Success with Small Fruits

by Edward Payson Roe

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.