HOEING POTATOES
As I was lying in the shade of the maple-tree down there by the
ravine, yesterday, I fell to thinking about my rights, and the longer
I lay there the more puzzled I became. Being a citizen in a
democracy, I have many rights that are guaranteed to me by the
Constitution, notably life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
In my school I become expansive in extolling these rights to my
pupils. But under that maple-tree I found myself raising many
questions as to these rights, and many others. I have a right to
sing tenor, but I can't sing tenor at all, and when I try it I
disturb my neighbors. Right there I bump against a situation. I
have a right to use my knife at table instead of a fork, and who is
to gainsay my using my fingers? Queen Elizabeth did. I certainly
have a right to lie in the shade of the maple-tree for two hours
to-day instead of one hour, as I did yesterday. I wonder if
reclining on the grass under a maple-tree is not a part of the
pursuit of happiness that is specifically set out in the
Constitution? I hope so, for I'd like to have that wonderful
Constitution backing me up in the things I like to do. The sun is so
hot and hoeing potatoes is such a tiring task that I prefer to lounge
in the shade with my back against the Constitution.
In thinking of the pursuit of happiness I am inclined to personify
happiness and then watch the chase, wondering whether the pursuer
will ever overtake her, and what he'll do when he does. I note that
the Constitution does not guarantee that the pursuer will ever catch
her--but just gives him an open field and no favors. He may run just
as fast as he likes, and as long as his endurance holds out. I
suspect that's where the liberty comes in. I wonder if the makers of
the Constitution ever visualized that chase. If so, they must have
laughed, at least in their sleeves, solemn crowd that they were. If
I were certain that I could overtake happiness I'd gladly join in the
pursuit, even on such a warm day as this, but the dread uncertainty
makes me prefer to loll here in the shade. Besides, I'm not quite
certain that I could recognize her even if I could catch her. The
photographs that I have seen are so very different that I might
mistake happiness for some one else, and that would be embarrassing.
If I should conclude that I was happy, and then discover that I
wasn't, I scarcely see how I could explain myself to myself, much
less to others. So I shall go on hoeing my potatoes and not bother
my poor head about happiness. It is just possible that I shall find
it over there in the potato-patch, for its latitude and longitude
have never been definitely determined, so far as I am aware. I know
I shall find some satisfaction over there at work, and I am convinced
that satisfaction and happiness are kinsfolk. Possibly my potatoes
will prove the answer to some mother's prayer for food for her little
ones next winter. Who knows? As I loosen the soil about the vines I
can look down the vista of the months, and see some little one in his
high chair smiling through his tears as mother prepares one of my
beautiful potatoes for him, and I think I can detect some moisture in
mother's eyes, too. It is just possible that her tears are the
consecrated incense upon the altar of thanksgiving.
I like to see such pictures as I ply my hoe, for they give me respite
from weariness, and give fresh ardor to my hoeing. If each one of my
potatoes shall only assuage the hunger of some little one, and cause
the mother's eyes to distil tears of joy, I shall be in the
border-land of happiness, to say the least. I had fully intended to
exercise my inalienable rights and lie in the shade for two hours
to-day, but when I caught a glimpse of that little chap in the high
chair, and heard his pitiful plea for potatoes, I made for the
potato-patch post-haste, as if I were responding to a hurry call. I
suppose there is no more heart-breaking sound in nature than the
crying of a hungry child. I have been whistling all the afternoon
along with my hoeing, and now that I think of it, I must be whistling
because my potatoes are going to make that baby laugh.
Well, if they do, then I shall elevate the hoeing of potatoes to the
rank of a privilege. Oh, I've read my "Tom Sawyer," and know about
his enterprise in getting the fence whitewashed by making the task
seem a privilege. But Tom was indulging in fiction, and hoeing
potatoes is no fiction. Still those whitewash artists had something
of the feeling that I experience right now, only there was no baby in
their picture as there is in mine, and so I have the baby as an
additional privilege. I wish I knew how to make all the school tasks
rank as privileges to my boys and girls. If I could only do that,
they would have gone far toward a liberal education. If I could only
get a baby to crying somewhere out beyond cube root I'm sure they
would struggle through the mazes of that subject, somehow, so as to
get to the baby to change its crying into laughter. 'Tis worth
trying.
I wonder, after all, whether education is not the process of shifting
the emphasis from rights to privileges. I have a right, when I go
into the town, to keep my seat in the car and let the old lady use
the strap. If I insist upon that right I feel myself a boor, lacking
the sense and sensibilities of a gentleman. But when I relinquish my
seat I feel that I have exercised my privilege to be considerate and
courteous. I have a right to permit weeds and briers to overrun my
fences, and the fences themselves to go to rack, and so offend the
sight of my neighbors; but I esteem it a privilege to make the
premises clean and beautiful, so as to add so much to the sum total
of pleasure. I have a right to stay on my own side of the road and
keep to myself; but it is a great privilege to go up for a
half-hour's exchange of talk with my neighbor John. He always clears
the cobwebs from my eyes and from my soul, and I return to my work
refreshed.
I have a right, too, to pore over the colored supplement for an hour
or so, but when I am able to rise to my privileges and take the Book
of Job instead, I feel that I have made a gain in self-respect, and
can stand more nearly erect. I have a right, when I go to church, to
sit silent and look bored; but, when I avail myself of the privilege
of joining in the responses and the singing, I feel that I am
fertilizing my spirit for the truth that is proclaimed. As a citizen
I have certain rights, but when I come to think of my privileges my
rights seem puny in comparison. Then, too, my rights are such cold
things, but my privileges are full of sunshine and of joy. My rights
seem mathematical, while my privileges seem curves of beauty.
In his scientific laboratory at Princeton, on one occasion, the
celebrated Doctor Hodge, in preparing for an experiment said to some
students who were gathered about him: "Gentlemen, please remove your
hats; I am about to ask God a question." So it is with every one who
esteems his privileges. He is asking God questions about the glory
of the sunrise, the fragrance of the flowers, the colors of the
rainbow, the music of the brook, and the meaning of the stars. But I
hear a baby crying and must get back to my potatoes.