“That depends,” said I, “on the practice. Suppose you tell us how you manage your manure.”
“Well,” said the Deacon, “I do not know much about plant-food, and nitrogen, and phosphoric acid, but I think manure is a good thing, and the more you have of it the better. I do not believe in your practice of spreading manure on the land and letting it lie exposed to the sun and winds. I want to draw it out in the spring and plow it under for corn. I think this long, coarse manure loosens the soil and makes it light, and warm, and porous. And then my plan saves labor. More than half of my manure is handled but once. It is made in the yard and sheds, and lies there until it is drawn to the field in the spring. The manure from the cow and horse stables, and from the pig-pens, is thrown into the yard, and nothing is done to it except to level it down occasionally. In proportion to the stock kept, I think I make twice as much manure as you do.”
“Yes,” said I, “twice as much in bulk, but one load of my manure is worth four loads of your long, coarse manure, composed principally of corn-stalks, straw, and water. I think you are wise in not spending much time in piling and working over such manure.”
The Deacon and I have a standing quarrel about manure. We differ on all points. He is a good man, but not what we call a good farmer. He cleared up his farm from the original forest, and he has always been content to receive what his land would give him. If he gets good crops, well, if not, his expenses are moderate, and he manages to make both ends meet. I tell him he could double his crops, and quadruple his profits, by better farming—but though he cannot disprove the facts, he is unwilling to make any change in his system of farming. And so he continues to make just as much manure as the crops he is obliged to feed out leave in his yards, and no more. He does not, in fact, make any manure. He takes what comes, and gets it on to his land with as little labor as possible.
It is no use arguing with such a man. And it certainly will not do to contend that his method of managing manure is all wrong. His error is in making such poor manure. But with such poor stuff as he has in his yard, I believe he is right to get rid of it with the least expense possible.
I presume, too, that the Deacon is not altogether wrong in regard to the good mechanical effects of manure on undrained and indifferently cultivated land. I have no doubt that he bases his opinion on experience. The good effects of such manure as he makes must be largely due to its mechanical action—it can do little towards supplying the more important and valuable elements of plant-food.
I commend the Deacon’s system of managing manure to all such as make a similar article. But I think there is a more excellent way. Feed the stock better, make richer manure, and then it will pay to bestow a little labor in taking care of it.