THE IMPORTANCE OF NUT GROWING.
H. W. Collingwood, New Jersey.
In these days the importance of most things is valued in figures. I never was good at figures. It seems to me that you can do anything you like with figures, except make them clear, yet it was the failure to figure that gave me my first idea of the importance of nut culture. Some 50 years ago a small boy on a New England farm could not, or would not, do his sums in the old Coburn Arithmetic. It made no difference that the teacher called it Mathematics, and pointed it with the end of a hickory stick. By any other name it was not sweet.
This boy got stuck on a question about a hare and a hound. It appeared that the hare jumped a rod at a time, and made 33 jumps a minute. The hound started 200 feet behind the hare. This hound made 18 ft. at a jump, and made 32½ jumps a minute. Now, would the hound catch the hare before they got to a hickory tree half a mile away?
I am glad they introduced that hickory tree because the question was a hard nut at best and needed brain food. I couldn't tell where the hare would be, and I can't now; nor do I believe that some of you wise heads, grown hairless with constant thinking, could really tell how the hare came out. If I saw one of my children headed for me with such a problem in hand, I confess that I should make a prompt engagement outside. The old folks who brought me up, had sterner ways of enforcing education. They decided that the boy should live on brown bread and water until he did that example. In order to assist hunger in bringing the boy to it, after the first day showed that the boy was still going, the old gentleman hunted up all the axes and hatchets, scythes and knives on the place, and made the boy turn grindstone while he held the implements on. Greek met Greek. The boy wouldn't give in, and the old man couldn't and preserve his dignity, but try as he might the old man could not tire out the boy; the old hands gave out first, and the old man straightened his back and gazed at that wonderful boy. Now it wasn't in brown bread and water to sustain strength and will in that way. Not when there are baked beans for supper and you can smell them! The old man had to acknowledge a higher power which beat him. He wouldn't do it openly, that was not the New England way, but he did it on the second night by helping the boy to baked beans and fried potatoes without a word. The old man went to his death thinking that he had a most wonderful boy, and the little fellow did not give his secret away. Now we may have it as a slight contribution to the importance of nut culture. The sustaining power which carried the boy through his trial was the hickory nut. There was a pile of them in the attic, and the boy on the quiet, cracked and ate a quart of them every day. That boy could not spell protein to save his life, and carbo-hydrates would have scared him off the floor, but the nuts and the brown bread gave him a balanced ration which did everything except find out about the hound and the hare. I think it would have required a balanced ration fed to an unbalanced brain to settle that problem.
Now I think the importance of the nut industry must come to the general public in that way, through the stomach rather than through the mind. The human mind is a marvelous piece of mental machinery, so is the machine which sets type or weaves fine cloth, yet both are powerless unless the fire pot under the engine, or the stomach of the man, are kept filled with fuel or food. I have heard very old men tell of the prejudice which existed against coal, years ago, in New England, when attempts were made to introduce the new fuel. Cord wood was the local fuel, people knew what it was, and its preparation provided a local industry. The introduction of coal meant destruction for this local business of wood cutting, and wiped out the value of many a farm. Coal had to win its way against prejudice and local interest, and it only won out by showing power. I am sure that 75 years ago, if some visionary Yankee had said that coal would be so freely used in New England that cord wood would be almost unsaleable, the public would surely have given him that honorary title which goes with prospective and persistent knowledge, "nut."
In like manner the importance of nut growing will not be truly recognized until we can show a man in the most practical way that nuts provide the energy to be found in beef steak. It is said that knowledge creates an atmosphere in which prejudice cannot live. I know an old man who is absolutely settled in his conviction that New England has degenerated because her people have given up eating baked beans and cod fish balls, and introduced the sale of these delicacies in the West. That man says, with convincing logic, that in the old days when New England lived on brown bread and baked beans, we produced statesmen on every rocky hillside, and we dominated the thought of the nation. Now, he says, we have not developed one single statesman since the canned baked bean industry took our specialty away from us. The only way to convince him is to produce a dozen statesmen out of men who are willing to subscribe to a diet of nuts. I have a friend who says he feels like throwing a brick every time he passes a modern laundry. He says the invention of the linen collar kept him a poor man. His grandfather invested the family fortune in the stock of a paper collar factory. Many of our older men remember the time when we all wore paper collars, and bought them by the dozen in boxes. It seemed like a sure thing when the old man put all his money into it. He figured that by 1915 there would be 40,000 people in this country, each one wearing at least 200 paper collars a year, something like the hound and the hare, perhaps, but he didn't know that the hare in this case would drop dead, and the hound double his jump, as happened to paper and linen collars. Some one invented the modern linen collar. The laundry service started up, and paper collars disappeared with the family fortune. Now, my friend must work for a living, and throw mental bricks at the laundry. In a way every new habit, or every new interference with the thought and method of the plain people must run the gauntlet and submit to just such violent changes.
Now the future of the nut business, which contains the importance of the industry, depends upon our ability to make the plain, common people understand that in the future we must cut our beef steak and our chops off a nut tree. We have made some of the brainy people understand this already, but the hound is still chasing the hare, and he is several jumps behind. You may say what you will, or think as highly as you like of your own place in society, but the world is not run or pushed on by the brainy people. They may steer it for a while and master it, but only at the permission of what I may call the stomach people, who always sooner or later rise up and dominate things. A gild-edged, red line edition of nut knowledge will get the few or select class, but in order to make the industry truly important we must make a homely appeal to the plain people. It seems to me that one of the most effective nut documents yet issued is that bulletin by George Carver, a colored man at the Tuskegee Institute. Carver simply makes his appeal to the Southern farmer, and he gives him 45 ways of cooking and eating peanuts. I rather think that Carver's work in trying to get the Southern negroes to eat more peanuts and more cow-peas has done about as much for the race as the academic instruction given in the college.
On the principle that "Like begets like," I feel sure that the continued practice of cracking the shell to get at the sweet meat inside will tend to put more phosphorus and less lime into the skull of the race. I once explained the nut proposition to an energetic man and he said: "Fine—the theory is perfect—now hire a man who lives on rare beef to get out and fight for your proposition and you will put it over!"