepared the gargantuan harvest meals shared by
all who worked in the fields. Cooking these meals in the late summer
heat was a chore which took several days. "An ordeal" one veteran called
it and enumerated some parts of the expected menu: corn bread, hot
biscuits, pork shoulder, pressed chicken, fried chicken, vegetables and
pie. "We'd put food enough together for them--and did they eat!"[52]
Even at other times of the year, a farm wife needed to count on
unexpected visitors and accommodate her activities to an unforeseen need
to entertain. Her adaptability is attested to by Joseph Beard who
described the open farm hospitality of the era:
When anybody came around to your farm in those days, when
dinnertime came, you'd say, 'Well, it's time for dinner. Let's go
eat.' It didn't seem to matter if you had somebody drop in on you
on short notice. Women, ladies, mothers, wives, were accustomed to
this kind of thing. It never seemed to upset them. They just took
it in stride. They put on another plate and said, 'We haven't got
much, but you're welcome to what we have.' They'd go on like this.
They would bring out the best they could find. That was the kind of
condition that prevailed.[53]
The lady of the house in this period did not merely cook her family's
food; she was instrumental in its production and processing. The family
garden was generally her responsibility. It was she who planted the
early radishes, herbs, flowers and all the multitude of summer
vegetables in the cool, moist spring soil, weeded and nurtured them
through the summer months, and finally gathered them in the lingering
Indian summer days. If there were daughters in the family, they aided
her in this as in her other activities. When the produce was finally all
picked, peeled and cut, she combined them with vinegar, sugar, and
spices to preserve the vegetables as pickles, jelly or canned goods. It
was warm and tiring, but highly rewarding work. "Never will I forget the
pungent fragrances that pervaded the air when it was catsup or
pickle-making season," wrote Lottie Schneider.
When our mothers made apple butter in great kettles each child took
a turn at stirring the delicious mixture. The wonderful fragrance
made the task easier even though the thickening ingredients
sometimes sputtered and caused burns as they popped out on the
hands who used the stirring paddle.[54]
The pantry shelves filled with glass jars displaying their highly
colored contents produced feelings of pride and plenty in the farm
woman.
Poultry keeping also fell to the farmer's wife. There were a sizable
number of commercial poultry farms in the county--it was in fact the
area's second most important farm industry--but most dairy and general
farms kept just enough for their own use.[55] Egg collecting, feeding
and cleaning of the chicken house and yard, even killing, dressing and
plucking the poultry were done by female members of the farm family.
Thrifty women saved the feathers for pillows and coverlets and nearly
all sold their excess eggs to the "hucksters" who travelled from farm to
farm buying surplus goods. These peddlars also bought rabbits, turkeys,
and other poultry, as well as home-churned butter from the farms. This
was yet another area in which women utilized and processed the raw
materials of the land. Twice a week the cream that had been skimmed and
saved was churned (generally in round barrel churns with wooden
paddles), salted, and packed in stone jars to be picked up and
transported to the Alexandria and Washington markets. One of the early
hucksters was Earl Robey who collected eggs and chickens once a week.
"He travelled with 2 horses hitched to a covered wagon," wrote one
farmer. "In later years he had a model T truck." The money made by the
women was theirs to keep, for running the house and personal expenses,
and the austerity or comparative comfort of a farmstead was often the
direct result of the energy and efficiency of the farm woman.[56]
The rural woman's place was respected and secure on the farms of fifty
years ago. The farmer might consider himself the overall manager but he
recognized his spouse's vital contributions. "Mutually they both decided
to make things go and they did go," wrote one 1930s farm boy of his
parents. "Mother did not feel inferior to father and she never felt that
he expected her to feel so."[57] If the woman's role and duties were
firmly set in this rural society, then so was her status.
An additional responsibility was that of caring for children, but in the
farm family this was more clearly a joint obligation of the father and
mother than in families in which the male parent left home to work. Too,
children were more closely tied to the family as a working unit; they
felt both the necessity of aiding their parents with the running of the
farm and the pride of contributing in a real sense to the family's
well-being. Of course, farm children attended school, but they also
shared the pattern of their parents' life. With father and mother they
awoke in the early hours of the morning to help with barn or household
chores: "It didn't make any difference how small they were, they got up
at six o'clock."[58] Many learned to milk before the age of ten. On
weekends, summer holidays and after school, they were also expected to
help on the farm. Both boys and girls performed the unending job of
gathering firewood for the kitchen stove. Carrying water was another
constant chore which often fell to the family's children, for as late as
1940 nearly 40% of the county's homes still lacked running water.[59]
Farm youngsters learned to drive a team and ride horseback at an early
age, and this enabled them to take a horse to be shod, fetch a mower
section from the general store, or run other unexpected errands.
Margaret Lee stated that as a girl she used to hitch up a mule and buggy
each Monday to take the family's laundry to be washed by a local Negro
laundress, and pick it up again on Thursday.[60] Girls also helped with
the dishes, fed chickens, and cooked while boys tackled plowing,
threshing and animal husbandry. One woman recalled the special
satisfaction she felt when, at the age of thirteen, she shocked an
entire field of wheat.[61] By doing these chores and errands, farm
children were not merely assisting in the farm operation. In the
emulation of their parents' activity, they benefitted from a kind of
on-the-job training which both sharpened their skills for a later farm
career and furthered their identity with the family group and farm life
in general.
The farm child's close connection to his parents' life and the necessity
for performing a variety of chores also acted in some measure as a force
for social control: the child who worked with his parents was expected
to act in a manner acceptable to them. Furthermore, the close-knit
nature of the community reinforced the parents' values when their
offspring were away from home. "A farmer was always busy, and his kids
didn't run the streets," noted Joseph Beard.[62] Another native of
northern Virginia explained the prevalent philosophy in more detail:
Papa was a firm believer that work was a therapy that kept young
people out of mischief. It was unthought of for youngsters to get
into serious trouble in those days other than smoking corn silk or
grapevine, and that was a punishment in itself. All were assigned
specific chores and the youngest started out picking up chips and
other small pieces of wood from the 'woodpile' for kindling to
start the fire in the kitchen range at daylight in the morning....
As we grew a little older bringing in the firewood was added to the
list of chores and when you grew big enough to chop and split
cordwood, usually around the age of 10-12 years, one found the
chores around the home were endless.[63]
[Illustration: Rebecca Rice, daughter of C. T. Rice, canning fruit in
her home near Oakton, Virginia. Note the ice box and wood burning stove,
standard features of the early 20th century kitchen. Photo in H. B. Derr
Reports, Virginiana Collection, Fairfax County Public Library.]
[Illustration: Elizabeth Harrison in her room on a farm near Herndon,
Virginia. She refurbished the room herself as part of a 4-H project.
Photo in H. B. Derr Reports, Virginiana Collection, Fairfax County
Public Library.]
The round of chores might seem endless, but farm kids had their fun,
too. Joseph Beard and Richard Peck both recall swimming in Horse Pen Run
and Peck also reminisced about fishing in the local streams.[64]
Margaret Lee was sometimes treated to a baked sweet potato after school;
she rode the family mule for recreation.[65] At Halloween, much secret
giggling went on as plans were afoot to take an outhouse and sit it on
the school porch, or sneak all of the milk cans out of the dairy and set
them outside.[66] Skating on the baptismal pond of Frying Pan Baptist
Church, and neighborhood events such as picnics, watermelon feasts and
oyster suppers also lent excitement to the child's life. Perhaps the
most pervasive enjoyment came from the ever-changing delights of the
countryside itself. Wrote one resident of the Herndon area: "We could
ramble through the woods, finding huckleberries, wild flowers, sassafras
roots and stems, chestnuts and lovely mosses."[67]
* * * * *
Although children provided a great deal of supplemental labor on the
county's small farms, the "hired hand" was also an important part of the
community's work force. One local resident estimated that approximately
half of the farms in the Herndon area used hired labor, and this figure
is collaborated by the agricultural census of 1940. Other evidence shows
that the largest single expense (about 38% of total farm expenditures)
for the owner of thirty or more acres was hired help.[68] In Fairfax
County, as in most of the South, this hired labor was composed almost
entirely of the community's black residents, though occasionally a
family would employ a white man. The Ellmore family, who often had a
white man as their hired help, was such an exception.[69]
[Illustration: A homemade sled used for hauling manure to the fields.
Note the two young boys who, by driving the sled, shared the family's
responsibility for the farm. Photo in Annual Report of County Agent H.
B. Derr, 1925, Virginiana Collection, Fairfax County Public Library.]
Extra help was engaged in several ways. Larger farms frequently kept one
or two men throughout the year, sometimes supplying them with a house
and their noon meal as well as a salary.[70] On most farms, however,
extra help would be hired at particularly busy seasons by the day or
the week. "In the summertime you'd get seasonal help, gather them up
here and there, wherever you could," stated Holden Harrison. "If you
could carry those men, at least the best ones, over the winter, then
you'd have a good force that you could depend on for your summer work,
your planting and harvesting."[71] In some cases the hired man would
come with his team of horses for which he received additional wages. In
another variation groups of workers would organize into crews to perform
a specific function (for example, to fill a silo) and travelled from
farm to farm accomplishing this special task.[72]
Many of the laborers in the Floris area came from Willard, a community
of both whites and blacks, just over the Loudoun County line. About 85%
of Fairfax County's black population owned no land in 1934 and supported
themselves solely by agricultural labor.[73] Unlike this large landless
majority, many of Willard's families owned three to fifteen acres of
land. Most of these families grew vegetables on their land and nearly
all kept a cow.[74] A few black families tried to support themselves by
truck gardening, a difficult task when competing with larger more
economical farms. One such farmer, Ernest E. Webb, struggled to maintain
his children by selling vegetables in the city market. Biweekly he took
his goods by wagon across the low, unstable Chain Bridge and along Canal
Road to the markets in Washington, but for this long, exhausting trip
his profits were slim: "We made enough to come back home, feed the
horses, and feed ourselves a little for another trip."[75] To eke out an
existence, most blacks had to supplement any farming income they might
have by working as agricultural laborers.
Those laborers who did not have steady employment had to wait for work
until they were needed for a specific job. When a farmer wanted extra
help, he went to the black community, or sent word by someone else, and
detailed the number of men needed and the job to be done. "In the spring
my father would go up there [to Willard] or send me up there to see if I
could get three or four fellows to help get the spring work going,"
remarked Holden Harrison. "Maybe you could get them and maybe you
couldn't."[76] Sometimes there was a labor shortage, but frequently more
men wanted work than there were jobs to go around. Several area
residents remembered that if word got out that ten men were needed for a
job, often fifteen or more would show up.[77] This was especially true
during the agricultural depression of the 1920s and 1930s, which hit
blacks far worse than the county's white population. The blacks'
landholdings were of inferior quality and generally too small for
efficient operation, and this, combined with their meagre operating
capital and inadequate reserves, made the black agriculturalist more
dependent than ever on work from the large landowner.[78]
The hired man was expected to arrive in time for the early morning
milking and work the lengthy fifteen-hour day alongside the farmer. His
chores ranged from making hay to cutting wood and building fences. Neal
Bailey recalled that he spent his entire first day as a laborer driving
fence posts with a 16-pound hammer. The standard salary was $1.00 to
$1.50 per day plus all he could eat for lunch. Some farmers paid by the
job rather than by the day though they found the latter system
preferable. When the help was not so concerned with completing a task
rapidly, farmers believed it produced a better quality work.
Occasionally the white farmers shared or traded work with their black
counterparts. More frequently, hired hands worked for a share of the
fruits of their labor. At butchering time, the hired help might go home
with sausage, side meat (bacon) or a pork shoulder for his pay. At berry
season they picked a farmer's blackberries or wild cherries for half of
the take.[79]
The women and children of the black communities in Fairfax County also
worked. Black women took in laundry, picked fruit and sometimes came to
the white farmer's houses to help with canning or meat preservation at
butchering time. One woman worked as a midwife; according to Margaret
Lee, the only one in the area. She delivered Miss Lee's younger sister
around 1913.[80] Children as young as nine would thin corn or pluck
potato bugs off the dark, leafy plants for 50c a day. Girls used to pick
berries and pull field cress when it was going to seed, and some
children worked in the farmhouses running errands.[81] The Ellmore
family often had a young boy to help do odds and ends, and another
Floris resident noted that "there was some twins of about twelve years
old and we needed a little help so I took one of them in the house and
my brother had the other out to help him with things."[82] Neal Bailey
recalled going out to help his father cut corn at a very young age and
being told to "keep working--you have no back," even when it felt as if
it were breaking.[83]
Within these labor relationships the white employer retained the most
control since he set wages and hours, and because he worked with the
knowledge that the black families were dependent on him for employment.
Yet the blacks had their influence too, for the larger landowners needed
their labor to keep the farms operating smoothly. The farmer's
dependence was apparent in instances such as that related by Ray
Harrison, who remembered one Christmas night when no help at all showed
up. That night he milked fifty-two cows by hand, something he could not
afford to do every day.[84] In numerous ways the hired hands exercised
some control over their working conditions. For example, seasoned
workmen reserved the right to "break in" a field hand new to the
neighborhood, thus both initiating him into local work patterns and
assuring that his expectations and treatment corresponded to that of the
veteran help.[85] In times of intense activity, the labor supply would
be short and the workers raised their prices accordingly. One farmer
recalled that during an exceptionally busy silo-filling season the help
were "jacking up the price ... ten cents an hour about four times in
one day.... They were putting pressure on because they thought they had
the leverage there." In this case the farmer called their bluff and sent
the workers home, but in many instances, the laborers held sway and
received higher wages during peak work periods.[86]
The white attitude toward their black workers seems to have been
paternalistic, as was the pattern of most racial relations in the
post-bellum South. Though area farmers maintain that their hired
laborers were liked and respected--"as much a part of the neighborhood
as anyone else"--in conversation capable workers were referred to as
"boy" or by the old plantation epithets of "Aunt" and "Uncle." A hearty
noon meal was part of the hired man's pay, but the help ate outside by
themselves, rather than with the family.[87] Moreover, rather than admit
his need for the laborers, the white employer sometimes viewed his
hiring in an altruistic light. "I remember my brother went over to these
colored people that had been working for him at different times, in the
middle of the winter, and told them to come over and cut some wood, and
he paid them for it so that they would have something, because they were
pretty bad off. So he just made work for them," stated one county
woman.[88] Undoubtedly, charitable motives were truly meant, but the
outcome was a paternalistic attitude which failed to recognize the
mutual dependence of land and labor.
This reliable supply of labor eliminated the county's need for migratory
workers, and also reduced the amount of tenancy since most farmers found
labor enough to manage all of their acreage. Nevertheless, during the
period between 1918-1940, about 10-12% of the white farm population and
2% of the black were tenants.[89] Statistical evidence shows over half
of the tenants to be cash croppers in 1925 and 40% in 1940. Many
historians believe this to be the least beneficial system for the tenant
as his obligation was to pay the landlord a fixed rent on the land
regardless of the success of his crop.[90] However, Joseph Beard stated
that most of the tenants with whom he had contact when he was county
agent in the late 1930s were sharecroppers. By this system, the renting
farmer supplied his tools and labor, the landlord furnished the land,
and the crop was split.
Fairfax County never harbored the kind of perpetual tenancy described by
James Agee's _Let Us Now Praise Famous Men_, in which families lived in
squalor and humiliation with little hope of pulling their way out of
debt. This occurred more frequently in the one-crop areas of the deep
South where exhausted soil and crop dependency made for a high debt risk
each year. Beard maintained that the sharecroppers of the late 1930s
were respectable people, merely renting land until they could afford to
purchase their own. In several instances, they were young local couples
who went on to buy their tenured land and to become established members
of the community.[91] Still, at best, any tenure system was a
demoralizing one for the renter because his profits were consistently
skimmed off to the landlord.
PART I--NOTES
_Continuity_
[5] Interview with Joseph Beard by Elizabeth Pryor, Fairfax, Virginia,
January 23, 1979; notes from interview with Margaret Mary Lee by Nan
Netherton, Herndon, Virginia, March 28, 1978. All transcripts and notes
from interviews used in this paper are deposited in the Fairfax County
Library Virginiana Collection (hereafter cited "Virginiana").
[6] Notes on interview with Elizabeth and Emma Ellmore by Nan Netherton,
Herndon, Virginia, March 2, 1978.
[7] Interview with Holden Harrison, Ray Harrison and Virginia Presgraves
Harrison by Elizabeth Pryor, Chantilly, Virginia, February 5, 1979.
[8] Notes on interview with John and Edna Middleton by Nan Netherton,
Herndon, Virginia, February 24, 1978.
[9] Interview with Joseph Beard and Holden Harrison by Elizabeth Pryor,
Floris, Virginia, March 6, 1979; Wilson Day McNair, "What I Remember,"
unpublished manuscript, n.d., copy courtesy of Louise McNair Ryder;
author's conversation with Rebecca Middleton, Floris, Virginia, April 4,
1979.
[10] John Middleton/Netherton, February 24, 1978; and interview with
Joseph Beard by Nan Netherton and Patrick Reed, Fairfax, Virginia,
November, 1974.
[11] Ellmore/Middleton/Pryor, March 8, 1979.
[12] "Floris Producers Active," _Herndon News-Observer_, January 22, 1925.
[13] Lottie Dyer Schneider, _Memoirs of Herndon, Virginia_ (Marion,
Virginia, 1962), 10 and 30.
[14] Notes on interview with Richard Peck by Nan Netherton, Herndon,
Virginia, February 23, 1978; notes on interview with Virginia McFarland
Greear by Nan Netherton, Herndon, Virginia, March 2, 1978; and
Schneider, _Memoirs of Herndon, Virginia_, 10.
[15] Elizabeth Rice to author, Wilmington, Delaware, January 30, 1979.
[16] Beard/Netherton/Reed, November, 1974; Peck/Netherton, February 23,
1978; Ellmore/Netherton, March 2, 1978; and Harrison/Pryor, February 5,
1979.
[17] _Agricultural Census, 1925_; and Federal Crop Reporting Service,
_Virginia Farm Statistics, 1935-1936_ (Richmond, 1936).
[18] _Ibid._; and Beard/Harrison/Pryor, March 6, 1979.
[19] Lehman Nickell and Cary J. Randolph, _An Economic and Social Survey
of Fairfax County_ (Charlottesville, 1924), 29-40; notes on interview
with Neal Bailey by Nan Netherton, Herndon, Virginia, December 12, 1978;
"Fairfax Farmer Threw Away His Plow in 1928 and Amazing Results Have
Been Revolutionary," _Richmond Times-Dispatch_, September 17, 1951; and
Annual Reports of County Agricultural Extension Agent H. B. Derr, 1928,
1929 and 1932, in Virginiana.
[20] Bailey/Netherton, December 19, 1978.
[21] _Ibid._; and McNair, "What I Remember."
[22] Beard/Harrison/Pryor, March 6, 1979.
[23] Derr Reports, 1928, 1932; McNair, "What I Remember"; and Joseph
Beard quoted in Beard/Harrison/Pryor, March 6, 1979.
[24] _Ibid._
[25] Notes on interview with Edith Rogers by Nan Netherton, Herndon,
Virginia, n.d. (c. spring, 1978).
[26] Beard/Harrison/Pryor, March 6, 1979.
[27] Bailey/Netherton, December 19, 1978; Rogers/Netherton; Derr Report,
1926, 9.
[28] Derr Report, 1925, 2.
[29] _Agricultural Census, 1925_; and Derr Reports, 1921 and 1924.
[30] "Fairfax Farmer Threw Away Plow."
[31] Bailey/Netherton, December 19, 1978; and McNair, "What I Remember."
[32] Harrison/Pryor, February 5, 1979.
[33] _Ibid._
[34] Bailey/Netherton, December 19, 1978; notes on interview with Joseph
Beard by Elizabeth Pryor, Fairfax, Virginia, February 27, 1979; and
Harrison/Pryor, February 5, 1979.
[35] Bailey/Netherton, December 19, 1978; McNair, "What I Remember."
[36] Beard/Harrison/Pryor, March 8, 1979.
[37] Harrison/Pryor, February 5, 1979; Lee/Netherton, March 28, 1978;
Elizabeth Rice to Mary Scott, n.d. (c. fall, 1978), copy courtesy of
Mary Scott.
[38] Elizabeth Rice to author, January 30, 1979.
[39] 4-H Record Books, copy in Annual Report of County Agricultural
Extension Agent; Derr Report, 1927; Beard/Pryor, January 23, 1979; and
McNair, "What I Remember."
[40] Rogers/Netherton; Greear/Netherton, March 23, 1978.
[41] Bailey/Netherton, December 19, 1978.
[42] Margaret Peck quoted in _Out of the Frying Pan_ (Herndon, Virginia,
1964), 4.
[43] J. Middleton/Netherton, February 24, 1978.
[44] Ellmore/Netherton, March 2, 1978; and Beard/Pryor, January 23,
1979.
[45] See _Hills Southern Almanac_, (Virginia Fire and Marine Insurance
Company, 1929); J. H. Kolb and Edmund S. de Brunner, _A Study of Rural
Society_ (Boston, 1935), 36-37.
[46] _Ibid._, 37.
[47] Ellmore/Middleton/Pryor, March 8, 1979.
[48] Rogers/Netherton; Lee/Netherton, March 28, 1978.
[49] Juliet Corson, _Miss Corson's Practical American Cookery_ (New York,
1886), 4; and Adeline Goessling, _The Farm and Home Cook Book_ (Chicago,
1919).
[50] Frances Darlington Simpson, _Virginia Country Life and Cooking_
(Washington, D.C., 1963).
[51] Virginia Polytechnical Institute, _The Housing of Virginia's Rural
Folk_ (Blacksburg, 1940), 26.
[52] Rebecca Middleton quoted in Ellmore/Middleton/Pryor, March 8, 1979.
[53] Beard/Pryor, January 23, 1979.
[54] Schneider, _Memoirs of Herndon, Virginia_, 30.
[55] Derr Reports, 1926, 1927; nearly all interviews collaborated this
information, see especially Peck/Netherton, February 23, 1978.
[56] Greear/Netherton, March 23, 1978; McNair, "What I Remember."
[57] Unidentified 1930s farmer quoted in Kolb and Brunner, _A Study of
Rural Society_, 33.
[58] _Ibid._; Beard/Pryor, January 23, 1979.
[59] VPI, _Housing_, 26.
[60] Lee/Netherton, March 28, 1978.
[61] _Ibid._; Ellmore/Netherton, March 2, 1978; Peck/Netherton, February
23, 1978.
[62] Beard/Pryor, January 23, 1979.
[63] Edwin W. Beitzell, _Life on the Potomac River_ (Abell, Maryland,
1968), 130.
[64] Beard/Pryor, January 23, 1979; Peck/Netherton, February 23, 1978.
[65] Lee/Netherton, March 28, 1978.
[66] _Ibid._
[67] Schneider, _Memoirs of Herndon, Virginia_, 31.
[68] Lee/Netherton, March 28, 1978; and W. C. Funk, "An Economic Study
of Small Farms Near Washington, D.C.," _United States Department of
Agriculture Bulletin 848_, June 22, 1920. This study concludes that the
farmer with thirty or more acres spent 38% of his revenue for labor, as
compared with 10% for feed, 11% for marketing and 3% for insurance and
taxes. See Table IV of this study for a complete breakdown.
[69] Ellmore/Netherton, March 2, 1978.
[70] Harrison/Pryor, February 5, 1979.
[71] Beard/Harrison/Pryor, March 6, 1979.
[72] _Ibid._
[73] _Ibid._; and William Edward Garnett and John W. Ellison, "Negro Life
in Rural Virginia, 1865-1934," _Virginia Polytechnical Institute Bulletin
295_, June, 1934.
[74] Beard/Pryor, February 27, 1979; and Bailey/Netherton, December 19,
1978.
[75] Dana Gumb, "Pioneer Recalls McLean," _Echoes of History_, (March and
May, 1972), 28.
[76] Beard/Harrison/Pryor, March 6, 1979.
[77] Beard/Pryor, February 27, 1979; and Beard/Harrison/Pryor, March 6,
1979.
[78] Garnett and Ellison, "Negro Life in Rural Virginia," 13.
[79] Beard/Pryor, February 27, 1979; Bailey/Netherton, December 19,
1978; Beard/Harrison/Pryor, March 6, 1979.
[80] Lee/Netherton, March 28, 1978.
[81] Bailey/Netherton, December 19, 1978.
[82] Ellmore/Netherton, March 2, 1978; interview with Edith Rogers by
Patty Corbat, Craig Smith and Phyllis Hirshman, June 12, 1970.
[83] Bailey/Netherton, December 19, 1978.
[84] Harrison/Pryor, February 5, 1979.
[85] Bailey/Netherton, December 19, 1978; Beard/Harrison/Pryor, March 6,
1979.
[86] Beard/Harrison/Pryor, March 6, 1979; Beard/Pryor, February 27,
1979.
[87] Greear/Netherton, March 23, 1978; Peck/Netherton, February 23,
1978.
[88] Rogers/Corbat, et al., June 12, 1970.
[89] Nickell and Randolph, _An Economic and Social Survey of Fairfax
County_, 75-76; and _Agricultural Census, 1925_. Nickell gives a 13%
tenancy and lists 175 out of 304 tenants to be working on a cash-tenant
basis. The Agricultural Census for 1940 also shows a 10% tenancy figure.
[90] Beard/Pryor, January 23, 1979. For a grim but revealing view of
what tenancy could mean during this period, see James Agee and Walker
Evans, _Let Us Now Praise Famous Men_, (New York, 1960).
[91] Harold Barger and Hans M. Lansburg, _American Agriculture 1899-1939_
(New York, 1975), 212; and Beard/Pryor, January 23, 1979.
PART II
_Change_
In its seasonal cycle of activity, the close and interdependent family
relationships, and the singular self-motivation of the farmer, the early
20th century farm carried on many of the traditions of the past. Except
for the change from slave to free labor and the marginal use of
mechanical equipment, these elements made up a world in which the farmer
of 1890, 1870, or even 1850 would have felt comfortable. But running
concurrently with these expected qualities of rural life were major
changes which jarred and fractured the constant trends of farming.
Change in attitude, technology or society occurs during all periods, but
the 1920s and 1930s were a particularly dynamic time in the field of
agriculture. Advances in the understanding of plant biology, animal
husbandry and soil conservation, together with higher living standards
through rural electrification and improved communications, were a cause
for optimism about the future of the family farm. Yet these advances
irrevocably altered the familiar rural life patterns. To maintain his
own station within this changing world, the farmer's outlook and methods
would also have to change.
* * * * *
Perhaps the most obvious modification of the traditional methods of
farming was the increased mechanization of many farm functions during
the early part of the 20th century. Not only were plows improved (by the
addition of a vertical disk which made for deeper cutting and more
thorough turning of the soil) and heavier harrows developed, but
gasoline-powered machinery began to be widely used.[92] The diesel
tractor had actually been available as early as 1905, but was not
generally adopted until World War I at which time military
experimentation improved the engine's construction and worker shortages
made the labor-efficient machinery especially valuable. The introduction
in 1924 of an all-purpose tractor, which could cultivate as well as
prepare the soil, increased the machinery's usefulness and gave an
additional thrust to its popularity.[93] The tractor was meant to
replace the work of draft horses, the large, gentle creatures who, along
with oxen and mules, had supplied the farm's power for centuries. The
saving the new machinery incurred was chiefly in time, an intangible
element of economics which farmers were just beginning to consider in
their appraisal of income and farm value. Often the use of a tractor cut
work time by half or more. Ray Harrison recalled that it took five
horses and three men several days work to clean out the trees and brush
for a potential field; his brother could do it with only one helper in a
single day.[94]
[Illustration: A broadcast harvester capable of picking four rows at a
time. This mechanical picker was developed by a county farmer, H. C.
Clapp. Photo in H. B. Derr Report, 1921, Virginiana Collection, Fairfax
County Public Library.]
[Illustration: Wheat being mechanically harvested, c. 1925. Few farms
could afford the luxury of such equipment at this time. Photo in H. B.
Derr Report, 1925, Virginiana Collection, Fairfax County Public
Library.]
The early tractors were not without their problems. Initially their
wheels were of steel, which packed down the wet earth making plowing
difficult, or lost traction and became mired in the ever-present red
mud; the addition of spiked wheels or heavy chains helped only a little
before pneumatic tires were introduced in 1932.[95] The machinery was
also expensive and complicated to repair. Few farms were as fortunate as
the Harrisons' on which one brother had taken numerous mechanical
courses and had even worked in a tractor repair shop.[96] For farmers
who could not always correlate time savings with financial advantage,
the large capital outlay seemed unnecessary or even unwise. As the
machinery was best adapted to large farms and intensive cultivation,
this was especially true in situations where the farmer did not feel
overworked, or held few ambitions to expand production.
Thus, Fairfax County farmers were slow to embrace the newfangled
technology. A 1924 survey of the county showed that only 10% of the
farmers owned a tractor despite County Agent Derr's assertion that the
"cutting of wheat with the tractor had been found the most economical
way for many reasons. The principle being rapidity and saving of
labor."[97] As late as 1936 Derr wrote that the majority of the small
farmers could not afford to purchase mechanized equipment and were
compelled to continue with their horses. The cost was partially offset
by machinery loaned by the United States Department of Agriculture
(USDA), for example, a seed corn grader and wheat smut treater which
travelled "like a missionary ... from farm to farm in their crop
improvement work."[98] Nevertheless even men such as A. S. Harrison, one
of the area's most progressive farmers, were hesitant about the new
machines, as Holden Harrison relates:
He knew I was sort of a tractor bug, and one day he called me in
and he said, 'Now son, now we don't use tractors out here, we grow
the feed for the horses ... we do our farm work with horses.' But
that very spring it got so hot that an old broken down tractor that
I rounded up did more work than the twelve horses we had.[99]
Economics, custom and suspicion of objects so divorced from nature's
cadence reduced the farmers' enthusiasm for new machinery.
Mechanized milking equipment was also held in suspicion initially.
Milking machines were developed around 1900, but a prejudice against
them lasted well into the 1920s. Older cows, accustomed to hand milking,
did not like the sound and feel of the machines and many farmers
contended that they impaired the milk-producing capabilities of some
animals.[100] Separators were likewise mistrusted by some who felt that
they skimmed the cream inadequately. Moreover, most of the dairy
equipment required electricity for its operation and for many years this
was not readily available in the area. These factors kept milking
machines from being swiftly adopted in Fairfax County. Conversations
with farmers of the inter-war period indicate that such equipment was
not generally acquired until the mid 1930s.[101]
Farmers learned of the new labor-saving devices by word of mouth,
through agricultural organizations, catalogs and manufacturer's
salesmen. The latter could be a nuisance to the already preoccupied
farmer, but he also acted as an invaluable informational source.
One dairyman explained:
That was a very useful service that salesmen performed. Salesmen
sort of get a black eye from some quarters but they kept the
farmers up to date on the new machines.... We had a very good
tractor with steel wheels, and a salesman came in and said, 'I'm
representing Goodrich Rubber Company. We're making tractor tires
now and if you'll let us put a set of tires on your tractor we'll
let you try them out, and if you don't like them, we'll take them
off and go back home with them.' So we did, we tried them and they
worked.[102]
The new equipment, attachments and improvements could be bought on
credit, or by deferred payment (that is, extended credit) until a crop
was harvested. This was frequently necessary as the machinery was
costly. Joseph Beard indicated that a tractor cost about $600 to $800 in
1930. The Sears and Roebuck catalog for 1928 offered an electric milker
for $145 (including a 3/4 horsepower engine) and a harrow attachment to
be used with a tractor for $60. Cream separators ranged from $42.95 to
$100 without a motor, which could cost as much as $30.00. "Don't make a
horse out of yourself," the catalog cajoled. But with the additional
cost of parts, maintenance and fuel, a farmer earning only $1,000
annually could at best hope to equip his farm only gradually.[103]
To offset costs, farmers retained their old tools while gradually
acquiring up-to-date equipment. An inventory of the equipment on a
fifty-acre farm shows the mix of old and new owned by the typical farmer
of this transition period. In 1928 the farm of George W. Kidwell near
Hunter was equipped with harnesses, a two-horse plow, and blacksmithing
tools, but also a gasoline engine, an oil drum and automobile.[104]
Ultimately, of course, the machines were of tremendous advantage to the
large and specialized dairyman. They speeded and streamlined the
twice-daily milkings, efficiently strained and separated the milk while
warm. Later, the machines cooled the milk to the optimum temperature
required to retard spoilage. This latter development was an especially
noteworthy improvement over the old well or ice-water coolings.
Similar advances were made with electric incubators and chicken feeders
for poultry specialists and improved spraying equipment for orchardists.
Warren McNair was a pioneer in the Floris neighborhood in the use of
mechanized hatcheries, establishing one which was powered by coal before
World War I. Like the dairy equipment, poultry technology offered
efficiency and improved production.[105]
[Illustration: A tractor-drawn drill which could plant four rows at a
time. This snapshot shows a black agricultural laborer planting
soybeans, which were used as high protein livestock feed. Photo in
Annual Report of County Agent H. B. Derr, 1922, Virginiana Collection,
Fairfax County Public Library.]
[Illustration: Wilson D. McNair aboard a Row Crop 70 tractor, featuring
rubber tires, c. 1940. In the background is the farm's chicken house.
Growing poultry and eggs was the specialty of this farmer. Photo
courtesy of Louise McNair Ryder.]
Along with a slow-growing recognition of the advantages of automated
farm equipment came a quantum leap in knowledge of the agricultural
sciences. Some experimentation in plant and animal breeding was
attempted around the turn of the century, but the real impetus for
extended research was the passage of the Smith-Lever Act in 1914. In
Virginia the work was undertaken at the Virginia Polytechnical Institute
(VPI) in Blacksburg. The early efforts of the United States Department
of Agriculture were enlarged at this time and, most significantly, were
made accessible to individual farmers through the county agricultural
extension program. Interconnected with the state agricultural colleges,
the program used representatives known as county agents to advise and
educate the farmers. Working on a personal level, they were able to, in
the words of one Fairfax agent, "bring the college to the people." As a
result of the improved access to information, new ideas on breeding,
animal care, soil improvements, and planting almost inundated the
farmer.[106]
Of special importance was an increased understanding of livestock
breeding and a change in the desired criteria for a prime animal. As
more and more emphasis was placed on pragmatic qualities, the old show
points of stature, color or markings lost prestige next to reproductive
capacity or productivity. One Maryland farmer who marketed his products
in the same areas as Fairfax dairymen, stated the case emphatically.
"What does a man want a cow for? _Milk!_ And to get milk you've got to
have a ... female animal with some size to her, strong bone, a good bag
and a big barrel--a real machine ... producing quality milk."[107] A
Fairfax County poultry raiser concurred. Complaining to the editor of
the _Fairfax Herald_ in 1926, he wrote:
As is now being done, fowls are being judged by the show standard
rather than from a utility standpoint. As one member [of the
Poultrymen's organization] present stated ... one of his birds won
the blue ribbon as the best marked bird in her class but shortly
after the fair he sold her in the market owing to [her] being such
a poor layer.[108]
Actually some disagreement occurred over exactly which qualities should
be stressed in breeding. Experts in animal husbandry found that
cross-breeding often produced the highest yield of milk, a conclusion
which was at odds with those who wanted to emphasize pure-bred stock. In
Fairfax County, H. B. Derr followed the latter persuasion. In the end
both parties hoped to achieve the same result: a controlled breeding
program which would allow the farmer to predetermine the type and
characteristics of the stock on his farm.