Please see the [Trascriber’s Notes] at the end of this text.

The Rural Science Series
Edited by L. H. Bailey

THE FARMSTEAD

THE FARMSTEAD
THE MAKING OF THE RURAL HOME AND
THE LAY-OUT OF THE FARM

BY

ISAAC PHILLIPS ROBERTS

Director of the College of Agriculture and Professor of Agriculture in
Cornell University; author of “The Fertility of the Land”

FIFTH EDITION

New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd.
1910
All rights reserved

Copyright, 1900
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

Set up and electrotyped January, 1900
Reprinted August, 1902; January, 1905;
August, 1907; June, 1910

Mount Pleasant Press
J. Horace McFarland Company
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania

CONTENTS

THE FARMSTEAD

CHAPTER I
RURAL HOMES

Man is made partly by heredity, partly by environment; both may be controlled and modified to a far greater extent than is generally supposed. In speaking of farm life, its disadvantages are frequently emphasized, while its possible advantages as an environment for the development of the finest quality of human nature are as often ignored or overlooked.

Nature, with her ever-varying form and color, beauty and symmetry, is forgotten in the city; the shady forest, the meadow brook, the waving fields, are unknown. There, instead, is incessant noise, the clang and clash of trade, towering and ugly buildings, skies darkened by the smoke of factories, children who never saw a tree or played elsewhere than upon a hard and filthy pavement; and worst of all is the nerve-destroying haste and unequal competition, wearing out body and soul. In rural life, however tame and lonely, the home is not merely a few square feet hedged in by brick walls, but the whole wide countryside: the barns, the fields, the woods, the orchards, the animals wild and domesticated, the outlook over hill and valley—these all constitute the farmer’s home.

The manufacturer locates his factory in some by-street or suburb where land is cheap, and as far as possible from the residence part of the city; his home is far removed from these unsightly surroundings. But the farmer must live within a few hundred feet of his barns and outbuildings, and if these be ugly and dirty, the beauty and comfort of the home are sadly marred. If the farmer, then, has the whole landscape as a background for his home, he must on the other hand modify his immediate surroundings so as to overcome their almost inevitable unsightliness.

Besides the ever-present beauties of nature, country life has certain other advantages over the city: it is the place to develop the strong health-physique. The luxury of rich and populous communities tends to produce puny and enervated citizens; the excessive toil, bad air, limited space and scant food of the poor tend to degrade and destroy body and soul; but the comfortable simplicity, space, air, sunlight and abundant food of the open country give opportunity for the finest development of the human animal. It is true that even on the farm there are sometimes overwork and privation; but, at the worst, these cannot be so severe as in cities so long as the sun shines, the wind blows, and green things grow for the worker out of doors. Here the child may be born right and nourished by pure food and air. It is surrounded by animals whose life and motion become an incentive to action, and who become its companions without danger of moral contamination. The lamb, the calf, the colt, are far safer playmates than the city urchin precociously wise in evil ways.

Professor Amos G. Warner says that “children reared in institutions are much below par because they lack the power of initiative.” The farm child has an incessant, varied and unconscious training of the eye, the hand, and the mind. While he is developing strength, symmetry, courage, the mental is being coördinated with the physical. The hand is made to obey the will, while the fact that the handicraft is made useful lends charm and delight to the work. The city child must try to learn, by a course of manual training in some public school, what the country child picks up unconsciously in the natural process of play and work.

After half a century, I look back to one of the happiest moments of my life, when I presented my mother with a dove-tailed wooden flower box, painted bright red. That flower box first taught me how to make wood take the form desired. While the flower box has long since rotted, the board-runner sled smashed, the water wheel broken, and the boat lies rotten in the bottom of the lake, the time spent upon them was not thrown away, for they gave me the inspiration and power to “boss” wood, and this power has served me well in many an emergency.

As knowledge begins to dominate the hand and train it to change the form and character of things, certain physical laws are discovered. If the sail is made too large or the boat too narrow, a cold bath is the result. If the sled runners are too short and rough, the school-mate arrives at the bottom of the hill first. No schoolmaster was needed, for when one of these natural laws was broken or ignored, the penalty followed quickly and with full force. So, in a thousand ways, the youth is taught respect for the laws which govern matter. All this leads the youth on the farm, if full play and direction are given, to investigate everything in sight, to discover that there are other than physical laws. The higher laws puzzle him greatly, give him much concern, lead to doubts, for they are too abstract and too far-reaching for his youthful comprehension. The physical laws have been found by experience to be ever true and stable, and the youth cannot but believe that moral and spiritual laws are equally so. This is the sheet anchor which holds him to belief in them, however imperfectly he may understand them. He is anxious to investigate, even to experiment along these lines, but is disappointed because the results cannot be set down in pounds or feet or units of energy. If here on the farm the mental and physical have been kept healthy and active, the moral and spiritual will develop as naturally as the fruit from the blossom. The development of spiritual fruit to high perfection is slow, because the power to think and reason correctly and abstractly comes only with age, experience and mental development.

But the greatest advantage of country life lies in the opportunity for the promotion of healthy family relations. Parents naturally find their chief happiness in the education and development of their children; and in time the children stimulate the parents. The sharing of common labors from babyhood up, the working together for common interests and ambition, which farm life especially entails, produce the most wholesome family relations. The most valuable part of any person’s education is really in the home. To “help father and mother” becomes the keynote of a child’s life, and unselfish, willing service is the first and last and best lesson of morality and religion. The pride in honest and capable ancestors, the natural and wholesome ambition for the future of the children, fill up a measure of contentment difficult to find elsewhere. In such a family there need be nothing to conceal; life takes on dignity in place of affectation, honesty instead of sham; it has simplicity, pure affections, fidelity. Artificial sex distinctions disappear; men and women may do that which is needful and human, the woman in the field, the man in the house, if desirable, sharing their common, healthful activities.

All this is very well, some will say, but how shall such a home be maintained on the income of the farm? “Farming doesn’t pay.” This statement is unverified, and, carrying on its face, as it does, a little truth, is misleading. Does farming pay? Does anything pay? What is pay? All depends upon how you value the currency in which the pay is received. Is “wisdom better than rubies?” Are the sayings of the wisest and best of men true? “Give me neither riches nor poverty. Get wisdom, get understanding. Take fast hold of instruction.”

A modern thinker, Professor L. H. Bailey, in the report of the Secretary of the Connecticut Board of Agriculture, 1898, puts it in this wise: “But there is another cause of apprehension which I ought to mention, perhaps founded upon the probable tendencies of our sociological and economic conditions, especially as they apply to rural communities. There is a tendency towards a division of estates as population increases, and the profits of farming are often so small that educated tastes, it is thought, cannot be satisfied on the farm. There are those who believe that because of these two facts we are ourselves drifting towards an American peasantry. Let us take the second proposition first,—that the profits of farming are so small that educated tastes cannot be satisfied and gratified on the farm. Now I grant this to be true if the measure of the satisfaction of an educated taste is money; but I deny it most strenuously if the satisfaction of an educated taste lies in a purer and better life. We must make this distinction very deep and broad, for it is a fundamental one. I believe we have made a mistake in teaching agriculture, during the last few years, by putting the emphasis on the money we make out of it. I do not believe that people are to become wealthy on the farm, as a few do in manufacturing; I should not hold out that hope to men. There are certain men here and there who have great executive ability, who see the strategic points and take advantage of them, who can make a success of farming the same as they would at the making of shoes, or harnesses, or buttons, or anything else. But as a general thing, the farmer should be taught that the farm is not the place to become wealthy. I do not believe it is. Certainly I should not go on the farm with that idea in view. But if I wanted to live a happy life, if I wanted to have at my command independence and the comforts of living, I do not know where I could better find them than on the farm; for those very things which appeal to an educated taste are the things which the farmer does not have to buy,—they are the things which are his already.”

The wealthy few of the cities give voice to the thought that the farming classes in the United States are always on the verge of poverty, yet in the last century they have rescued from barbarism and solitude nearly all of the arable land of the two billion acres of which the United States are composed. More than four million five hundred thousand farm homes have been planted, valued at more than thirteen billion dollars. Much hue and cry has been raised of late about farm mortgages. If the facts were known, it is more than probable that the farmers, as a whole, have assets in mortgages, promissory notes and savings banks amply sufficient to liquidate all such outstanding obligations. Added to the real estate, the farmers own implements and machines valued at five hundred millions of dollars, and their live stock, upon ten thousand hills, numbers one hundred and seventy-five millions, valued at more than two billions of dollars, while the annual value of the farm products is between two and three billions of dollars. It should be remembered that these values are nominal, the true value being in most cases more than double these amounts. The farmers are not now in danger of becoming paupers. From the farms come more than half of the college students. At the present time it is probable that the income of the farmers exceeds three billion dollars annually. When it is considered that there is little or no direct outgo for rent of house, and that nearly three-fourths of the food is produced at home, and that these items are seldom taken into account in the statistics of income, it appears that the farmer’s real income is much larger than is usually estimated in money. In other words, a five hundred dollar net income on the farm, under the conditions which now prevail, provides for a more comfortable living than does a thousand dollars in the city.

But these results of the labors of the farmer as set forth in figures, tell but half the story, for nothing is said in these census reports of an empire redeemed, of the thousands upon thousands of miles of road constructed, of rivers spanned, of the school house by every roadside, or of the church spires which mark the progress of agriculture and civilization in countryside, in village and in hamlet. The census report does not give the number or value of the great men and noble women which the rural homes have produced, though they are the most valuable product of the farms. It says nothing about the perennial rural springs from which flow, in a never-ending stream, statesmen, divines, missionaries, teachers, students and business men. Although more than half of these life-giving energies of the nation and civilization come directly from the rural homes, the census report gives no clue by which the value of these, the nation’s wealth and power, can be ascertained.

Looking over all the trades and professions which are followed by civilized and barbarous peoples, none give opportunity for rearing the family under so nearly ideal conditions as does the profession of agriculture: none furnish such good conditions for rearing children and for developing them into strong, natural and useful men and women. Here, then, on these broad acres of America, under the flag which we love, we are to help transform the rude surroundings of the pioneer and the slovenly homes of the careless into pure and beautiful nurseries of American citizenship. Having shown, in part, what a rural life has to offer to those who are trained to appreciate the beauties of nature and to obey her laws, and having shown that the average farmer always has an assured though modest income, and that the better farmers have an ample income for maintaining improved rural homes, the further discussion of how they may be made to minister to the natural longings for broader and more refined lives may be taken up.

CHAPTER II
THE FARM AS A SOURCE OF INCOME

If it cannot be shown that the profession of agriculture offers as good opportunities for securing, with a fair degree of certainty, what all should prize,—a beautiful and comfortable home and a modest surplus,—then this little volume will be for the most part useless and uncalled for, as the following chapters presuppose an income sufficient for maintaining a home, and for gratifying, in part at least, the simple, educated tastes of the better class of American farmers.

In “The Fertility of the Land” I attempted to set forth some fundamental principles which, if followed, should result in such increased incomes as to justify the present book. A comfortable home must be secured from the products of field and stable, with a reasonable expenditure of physical energy, or farming in its highest sense is a failure. In addition, farming must give fair opportunity for training and educating families, and for making provision for old age and unforeseen contingencies.

In the previous chapter the annual income of the farmer has been set forth, and, approximately, the accumulated earnings of the rural population. Unfortunately, we are so short-sighted that the present—the dollar—blunts the appreciation of the higher and more enduring values which spring from well conducted farms. This being so, of necessity much stress must be laid on immediate benefits which flow from a well ordered farm life. While it is not proposed to write here of the details of farm management along the lines of greatest financial results, yet something must be said, at least in general, about the methods most likely to produce the necessary competence.

A fairly liberal income and financial reserve give, or should give, some leisure. Leisure gives opportunity for study and recreation, without which life becomes one ever-revolving round of work, and results in producing an automatic animal. If this is to be avoided, far-reaching plans must be laid, energy directed into its most efficient channels, and time and resources economized. All this implies training and education directed, primarily, along the lines which broaden and ennoble, and those of the occupation to be followed.

For centuries, the higher education has been in the direction of the humanities, while education along technical and non-professional lines, until recently, has been conspicuous by its absence. Prior to the present century, what provision was made for coördinating the hands and intellects of the industrial classes? None at all. Is it any wonder, then, that the farmer and mechanic, until recently, received but meager rewards for their efforts?

All this is now changed. Already the industrial classes are enabled to secure far more of the necessaries and luxuries of life for a given period of work than could their ancestors. In every state and territory one or more colleges have been equipped and endowed to teach, among other things, “such branches of learning as are related to agriculture and the mechanic arts, ... in order to promote the liberal and practical education of the industrial classes in the several pursuits and professions of life.” In addition to this provision, Congress gives to each state and territory $15,000 annually for conducting experiments and investigations in agriculture. In 1890 the Federal government supplemented the benefactions of 1862 by appropriating annually $15,000 to each of the Land Grant colleges; this sum has now been increased and finally fixed at $25,000, for the purpose of strengthening the departments of agriculture and mechanic arts. Most, if not all, of the states have made additional appropriations for agriculture, in some cases very liberal ones. At first, there was a strong prejudice against these colleges devoted to the improvement of the industries and those engaged in them, but this has nearly disappeared.

A broader view of education now prevails than formerly. The modern colleges and universities think it not undignified to offer other than four year courses of study preceded by difficult entrance requirements. Many courses of from six weeks to one or two years are now open to those who prize knowledge above a diploma. Most of these courses are given at such seasons of the year as best suit the pupils. In America all doors which lead to knowledge have at last been opened, and all earnest students may enter and find teachers awaiting them. The effect of the recent changes in college courses has been most marked and beneficial. Many of the colleges have, as far as possible, adopted the words of the founder of Cornell University: “I would found an institution where any person can find instruction in any study.”

The following data show the incomes of the United States Land Grant colleges for the year ending June 30, 1897. The table is condensed from one recently published by the United States Department of Agriculture:

Income of the U. S. Land Grant Colleges for the Year Ending June 30, 1897

It has been thought strange that the farmers did not more quickly see and appreciate the valuable opportunities offered to their children. But why should they at once appreciate and value the princely provisions which were being made for them? With no opportunity for education along the lines of their profession, following a more or less despised calling, from being the butt and jest of those who had had educational advantages from time immemorial, how could they at once understand the value and far-reaching effects of the new order of things? Then, too, these liberal provisions were made somewhat in advance of the times. The pioneer must first redeem the land from the wilderness, fight the physical battles and endure the hardships of a new country. As soon as these primitive conditions passed away, the farmers made an effort to bring their profession up to a high intellectual plane and make it a delightful and honorable calling. The evolution from the primitive to the complex, from the age of toil to the age of thought, from excessive muscular effort to a more intelligent direction of energy, from the narrow and prejudiced to the broad and liberal, from the coarse and ugly to the refined and beautiful, is proceeding rapidly, and is in part realized. What happier task than to give direction and help, sympathy and encouragement to these new-born desires! The part which the youths on the farm are taking in this evolution leads naturally to a higher intellectual plane, and hence to a more rational understanding and fuller comprehension of what the rural home should be. This desire to gratify the love for the true and beautiful, which has been growing up by reason of the better education, leads directly to the securing of an income sufficiently large to gratify the more refined and newly acquired tastes.

Taking the rural population as we find it, with added wants and new aspirations, and with a somewhat better understanding of the value of a more extended culture, it will be seen that a more rational system of agriculture, a more economic expenditure of energy, and a clearer comprehension of the highest and most economical use of money must be secured if the objects sought are attained. To secure the results desired, it must be shown how a competence can be secured without excessive toil, how the results of work may be put to the best uses, and lastly, but not least, it must be shown what is really valuable, what real, what substantial, what polite, what beautiful, what worthy of intelligent Americans. On the other hand, vulgar display must be shown to be vulgar, shoddy must be unmasked, the effect of aping the uncultured rich set forth, and that which is unreal and that which goes for naught but vanity displayed under their true colors,—that comparisons may be made, and that truer conceptions of life, its duties and obligations, may be secured.

How may a competence be obtained? Briefly, by securing a knowledge of the laws which govern the business or undertaking entered into, and by conducting the business or undertaking in obedience to the modes of action or laws which apply to the specific case in hand. What are some of the dominant laws which should govern the farmer and farm practices? The farmer should specialize along those lines for which his taste and training, in part at least, fit him. To be more specific: A farmer will show you his potato patch with pride, but not a word will be said about his work animals and their offspring, which look like Barnum’s woolly horse. Then the first principle of agriculture is, follow up successes. In this case, the man has land and skill in potato culture which should lead him directly to success. Why not each year increase the output of potatoes, and let some horseman breed the horses? I have no ear or taste for music; why should I spend time in thrumming a piano and in making the life of my neighbors miserable? I love a bird and am interested in all its ways, its beauty and its life. Why not study the birds, and let them make the music?

Much of life’s energy is spent in trying to adjust square pegs to round holes and round pegs to square holes, and life may be spent before the adjustment is complete. Modern civilization tends to specialization. Men vary as widely as do the stars. There is a place for everyone and some one to fill the place, if this great mass of unlike units can only be sorted and fitted into the complex problem of civilization.

The first question, and the question which should be repeated often is, What am I good for; what branch or branches of agriculture will give me the greatest pleasure and profit? Having answered this question, pursue the work through all discouragements to a successful issue. It is possible you have no capacity for farm life, and, since you cannot buy a capacity, better go directly to town and there fit yourself into your environment. I have known men to toil many years on a farm, and near the close of life to be driven to town by the sheriff. There they made not only a living, but secured a modest competence in conducting some little one-horse business, the profits or losses of which could be counted up every night. The farm, with all its complexities, with its profits and losses a year or five years in the future, was too large and far-reaching for their narrow understandings. All are not so fortunate. Some remind us of the Quaker’s dog which he sold to his friend and recommended as a good coon dog. The dog proved to be a failure and was returned to the seller, who said, “I am much surprised. Thee believes that nothing was created in vain, does thee not, Ephraim?” “Most certainly I believe that the Creator made all things for some beneficent purpose.” “I, too, believe this, and I had tried that dog for everything else under the heavens but coons, so I was certain he must be a good coon dog.”

A competency is always in sight in this country for those who do well those things which are suited to their tastes and training. A competence may be secured by following those branches of farming which require the minimum of labor and the maximum of skill and training. My friend of Westfield, Mr. G. Schoenfeld, from Germany, has six acres of land, a part of which is covered with glass. He did that terrible thing,—ran in debt for the full purchase price of the land. It and the valuable improvements upon it are now paid for. His modest home is valued at $6,000. While paying for it a large family has been raised and educated, the eldest boy entering Annapolis Naval Academy with a high standing. It is possible that this son will one day be acknowledged as the intellectual and social equal of the aristocracy of Germany should he ever visit the fatherland of his parents. But why this long account of a not infrequent occurrence? To show how it was done: This German, though untrained, succeeded from the first in producing superior carnations. He followed up his successes, and sold the product of brains instead of the fertility of his little farm. Mr. Schoenfeld sold in Buffalo during one year—October 1, 1896, to September 30, 1897—carnations (80,946 flowers) for the net sum, over commissions, of $719.08. The amount of plant-food removed by the 80,946 carnations was as follows:

The table below shows the amount of plant-food removed by 856 bushels of wheat, being the amount which, at 84 cents per bushel (the average price of wheat for the last ten years in central New York), would bring $719.08, the amount received for the carnations.

In addition, 20,000 flowers used in making flower displays for weddings, and the like, were sold at retail, by the dozen, for $450.80. The net returns for flowers sold during the fiscal year ending September 30, 1897, amounted to $1,169.88. The expenses, including taxes, insurance and 10 per cent on the capital, were $790.67. This includes the cost of raising 12,000 plants, about 6,000 of which netted $263.24. In round numbers, then, the net income from the one leading industry—flowers—after paying 10 per cent on invested capital, coal, commission and workmen’s bills, was $642.45, with an additional prospective income from the 6,000 plants which remained unsold.

When I last visited this gentleman, he informed me that he had all the land he wanted. Since that time he has purchased eight acres adjoining, has made some improvements upon the land, and now values it at $2,000. He stated incidentally that the reason he made his purchase was that the land was in the market, and he wanted control of it that he might choose his neighbor. The land, he says, is now in the market, although it paid 9 per cent, clear of all expenses, on a valuation of $2,000. The question is often discussed as to how much land is necessary to secure a competence. Here we find that six acres suffices. A large family has been fed chiefly from the products of the orchards, vineyard and garden, and the children are receiving a practical and, in some cases, a liberal education. All this has been accomplished because the man quickly learned the value of scientific agriculture and was wise enough to follow up his successes.

Not only follow up success, but learn to do the difficult things; there will always be a throng seeking to do the easy things,—things which require the maximum of muscle and the minimum of brains. Why do such multitudes seek this hard, easy work? Because they will not consent to endure the toil, shall I say, of acquiring the power to think deeply, accurately and effectively. Some of our sympathy is thrown away upon these muscular workers. Their desires are few, their wants simple, their appetites good, and their sleep peaceful. Let us show them the way to a higher life, open the doors to those who choose to enter, and fret not because all will not enter in.

“Some are and must be greater than the rest,
More rich, more wise; but who infers from hence
That such are happier, shocks all common sense.”

The man who fells the trees in the woods may receive 15 cents per hour; the man who controls the carriage of the great sawmill and decides on the instant what shape and dimensions the lumber shall take may receive 25 cents per hour for simply moving a little lever; a third man causes a piece of the wood to take on the forms of beauty for the great staircase, and may receive 50 cents per hour; the fourth furnishes the design for this beautiful staircase, and may receive $1 an hour. The man who does the so-called “hard” work receives the least pay. Why? Because it is the least difficult. This difference of remuneration holds good on the farm. Mushrooms sell for 50 cents per pound; maize for one-half cent per pound. Why? Because anybody, even a squaw, can raise maize, but only a specially skilled gardener can succeed in mushroom culture. Hothouse lambs bring from $6 to $10 when two months old; a poorly bred sheep at two years of age may bring from $2 to $4. Why? The breeding and feeding of the one is easy; of the other difficult.

In 1897 the raising of potatoes was difficult. The blights, the bugs and the beetles were present in full force. Good potatoes in the middle and eastern states rose to 65 cents per bushel wholesale. The man who watched and fought intelligently secured 300 bushels per acre and a ready market; the careless man and the man who should have been raising horses or chickens secured 30 bushels per acre and a slow market. Why? Because unusual difficulties were present, and the man who was able to cope with them drew the prize of $195 per acre for his potatoes. This successful potato raiser the previous year secured more than 300 bushels per acre, and sold them for 25 cents per bushel, but even at this low price they brought more than $75 per acre. If from 200 to 300 per cent profit can be secured and the limit of profit not reached by raising one of the most common products of the farm, what possibilities loom up for securing a competence from those products which require greater skill and knowledge than the raising of potatoes?

Consider the crops which are supposed to give promise of securing little or no profits at the present low prices, as wheat, maize, hay and oats. One man, on land naturally below the average, has secured during the last fifteen years an average of nearly 35 bushels of wheat, and in a few cases 40 bushels per acre. The average yield for the whole United States in 1889 was a shade less than 14 bushels per acre. During the same year the average yield of oats was 28.57 bushels per acre, and hay, including such other crops as are used for forage, averaged 1.26 tons per acre. Good farmers secure 40 to 50 bushels of oats, and 2 to 2¹⁄₂ tons of hay, and in propitious years 50 to 60 bushels of oats and 3 tons of hay per acre. (Compare [Figs. 1] and [2].) These latter yields always show large profits and lead to a competency, while the average yield usually gives no profit. If the average yield gives only a bare subsistence, what must be the condition of those who secure much less than the average? If one man raises 35 bushels of wheat, five other men must each raise 10 bushels to secure an average yield of 14 bushels per acre. Some entire states—as, for instance, Mississippi, North Carolina and Tennessee,—have an average of 6, 6 and 9 bushels, respectively, per acre. What is the remedy? Stop raising wheat, and raise something better adapted to soil and climate, or go to town and sell peanuts. Some of these men who utterly fail to comprehend the laws of wheat culture may be good “coon dogs,” after all.

Fig. 1. Thirty-five-bushel wheat field (Cornell University).

Fig. 2. Eight-bushel wheat field, on a farm adjoining that shown in [Fig. 1].

It will be said that if the yield per acre be doubled, the market will be so flooded that no one will receive profits. This is the old scarecrow. No farmer can control the prices of his product. The law of supply and demand is inexorable. What he may do is to improve quality, diminish cost, reduce area, find the best market and the products most sought, and increase the production from a given area. If he raises the yield from 20 to 35 bushels, while the yield of his neighbor remains at 10 bushels and prices remain low, we shall soon see a fine illustration of “the survival of the fittest.” The 35 bushels will yield a fair remuneration for the work expended in production when prices are at the lowest. When they are high the profits are 200 to 300 per cent. Wheat, for the last ten years, has averaged 84 cents per bushel in June in central New York. Allow $3 for the straw of the lower yield, and if the wheat was sold at the average price, the total income per acre would be $11.40. For the straw of the larger yield allow $6, which, added to the wheat at the average price, would give a gross income per acre of $35.40.

The cost of raising and marketing an acre of wheat, including $5 for rental of land and $2 for fertilizers, may be set down at from $15 to $20 in New York. If the most successful compels the less successful farmer to stop raising wheat at a loss, what will the latter do with his land? Better give it away than lose by farming it. Better abandon the farm and go to town and set up a second-hand clothing store. There is always at least a small profit in that business.

In central New York a large herd of dairy cows was tested, and the owner of the herd was informed that about one-fourth of his cows were quite profitable, one-half paid their board bill and a little more, and one-fourth were kept at a considerable loss. He was advised to dispose of the unprofitable cows. His answer was, “But what will I do for cows?”

Then, to secure a competence, the crops and the land which uniformly produce loss must be abandoned. How it worries the city penny-a-liner and how it rejoices the successful farmer to see land thrown out of cultivation—“abandoned.” To me nothing is so encouraging in agriculture as this lately acquired knowledge which reveals the fact that vast areas have been cleared and brought under cultivation which should have been left undisturbed, except to harvest the mature trees and protect the young plants from ravages of fire and cattle. As the blackberry bushes, year by year, creep down the steep hillsides and over the rock-covered fields, one rejoices at the pioneer work these modest, hardy, tap-rooted plants are accomplishing. How wisely and well they fit the soil for a higher and more noble class of plants, and how surely in time they cover the shame and nakedness of mother earth!

The rural population has made many serious mistakes, toiling to reclaim land which was not worth reclaiming, not worthy of an intelligent farmer. But how could they know better? Not one college of forestry in all this great land up to 1898, and as yet but one in its infancy! Until the last generation not a single school of agriculture, scarcely a book obtainable which might give direct help to the rural American boy and girl! Therefore, the farmer should not be blamed for the wasteful and unscientific treatment of forest and field. All this leads to the conclusion that to secure a competence, lands of high and varied agricultural capabilities, lands worthy of an intelligent American, should be selected upon which to build and maintain rural homes.

Quantity of farm products we have in abundance; better quality is what is wanted, since quality may improve prices and widen markets. To assist in securing a competence some specialization is advisable. Sometimes this has been carried so far as to work serious disaster. Many farms in western New York have been almost exclusively devoted to the raising of grapes, which, when abundant or moderately so, sold at ruinous prices. It is noticed that where only an eighth or a fourth of the farm was devoted to vines, the yield was not only proportionately larger but the quality better than where nearly all the land was used as a vineyard. Wherever diversified agriculture was carried on to a limited extent and plantations were restricted, the low price of grapes made no serious inroads on the income. Where all the land was given up to grapes, work was intermittent, the farmer being overtasked at one season of the year and idle at another. The demoralizing effect on the farmers and their families of this army of unrestrained youths and loungers of the city, which, for a brief period, swarms in the districts devoted to specialized crops, as grapes, berries and hops, is marked.

The baleful result of raising a single or few products in extended districts may be seen in California and the great wheat districts of the northwest. In such localities there is little or no true home life, with its duties and restraints; men and boys are herded together like cattle, sleep where they may, and subsist as best they can. The work is hard, and from sun to sun for two or three months, when it abruptly ceases, and the workmen are left to find employment as best they may, or adopt the life and habits of the professional tramp. It is difficult to name anything more demoralizing to men, and especially to boys, than intermittent labor; and the higher the wages paid and the shorter the period of service, the more demoralizing the effect. If there were no other reason for practicing a somewhat diversified agriculture, the welfare of the workman and his family should form a sufficient one. Happily, many large and demoralizing wheat ranches are being divided into small farms, upon which are being reared the roof-tree, children, fruits and flowers.

To secure a competence, no more activities should be entered into than can be prosecuted with vigor and at a profit. On the other hand, too few activities tend to stagnation and degeneration. Mental power, like many other things, increases with legitimate use and diminishes with disuse. The farmer who simply raises and sells maize is often poor in pocket and deficient in understanding. The college graduate who attempts but a few easy things seldom becomes a ripe scholar.

To secure a competence, the petty outgoes should be met by weekly receipts from petty products. I have known so many farmers to succeed by specializing moderately along one or two lines, while holding on to diversified agriculture, in part at least, that I am tempted to give a single illustration as a sample of thousands which have come under my notice.

A Scotchman and his family of four little children landed in northern Indiana with three to four hundred dollars; to this was added as much more by day labor. A farm of about one hundred and fifty acres was purchased, one hundred acres of which were adapted to wheat, corn and clover. Thirty acres were marshy pasture land; the balance, timber. Wheat was selected as the great income crop, which was supplemented by the sale of one to three horses yearly. The butter from a dozen cows, the chickens, ducks, and their eggs, were taken to the city once each week. The result was that at the end of the year there were no debts of subsistence to be paid. This left all the money received for the wheat and horses to be applied towards liquidating the mortgage. In a few years a large, comfortable house was built. This was followed by the purchase of another farm, and still another, until each child was provided with a home and facilities for securing a modest income. This shrewd Scotchman succeeded because he neglected neither little nor great things.

With what pride the writer, in 1863, deposited $1,700 in bank, the product of a single wool crop!—and the little farm of one hundred and twenty acres was not all devoted to wool-raising. If a young man can secure a loving, helpful wife, four good cows and enough land to produce feed for them, with room left for an ample garden, a berry patch and a small orchard, he may consider himself rich, and if he be able and intelligent he will soon have a competence.

The farmer, of necessity, goes to the city or village once each week for supplies which cannot well be produced on the farm. He should return, if possible, with more money than he had when he left home. It is not the big mortgage which was given for part of the purchase price of the farm which should make him unhappy, but the steadily increasing little charges accumulating on the tradesmen’s ledgers until this “honest” farmer dreads to meet a score of his town acquaintances.

The farmer who, from his well-painted covered democrat wagon, sells the product of his skill and labor looks to me quite as dignified as does the merchant who sells nails and codfish, turpentine and bobbins, patent medicines and jews’-harps, none of which represents his own skill or labor.

Farming will never be carried on in America by trusts or syndicates. A combine can run fifty nail factories or breweries, but not fifty farms, at a profit, because farming is too difficult, requires too close supervision and frequent change of details and combinations, and new plans to meet the ever-changing conditions of climate and soil. The conditions which surround agriculture in America put a quietus forever on “bonanza farming,” and tend to the rearing of ideal homes and the accumulation of modest incomes. Mining-farming on virgin, fertile, unobstructed areas can be successfully prosecuted only for a time.

“The Red river valley native soils contain from .35 to .40 of nitrogen, while the soils which have been under cultivation (in wheat) for twelve to fifteen years contain from .2 to .3 of a per cent.”[1] Another important point: When humus is taken out of the native soil as above, only .02 of a per cent of the phosphoric acid is soluble by ordinary chemical methods, while in the native soil three or four times as much phosphoric acid is soluble and is associated with the humus. Allowing that an acre of soil one foot deep weighs 1,800 tons, the native soil would contain from 12,600 to 14,400 pounds of nitrogen per acre, while the cultivated soil would contain from 7,200 to 10,800 pounds per acre. If the average amount of nitrogen in native soils (13,500 pounds per acre), and the average in the soil after it had been cropped twelve to fifteen years (9,000 pounds per acre), are compared, it will be seen that the soil has lost 4,500 pounds of nitrogen per acre, or more than one-third (probably one-half) of the nitrogen which could well be made available, and this in less than a quarter of a century.

[1] Henry Snyder, Bulls. 30, 44, Minn. Exp. Sta. See “Fertility of the Land,” p. 256.

Fifteen crops of wheat of 25 bushels per acre require 433 pounds of nitrogen, or one-tenth of the amount which the soil lost during the years of cropping. This soil, under “bonanza farming,” has lost outright nitrogen sufficient for 155 crops, each requiring as much nitrogen as does a crop of 25 bushels of wheat per acre. When the amount wasted on a single acre is multiplied by the acres of the vast, fertile wheat plains of the west, where “bonanza farming” is carried on, the loss of nitrogen to our country is seen to be so great as to appal the thoughtful man who looks forward to the generations who will want this element in the not distant future. Happily, this “bonanza farming” has its own cure. When mining-farming reduces the yield so that profits vanish, then these great farms will be cut up into modest-sized ones, true homes will rise, intermittent labor and the tramp harvest-hand will disappear, and the last and only condition which tends to produce an uninstructed peasant class will cease to exist.

The other great “bonanza” industry which still remains and which affects agriculture, and the land directly, is lumbering. This, like “bonanza” wheat farming, may be classed as a mining industry, carried on at the surface instead of in the bowels of the earth. Without rational direction, restraint or control, this agricultural mining goes on until the sources from which the profits are drawn are so depleted as to be no longer profitable. There is no home or competency for the farm boys in the lumber camp or on the great wheat farm. Here the rule is to take all and return nothing. After the ax and the binder, comes the fire to complete the wanton destruction. The shade-giving and moisture-conserving brush, stubble and straw, and all living plants, are destroyed, and nothing but the mineral matter, unmixed with surface humus, remains. A blackened waste, devoid of animal or vegetable life, is left behind. No homes can be reared here, no competence secured until nature, assisted by man in the coming years, slowly restores the covering and productivity of the soil. This unwise treatment of the land must soon come to an end; then the hardy home-builder will have opportunity to repair, by more rational methods, some of the wanton and unnecessary waste.

Is it too much to hope that before the close of another decade every state and territory will have a school of forestry, and that all national forest domains will have been brought under rational supervision and control? The future home-builders will need them, and the present owners of homes have a right to a share of the benefits which flow from intelligently managed forest preserves. It is not enough to show that intelligent farming is highly remunerative at the present time; provision must be made by which the children and the children’s children, for all generations, may have opportunity for securing a competence from rural pursuits.

Can a competence and a comfortable home be secured by the renter? If not, why not? Shall the farmer put his little capital into a home and run in debt for supplies and necessary equipment; or had he better rent, and start even? This depends to a large extent upon the individual. A successful country life does not depend upon owning the land in fee simple. Here is a picture of what may be called “a country gentleman” ([Fig. 3]). He, his father and his grandfather, all have been renters of the same farm. He has a competence and an assured income. This hue and cry about renting has no terrors for those who have been renters and have found that this is often the most satisfactory way to start when capital is limited. The merchant of limited means invariably rents the building in which he does business, because it is safer and usually more economical to rent than to purchase the business block.

Fig. 3. A farmer and a renter.

In an old city of 12,000 inhabitants, it was found that 84 per cent of the business was carried on in rented rooms. The trouble in renting farms in the United States lies chiefly in the fact that there are no well digested laws or old customs which help to guide the renter and rentee. A few simple laws would provide for adjusting the value of betterments removed from or put upon the farm at any time. Long leases, with inducements to long occupancy, would give the rentee a permanent occupier. The renter has quite as good a chance of finally securing a home in fee simple as has the man who purchases and mortgages heavily. The possession of a valuable farm and an assured income, especially in a new country, is often most surely and easily secured by renting for a series of years. Good farming pays liberal profits even on rented land. If there is failure, it is the man and not the occupation which causes it. The fault will not be “in the moon,” but in ourselves if we fail or become underlings.

CHAPTER III
EDUCATIONAL OPPORTUNITY ON THE FARM

More and more we are coming to believe that the rural district schools offer but few opportunities for educating the farmers’ children. Various schemes have been recommended for providing better and more convenient educational facilities. One proposition is first to improve the principal highways. This, it is thought, will make it possible to run ’buses or carriages twice daily to transport the children to and from some centrally located graded school. Such schemes are usually proposed by some one who has seldom seen a country school-house and who is totally unacquainted with the conditions which prevail in rural communities.

Admitting, for the sake of comparison, that teacher and pupil in the country are not so far advanced in book-lore as they are in the city, how does it happen that the country youths are able to maintain themselves on an educational level with the pupils of the graded schools when they meet them in the academy and college? Is it not quite possible that the wide opportunities enjoyed by the country youth for becoming acquainted with natural objects of use and beauty are a full offset, so far as training is concerned, for the more systematic instruction given in the city schools?

I can but look with some degree of solicitude on the effect on civilization and on the home, of palatial hotels, and great school buildings, filled with heterogeneous masses of children, in which love, solicitude and sacrifices, each for all, have little opportunity for growth and development. The family seems to be the sacred unit of civilization and morality. A full and sufficient reason must be given for massing men, much more children, in a single great structure, thereby destroying the quiet and breaking the sacred ties of the home. What good reasons can be offered for massing children between the ages of six and twelve in an uncomfortable school-room? Children do not study; they learn little except when they read the lesson in the immediate presence of the teacher who is able to amplify and explain the lesson in hand. Sending these little ones to school is a relic of the primeval days, when, by reason of large families, lack of training and excessive toil of the parents, there was no other way but to make nursery maids of the school-teachers.

I have a vivid recollection of those early days when I was crowded into a 16 × 20 school-house, with two score other bounding, mischievous urchins, all seated on the hard side of unbacked, long-legged slab benches, which left our bare legs, for which the flies had a liking, to dangle between heaven and earth. True, all this has now been improved, and good and appropriate seats are usually provided, but this only ameliorates the conditions; it does not cure them. If the parents who have lost something of their first love for their children, or who are too lazy or careless or ignorant to teach them, will go to these patent-seated school-rooms and sit for five mortal hours on one of these hard, wooden, uncushioned seats, they will no longer place their tender children in these modernized stocks. You who no longer have the hot blood and restless nervous energy of youth make long faces and complain bitterly from your well cushioned pew, if the over-earnest pastor prolongs his sermon ten minutes beyond the customary time. It may be said that many, nevertheless, secured a primary education under these unfavorable conditions. But I did not; I received it at my mother’s knee in the old kitchen, some of it before daylight. About all I got in that old school-house were kicks and cuffs from boys who were older and stronger than I, and round shoulders from sitting through many weary hours on backless benches, and blistered hands in punishment for my unrestrained interest in things in general, and in my school-mates in particular.

But what has all this to do with the opportunities which a farm life gives for education? It is to emphasize the need of more home training, more personal attention by the parents, and a more natural and rational education of those whom it has been our responsibility to bring into existence, and upon whose shoulders will rest the weal or woe of our country. In these rural homes, children should be reared and educated until they have reached the point beyond which their parents or the older children cannot carry them. The child, when only two or three years old, begins to learn handicraft, performs some little helpful act for another; it is being taught to work. As it becomes more mature it is to do useful things; but who thinks of keeping the child of eight to ten years of age at continuous work for five or six hours daily? Why not carry on the child’s mental education along these natural lines in the same manner as it receives its primary technical education?

I am almost persuaded that the farmers’ children would be better off if the old red school-house on the dusty, treeless four corners was abandoned, and the responsibility for the education of the children up to twelve or fourteen years of age was thrown upon the parents. As it is, the parents who have received a fairly good primary education become rusty and illiterate simply from non-use of the education which they had when they left the schools. If the unexcelled opportunities which rural life offers for securing a primary education were only utilized, there would be fewer country youths hating even the sight of that red school-house which has received such honorable mention. It has been glorified in every Fourth of July oration, but it still remains not only unevolutionized but even degenerated.

If you ever imagined that the best provision has been made for teaching the little ones, spend a day in one of these school-houses. Take some book with you that is as abstract and useless to you as the children believe their books to be to them, and make the attempt to memorize a single page, or essay to write a composition on “The Immortality of the Soul,” or on “The Wisdom of Annexing the South Sea Islands.” Meantime, classes are reciting in falsetto voices; the teacher is giving many admonitions and making dire threats; a festive bumblebee has found its way through the open window and makes as much commotion among the timid girls as a mouse at a tea-party. Now a dog barks, and the boys know that Bowser has safely treed a squirrel. Before you have had time to collect your thoughts a lusty farm boy, perched on a creaking wain, whooping loudly to his team, goes rattling by. Stay a week and finish your composition, and see how fast your children are securing disjointed fractions of an education. A half-hour of continuous, quiet, intensified study at home is worth more than a day in many a school-room where little muddy driblets of knowledge are being doled out to the children.

You may say that you have no time to teach children. Business is too pressing, and you are already overworked. You should have thought of that sooner, and been wholly selfish and saved the money and time you spent to persuade that beautiful maiden to join you and help perform the duties and functions of life.

You will certainly agree that home education is the best, the ideal education. For a child, an hour or two of study and recreation a day, an equal time employed in useful work, and the rest of the day spent in picking up fun and facts, both of which may be found in abundance on the old farm, is the natural way to secure a broad primary foundation, upon which to rest a liberal education.

After the child has reached the age of ten or twelve and has had careful home training, what provision can be made for continuing its education during the next four to six years? Two or more districts might be joined to form one, for graded school purposes. On every farm is, or should be, a spare horse and a light wagon; a few dollars would provide a stable near the school building. Such an arrangement would permit the children to drive to and from the central school, although the distance might be two or three miles. All this means that the children will be around the family fireside in the evening instead of on the street, as is too frequently the case when they are sent to the village or city school and remain during the week. All this keeps the boys and girls in sympathy and healthful touch with home life and their parents, until character has been strengthened by age and knowledge. Here, in these country and village graded schools, the home life, with its restraints and duties, is preserved. Only the mentally strong or the courageous and aspiring will seek the halls of higher learning, from which, if they tend to go astray or neglect their work, they are quickly returned to the bosom of their families. If the central graded school is impracticable in some cases, then a few families might join and employ a private instructor; this would be far cheaper and more satisfactory than to send the children away from home.

It is not so much lack of facilities as a lack of an appreciation of the true value of an education which debars the country youth from securing even a wholesome and logical primary education. The value of an education for citizenship must be placed first, and its value as a money-making power second. Now the first question that is usually asked is, Will an education help to secure a position or to make money? The question, Will an education help to a nobler citizenship? is not even thought of. We shall have no evolution in rural training until the parents secure a clearer conception of the true value of an education.

Evolution along educational lines has already begun, and it is not difficult to see many beneficial effects of the changed methods. M. Demolins’ recent book has this to say: “‘It is useless to deny the superiority of the Anglo-Saxons. We may be vexed by this superiority, but the fact remains, despite our vexation.’... Considering the superiority conclusively proved, the author proceeds to search for the cause of this superiority. He finds the secret of this irresistible power of the Anglo-Saxon world in the education of its youth, in the direction given to studies, to the spirit which reigns in the school. The English and the people of the United States have perceived that the needs of the time require that youth should be trained to become practical, energetic men, and not public functionaries or pure men of letters, who know life only from what they learn in books. M. Demolins has personally studied with care some prominent English schools. In these he found the school buildings, not as in France, immense structures with the aspect of a barrack or a prison, but the pupils were distributed among cottages, in which efforts were made to give the place the appearance of a home. They were not surrounded by high walls, but there was an abundance of air and light and space and verdure. In place of the odious refectories of the French colleges, the dining-room was like that of a family, and the professors and director of the school, with his wife and daughters, sat at table with the pupils.”[2]

[2] Editorial, “Literary Digest,” July 2, 1898.

Here is seen the beginning of better methods in primary education. In the rural districts of America, this system needs but little modification to fit it to the rural home. All else must yield to the inborn rights of the children. If that Brussels carpet which adorns the dark and unused parlor must be pulled up and some of the worst pictures relegated to the garret, in order that provision for a school-room for the children of the family or for those of the immediate neighborhood may be made, then pull it up. Receive the visitor in the sitting-room or on the veranda, and let the neighborly chat be where there is “air, and light, and space, and verdure.”

Reduce the above picture of an English school to suit environment, and we have the family as a unit; the mother and her companion as teachers; and we shall have not only the appearance of home, but a true home, where duty commands and love obeys. This is no far-fetched picture; it is one drawn from many observed instances of these farm home schools. The youths on the farm have a right to a liberal education if they desire it; they own the earth, and why should they not have the best it affords if they make good use of what the earth and all that therein is has to offer.

When we come to the higher education, there are good and sufficient reasons why pupils should be massed. At the college, expensive and rare appliances, great laboratories and museums, ample and expensive libraries, and distinguished and able teachers, must be provided. Then, too, the pupils of the college have arrived at that period of maturity which gives them a fair degree of self-restraint and discretion.

Connected, as I have been for more than a quarter of a century, with college life, I have had many opportunities to observe the freshness, vigor and purity of many of the country lads and lasses who come directly from the healthy, solid home instruction of their parents.

I am well aware that this chapter will not revolutionize rural primary education. I do not want it to do so. Revolution destroys; evolution builds. But if these brief words of one who received until near manhood the thoughtful, loving home training of a mother, who said, “I received a better education than my parents did, and, come what will, I determine that my children shall have better opportunities for securing an education than I had,” shall persuade some that the farm home is the natural, the appointed place for training children until they have passed the critical mental and physical period of life, I shall be content.

CHAPTER IV
SELECTION AND PURCHASE OF FARMS

In selecting a farm, many things should be considered. One purchaser may lay stress on the quality or productivity of the land, another on its location as to market, another as to the outlook or scenery, and another as to the society in the immediate locality. Some would be unhappy if far removed from city or town, while others delight in many broad acres far removed from the busy crowd. All these different phases of the subject, with many others, should be considered before the purchase is made. It is seldom that a farm can be secured which fulfils all desirable conditions; therefore, such choice should be made as will most fully meet the desires and tastes of the purchaser.

Some farms are purchased with little or no thought of their producing a livelihood, while others are selected largely for the purpose of securing profits in their cultivation, and others are bought because they are expected to furnish safe and profitable investments. It is evident that no specific or even general rule can be formulated which will be applicable to all purchasers, since tastes, training, needs and desires of the purchaser vary widely; nevertheless, a discussion of the subject may be profitable. Those who secure their income and profits by agriculture alone should lay stress on four things; viz., healthfulness, environment, quality of land, and water supply.

Without health, life often becomes a burden; therefore, climatic conditions, soil and surroundings, so far as they relate to physical and mental vigor, should be considered first. But health and vigor are not all, for if the moral, intellectual and social conditions of the people in the neighborhood are undesirable, the children may take the road which leads towards semi-barbarism. This road is open to all, in city and country, but parents should avoid thrusting their children into it. Church, and social congenial and God-fearing associates should be accessible to the growing family. Children are and must be active, physically and mentally, if they are to grow straight; and if provisions are not made for directing their energies into proper channels, they are likely to find improper ones. Wherever the farmer sows not a full abundance of good seeds, weeds are certain to spring up. The farm must provide a fair and liberal income, because want brings lack of true pride, breeds carelessness, even hatred of others, filches self-respect and courage. Therefore, if profits are desired, good land, land of wide agricultural capabilities, should be selected. The greater variety of crops the land is capable of producing and the more varieties the farmer raises, provided he does not exceed his mental and executive capabilities, the better will be his education and training.

Frequently the purchaser has too little means, and feels that he must secure cheap lands, which too often are situated far from the railway markets and centers of activity. In such a case, he places himself outside the activities of the towns, which are extremely helpful to him if he be wise enough to choose the good and refuse the evil which they offer. Of course, much depends on the good sense of the parents and the inheritance and training of the children as to how much they will imbibe of that which is good and how much they will refuse of that which is evil. Children cannot be placed entirely beyond evil influences, but they can be prevented from becoming too familiar with them.

“Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.”

Already something has been said with regard to an abundant supply of water, but it may not be out of place to emphasize the necessity of securing healthful water for household purposes. Modern science has revealed the fact that a large number of diseases are introduced into the system by means of drinking water (see [Chapter XII]). All drinking water may be boiled; it may be said that it should be, for in too many cases water that appears limpid and pure, drawn from sources which have every appearance of being uncontaminated, is not only dangerous but sometimes deadly. Careful physicians recommend that all water be filtered, but so many of the filters are imperfect and are so badly neglected that there is no certainty that filtered water is entirely safe; therefore, it may be said that the only safe way is to boil all drinking water. As the streams and soil become more and more contaminated by unsanitary conditions, it is only in rare cases that safe water can be secured naturally. When wells or streams become low, or when streams are quickly flushed by heavy rains, invariably there is danger that the water which they contain may be impure. Care should be taken to provide an abundance of water, and that used for household purposes should be treated in such manner as will make it entirely healthful.

Having discussed the subject from four leading standpoints, those of less importance may be taken up. It is usually not wise to purchase a farm, however well it may fulfil the requirements of healthfulness, desirable environment and productivity, if the lands by which it is surrounded are poor, since man, in one respect, is like the tree toad, which partakes largely of the color of the thing to which it adheres. The French have a proverb which runs in this wise: “Tell me where you live, and I will tell you your name.” Translated into modern thought, it would read: “Tell me your environment, and I will tell you your character.”

Beauty of natural scenery may not be entirely ignored, although utility, the dollar, must be kept prominently in view. One can afford to economize in the living expenses in many ways not dreamed of by those who load the farm table with a superabundance of good things, if it be necessary to do so, to secure beautiful surroundings. It may be only a question of choice between a moderate subsistence and a reposeful environment, or an overloaded table with uninspiring surroundings. Natural as well as artificial beauty and pleasurable environment have their values. A certain lot on one street sells for $1,000, another one on the same street for $500. They are both within easy reach of the business center, on the same street-car line, of the same size, and have the same elevation. Why the difference in price? Because of environment. A seat in the dress circle at the theater costs a dollar, one in the peanut gallery ten cents. The play can be seen as well with a glass in the cheap seat as in the more expensive one. Then environment has value, as well as land and buildings.

The value of the farm may be greatly modified by the improvements upon it. It is well to ask, Is the house well located? May it not have to be virtually rebuilt before it is at all satisfactory? Will it be necessary to move and repair barns before they are at all suited to their purposes? The improvements may be too extended for the needs of the purchaser. Some farms are overloaded with buildings ([Fig. 4]); some have badly arranged, unsightly buildings, too good to destroy and too ugly and unhandy for either economy or pleasure. Farm buildings are not a direct source of income and are expensive to keep in repair; therefore, there would better be a slight deficiency of them than an ill arranged surplus. All other permanent improvements, such as orchards, plantations, fences, and the like, should be carefully considered. A good bearing orchard of only a few acres may serve to furnish enough profit each year to liquidate taxes and interest charges. The orchard may be cheaper at $500 per acre than the balance of the farm is at $75 per acre, or it may be only an incumbrance of good land. Is the farm naturally or artificially drained? If not, will $35 per acre have to be spent in thorough draining before the land is really satisfactory? If not drained, will it bring constant disappointment? Fences, lanes and the necessity for them, the amount and location of inferior land as pasture land, the kind of weeds about the farm, as well as the amount, kind and location of timber, should be considered.

Fig. 4. Too many buildings for eighty acres of land.

Land devoted to market-gardening should be near the market town where the perishable products are to be sold. Vegetables should reach the market early in their season in a fresh and presentable condition and cheaply, if satisfactory profits are desired. Then land which can be tilled early (warm or sandy land), though it may contain a comparatively small amount of natural plant-food, will be more satisfactory than rich, cold land situated farther from the market. An acre of poor, sandy land near the market may be worth, to the gardener, three or four times as much as an acre of the more distant fertile upland.

Near the town, manures, which are so necessary to force many market-garden products, can be procured cheaply and in abundance. The added distance of even one or two miles from the switch or shipping station may have an important effect on profits. Land situated far from market may well be devoted to stock-raising and such other products as may be marketed infrequently or at leisure. As yet, agricultural methods in America are so new that they have not adjusted themselves to the growing cities, nor have specialized crops found their appropriate localities. Too often are seen truck farms located half a score of miles from the city, and the meat-producing farms within sight of it. As the country becomes older, the varied activities in agriculture will fit themselves into their appropriate localities, as they have already done in many parts of Europe. The dairyman of the Channel islands has long since learned that the piebald cattle of the poulders are not suited to his wants, and the boer of the lowland knows that the meek-eyed, thin-skinned Jersey is not best adapted to his cold, windy country and wet pastures.

Cost of tillage should be considered when valuing land. When produced on friable land, crops may be secured at much less cost than on tenacious clay. On the other hand, while sandy soils are the most easily cultivated, they are ever demanding more plant-food, and hence are not well adapted to grass or general agriculture, as the expense of keeping them productive is usually so great as to preclude profits.

Except in special cases, as in truck farming, it is cheaper to purchase natural plant-food in the soil than artificial fertility. One acre of land may have potential plant-food sufficient under superior tillage for one hundred crops, while another unaided will yield but half as many, and yet the two pieces of land are often priced at the same figure. In other words, land of high productive power is usually cheaper than land of low productive power. A good farm may be cheaper at $50 per acre than a poor one as a gift.

Last, but not least, is the road to the farm. Every free-born American demands a public highway in front of his house; if farms are small there must then be a highway about every mile, or, at most, every two miles. This leads to cutting up the country into enlarged checkerboards, to a multiplication of highways so great that none of them can be kept passably good without overtaxing the land which adjoins them. On account of the contour of the land over which they pass, some roads are extremely difficult and are well described by the man who, when asked how far it was from a certain town to another one, answered: “Thirty miles, and it’s up hill both ways.” As I write this I look out upon a washed clay road which stretches up and on towards the horizon for six weary miles, so steep that the team must maintain a walk for the whole distance in ascending or descending. What is land worth at the other end of this road, as compared with that which lies six miles away in the other direction, along a smooth, level pike? Every grown farm boy should have a good horse and a good road upon which to drive, if he be worthy of such a noble animal as the horse. When he starts for himself let him locate on a good road. There are always enough persons who are not thankful for advice, especially if it be in a book, who are looking for cheap land at the end of the hilly road.

Many farms are purchased by young men just starting out in life before judgment has been developed by experience, while men of mature years take in the whole problem, or rather series of problems, easily and at once. The novice would do well to make a list of the topics enumerated above, and add to them such others as appeal to his tastes or conditions and then study them, one at a time; in fact, there is nothing left for the young man to do but to make out a score-card upon which he records his judgment in numbers as he investigates each phase of the difficult problem of selecting a farm.

CHAPTER V
THE RELATION OF THE FARMER TO THE LAWYER

Doubtless more than one reader will be astonished, perhaps even horrified, to think that the writer should seriously suggest that there ought to be any relation whatever between the farmer and the lawyer.

It has come to be generally believed by many farmers that lawyers are at best a necessary evil, which it is well to avoid if possible; but, strange as it may appear, this very feeling is responsible for much of the litigation, with its attendant loss and sometimes ruin, in which too many farmers have been engaged. It is not the purpose of this short chapter to treat of the subject of law, or to try to lay down any rules to be blindly followed in legal matters. An old and learned lawyer, who had all his life been engaged in a country practice, once told me that the most prolific sources of litigation were alleged text-books of law, bearing such alluring and seductive titles as “Every Man his own Lawyer,” or “The Farmer’s own Law Book.”

Several years ago, a wealthy manufacturer of the state of New York sent a bright son to a law school, to help prepare him for a business career. At the end of his course the proud father was present at commencement, and, in the course of conversation with his son, said: “Well, John, I suppose you have learned a great deal.” John answered, “I have learned one thing which I think is of value; and that is, if any legal matter comes up in the course of my business, to consult the very best lawyer I can find.” That young man had really learned something worth far more than the cost of his course in the college of law.

There is, perhaps, no other of the so-called learned professions which is so exacting and which requires more devotion and study for its mastery. Some of the brightest men in this country have devoted a lifetime to the study and practice of law, only to have just entered its broad field as they have been compelled to lay down their work. How futile, then, would be the attempt to make every man his own lawyer! The real purpose of this chapter is to open the eyes of the farmer to the necessity of a closer relationship between himself and the lawyer,—the family lawyer, if you please, having his confidence to the same extent as that of the family doctor.

Most farmers desire a comfortable and a beautiful home, and it is to aid such that this book is written. Such a farmer would doubtless consult a builder or an architect as to the foundation, walls, plan and materials of the home to be constructed, and he would act wisely; but how many would think so far as to consult a lawyer as to the very foundation upon which his home and his future happy occupancy of it rest: the title to the farm. Too many times he is satisfied with the services of the village solons,—the shoemaker who is a notary public, the justice of the peace, or the pettifogger who daily overrules the supreme court or the court of appeals. Years after he has purchased his farm, he finds, perhaps, that some man has given a deed whose wife has not signed, and upon the death of the woman’s husband our farmer friend is confronted with a law suit; and he finds that this wife, who did not sign the deed, is entitled to dower in his farm, the use of one-third of its value at the time her husband gave the deed, for life. Such cases are frequent, and might easily be prevented by submitting an abstract of the title to a lawyer at a cost of $5 or less. The flaw in the title may be a mortgage or judgment, or a failure of all the heirs of a deceased person, somewhere along the chain of title, to join in the deed; all of which might be overlooked by the ordinary business man, and yet be readily detected by a lawyer.

Some day the farmer may be annoyed by the encroachment of a neighbor upon his farm, and, when in the midst of a litigation, find that the description of his farm is so defective that there is no relief. I have in my possession a deed of a valuable farm containing this description: “Beginning on the —— road at the south end of a pile of four-foot wood; running thence westwardly to a black cherry tree, thence northerly to a stake, thence easterly to a pine stump in the center of the road, and thence southerly to the place of beginning, containing 100 acres, more or less.” For fifty years this description has been copied, a score of times, by the various justices of the peace and notaries public of the neighboring hamlet, but fortunately, however, it has never devolved upon the owners to establish the boundaries of that farm. The first lawyer who got hold of this particular deed insisted upon such a description as would be tangible and certain. Not many years ago a mortgage on a valuable farm in Tompkins county, N. Y., was foreclosed, and during the foreclosure it was discovered that this mortgage covered about fifty acres of Cayuga lake, and what had been supposed to be a valuable mortgage was depreciated one-half by reason of the neglect and incompetence of the country conveyancer.

So, too, there are questions as to line fences, water courses, rights of way, encroachment upon the highway, and an innumerable train of threatening evils, continually arising, any one of which, if neglected or referred to the many wiseacres common to every community, may lead to costly litigation, or even to the loss of the farm itself. A bit of counsel at the right time, which is when the matter first appears, will prevent, at trifling cost, all the attendant evils of a law suit.

Such instances are very common in the experience of every lawyer who enjoys even a moderate country practice; and it is an alarming fact that perhaps fifty per cent of the titles to all the farms, especially in the older states, have flaws more or less serious, any one of which is a microbe of trouble, liable to assert itself when least expected. This being so, the general and inflexible rule should ever prevail, never to take a deed of property without an abstract of title which has been examined by a competent attorney. The so-called maxims of law, often repeated and distorted, especially in farming communities, are extremely dangerous to follow. They may have some foundation in fact, but as almost all rules of law have their exceptions, and as no one not versed in the law is competent to pass upon them, they should never be blindly followed by a layman.

To illustrate this point: Not long ago a prosperous farmer, relying upon the oft-repeated assertion that twenty years of peaceable possession gave title, became involved in a lawsuit with the town over a fence which had been built in the highway adjacent to his farm. He was an astonished man when the lawyer whom he consulted told him that possession for a thousand years of the land claimed would not give him title as against the public.

It seems almost incredible that a farmer, who will drive his horse for miles to have him shod by an expert, or who will summon a veterinarian to treat a sick cow, will be satisfied to consult what someone has brightly termed a necessity lawyer,—because necessity knows no law,—upon matters affecting his farm, his home, or his competence, rather than the experienced lawyer. The cow might be replaced for forty or fifty dollars if a mistake was made, but the farm, the competence, have cost a lifetime of labor.

Perhaps the most striking example of neglect on the part of the farmer is in regard to the disposal of the fruits of his life-work. It is true that anybody can draw a will, and yet the fact that men and women allow anybody to draw their wills is productive of more fat fees than arise from any other source. Not long ago an acquaintance, who did not realize the truth of the old adage that “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” drew his own will, and, being childless, sought to leave his property to his wife, who had been the partner of his labors in a long life of toil. The law of the state of New York requires two witnesses to a will. He procured only one, and upon his death the property, which husband and wife had with so much toil secured, was for the most part scattered among distant relatives, almost strangers, because he was afraid of lawyers and their fees.

In all the varied business which a farmer will meet,—the giving of notes, mortgages, etc., or, better, the taking of mortgages, bills of sale, and promissory notes,—it is well to remember that different conditions of fact make necessary different interpretations of the law, and that it is usually unsafe to follow a neighborhood precedent. Oftentimes you may be called upon to transact business where it is not convenient to consult a lawyer. In such cases, and in all transactions of any magnitude or possible importance, all talk, or the essence of it, should be reduced to writing. Then it cannot get away or be distorted or forgotten, and is in good shape to submit, at the first opportunity, to your lawyer, who, if an error has been made, can, while the matter is fresh, more easily correct it. Remember that a contract is simply a meeting of the minds of the contracting parties, and the best drawn contract possible is one that states, in language simple and concise, what each means as expressed by word of mouth.

Most of the litigation so much feared by the farmer is due to the farmer himself and his neglect to seek an ounce of preventive. It is true that there are rascally lawyers; so, too, there are dishonest men in every trade, occupation or profession, but they are generally easily located.

If this chapter shall lead the farmer to feel that his business is farming, that “a jack-at-all-trades is master of none,” and that the law, justly interpreted and enforced by those who know it thoroughly and well, is to be the foundation of his success, the guarantee of his home through life, and the channel of its proper disposal after death, then it has not been written in vain. Remember that the province of the true lawyer is to keep his client out of trouble, rather than to get him out of trouble. An honest lawyer, of whom, thank Heaven, there are very many, notwithstanding the popular prejudice of those who have suffered from litigation, will always try to steer you clear of litigation and loss.

In conclusion, then, always consult a lawyer in matters affecting your farm or property. The average fees of a lifetime will not exceed fifty dollars, and oftentimes valuable advice will be given free. Select one in whom you have confidence, and stick to him. Become his friend, and let the relation be one of mutual confidence. Do not neglect to ask him a question because you fear he will think you dumb; he probably knows less about farming than you do about law. He will need your advice and influence in minor matters as much as you need his. Call on him when you are in town, and he will be glad to see you. Very often he will answer your question gratis. When he charges you what may seem a large fee, remember that you are paying for skilled labor, and that you are entitled to expend as much for the possible welfare and happiness of your family as you expend upon the choice stock in your stables. Farmers, more than any other class of men, perhaps, are prone to neglect legal matters, or place them in incompetent hands.

CHAPTER VI
LOCATING THE HOUSE

Since more than three-fourths of the life of the farmer and his family are spent in sight of home, more than one-half of life in the house, and more than one-fourth in bed, the house, the place where they live, should receive most careful attention. Having secured sufficient land to maintain a home, and having made certain that these lands are productive and profitable, a problem is presented in locating and building the house which demands a high degree of intelligence, long, painstaking study, and a good understanding of what constitutes fitness, beauty and durability.

Life in the country gives one the idea of repose, of strength and breadth, of largeness, of solidity and durability, of healthy, symmetrical, solid development. Things which are evanescent, unreal, shoddy; things which are simply for show or vulgar display; things which have the appearance of aping that which may be appropriate under different conditions, but are totally out of place in rural life, must be avoided if utility, natural beauty and comfort, economy and repose are to be secured.

The pioneer in the wooded districts built the home in some sequestered nook or valley at the base of the hill or table land, where the spring or the stream issued from the wood-covered heights. The rural house of the pioneer allowed free circulation of the frosty air; the problem of ventilation they solved without knowing it. Unwittingly they adopted the correct principle; viz., ventilation by many small, gentle streams of air instead of by a few large openings, which create dangerous drafts. It must be admitted that our forefathers overdid the ventilation in most cases, and rheumatism and chilblains were the result; but the principle was correct.

Now the spring has dried up, the water from the deforested hills comes rushing to the lowlands until the streams overflow their banks, and these and other changed conditions indicate that the future farmsteads should be erected on higher land, on the slopes of the hills. From the one extreme we have gone, in some cases, to the other, and the home has been built on the very apex of some lofty hill. Such locations may be well adapted for summer residences, where little or no farming is carried on, but are not suitable for the farm home.

Now that the house is constructed by more skilled workmen than formerly, and out of better material, there is little need of locating the home in the sheltered nook, except possibly in the extreme north, or on plains subject to tornadoes. The object in locating the house on somewhat elevated lands is fourfold. First, air drainage. In deep, crooked, narrow valleys the air is pocketed, especially at night, and the damp, cold air settles in the lowest land as certainly as water finds the low-lying pool. In these pockets between the hills, frosts come early and remain late.

While traveling in western North Carolina in the late summer and fall, I could not but observe how every little break in the hillside and every narrow valley was filled at sunrise, to the crest of the adjoining hill, with a dense fog. Slowly the sun, as it approached the zenith, dissipated the fog, but the narrow valleys were often free from fog for only a few hours each day. Here the home might be situated well up the mountain side, as shown at the right in [Fig. 5].

Fig. 5. A house in the bottom of the valley and one on the mountain side.

In a little pocket about twenty feet deep, formed by hills, with a road embankment at its mouth, fruits failed, although they flourished on the adjoining land, where there was good air drainage ([Fig. 6]). If fruits do not thrive on these undrained areas, the natural conclusion is that the children will not. It is found that the upper stories of city buildings are healthier than the lower ones, and that the ground floor is the most unhealthy of all. This is the only objection to a one-story house. On the level prairies little opportunity is offered for locating the house above the level of the surrounding country. Fortunately, many of the prairies are undulating, and furnish most beautiful locations for country homes. Much may be done, even in the level country, to overcome the disadvantages of the site by placing the cellar of the house only two or three feet in the ground and grading up to within a short distance of the top of the wall. A pool or two, or a miniature lake near the barns, and skilful planting of trees will lend a diversity and charm well worth the attention and time given to them.

Fig. 6. A frosty pocket.

A pool may be made by scooping a place in hard earth or by damming a stream ([Fig. 7]). If no water is allowed to flow over the dam and it is raised some two feet above the overflows, it will serve every purpose as well as an expensive grout or stone structure. It will be noticed in the picture that provision has been made by digging shallow ditches on the right and left for carrying off the surplus water when the miniature lake is full. In constructing the dam, a trench two feet wide, at right angles to the stream, should be dug to the depth of one foot, or until solid ground, unmixed with vegetable matter, is reached. Fill the trench with clayey earth which is free from humus, which will prevent the dam from leaking at the bottom where it meets the natural soil. The stream which feeds the lake or pond should be small, and need not be perennial if the dam is raised as high as it should be. If the water is dammed back to the depth of twelve to fourteen feet, and the banks of the pond are rather steep (A, [Fig. 7]), a cool, useful miniature lake will be formed, and not an unsightly marsh, during the dry months of summer.

Fig. 7. A useful pond.

Dryish, gravelly soil and subsoil is to be much preferred as a site for a house to clayey or dark, damp soil which contains much humus. If the ideal soil cannot be secured, then thorough drainage should be provided. In locating on a gentle declivity, there is a constant tendency for water to penetrate the wall next the hillside or to pass under the wall and appear in the bottom of the cellar. Unless this can certainly be prevented, another location had better be selected.

The house should be situated on somewhat elevated ground, to promote both surface and house drainage. If it is the purpose to introduce into the house more water than has been furnished heretofore, then full provision should be made for carrying all waste water and fecal matter to a safe distance from the house, and to do this beyond a peradventure, sufficient fall must be secured to give permanency to the work and an unobstructed outlet.

One of the objections urged against a country home is that it is “too quiet,” too much shut up from the outside world. This, in part, is true. It detracts much from the enjoyment and beauty of the country home if vision is shut in to a few acres just about the house. The American farmer is not content to live under the conditions which delight the Transvaal Dutch farmer, so isolated that he cannot see the smoke from his neighbor’s chimney nor hear the bark of his neighbor’s dog.

When visiting the home of the Hon. Edwin Morgan, I found that he was having three large trees cut down. It seemed to the uninstructed like vandalism. When asked the reason for sacrificing these noble trees, nourished and tended for half a century, he answered: “I have many more trees, but I have but one lake—Cayuga—and I must have vistas through which I can watch the white sail, the crested waves, the ever-changing colors of the water as the winds open vistas in the fleecy clouds. I love the trees not less, but the soft reflection of the moonbeams on the rippling wave more, and so the trees must give way.”

The outlook from the vine-covered veranda should be broad and extended. If possible, the hill and dale, the stream and wood, neighbors’ houses nestled in plantations of trees and shrubs, all should be in sight. As life advances, I see more and more clearly the effect of that noble lake, its now boisterous now placid surface of the rippling water which laved the stony beach. I see its effect on that “tow-headed” lad who at one time breasted the waves, at another sat dreamily casting pebbles into the clear expanse, wondering what life had in store, what the great unknown world offered for the nut-brown, high-tempered, crude country boy. Then plant the country home where nature in her happiest moods has showered her richest gifts!

But beauty loses much of its charm where healthy vigor gives not the power to appreciate and enjoy it. So the house should be located on a healthy eminence. But it is not easy to find a location which shall combine convenience, beauty, air and water drainage, and healthfulness all in the highest degree. In the case of the farmer, convenience as to carrying on the various operations of the farm and healthfulness are paramount. Drainage may be artificially improved, vistas opened, miniature lakes constructed, and surroundings made more beautiful. The farm and its equipment is the workshop, and must be convenient in all its appointments, or much energy is spent for naught; health must be maintained at the highest, or work may become but toil and drudgery.

In locating a house, its relation to the size of the farm, its productiveness and agricultural capabilities should be considered. In locating the site, two places should be carefully avoided: First, at the end of a long lane in the middle of the farm. It may be said that the buildings form the natural nucleus in and around which the work centers, and therefore they should be placed near the middle of the estate. But the work carried on in the fields forms but a small part of the farmer’s activities. He must ever, in these modern times, be in touch with the school, the church, the post office, the railway, the market, and his neighbors. When an infrequent call is made at the end of this long lane, the children appear like frightened deer as they seek shelter in the shrubbery or behind the corner of a building, and the more the inherited timidity and reserve, the wilder they appear.

The other location to be avoided is within a few feet of the highway. Such locations are only admissible in the city, where land sells by the square foot. What fortunes are sometimes spent in the city to secure some amplitude of space between the dusty, noisy street and the residence! What dignity and repose an ample, well kept house-yard gives to even a plain, modest house! The effect of the mistake of locating the house too close to the highway is often accentuated by locating the barns on the other side and immediately upon the highway, and in front of the house. The location of the house, as to the highway, should be governed, in part, by the size and productive power of the farm. If ample acres and means are available, then the grounds should be ample; if limited, the grounds should be made to correspond.

In moderate-sized holdings, a clear space of from 100 to 200 feet between the house and the highway, and width equal to or exceeding the length, will give room for a few shade trees and an ample grass plat. The site should be either suited to the house or the house to the site. Therefore, the character of the proposed house and the site should be considered at the same time. One location may be suited to a one-story, another to a two-story house. No location is suited to a story-and-a-half house.

It may be said that on most farms the house is already located, and has grouped around it plantations and barns. In many cases it would be inexpedient to change the site of the house, as this would necessitate many changes of outbuildings and other permanent improvements. But if a careful inspection is made of farmsteads, it will appear that many of the houses are in need of repairs and additions, and that the cost of making them would be but slightly increased if either the house or the outbuildings were removed to a more desirable site. In the great majority of cases, the old barns should be gathered together into one structure, or into two at most, and adapted to the needs of modern agriculture (as will be explained in a subsequent chapter). All changes presuppose well matured plans and long and careful study of problems which will have to be solved if the location of the house or barn is changed.

The scope, and particularly the cost, of the changes should be known approximately before the execution of the plan begins. “For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it? Lest haply after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, saying, this man began to build and was not able to finish.” Far better live in the old house, with its inconveniences, and get the greatest possible happiness out of the ancient structure, than to build a new one and cover it with shining paints of many colors and a mortgage which sticks longer than the paints.

Some of these old farm houses embody many beautiful and reposeful characteristics, are well located, and need only slight modifications to make them fit the site as nicely as a bird fits its nest. If thought can be awakened as to the possibilities of these neglected homes and some information imparted as to their treatment, or, in other words, if the eyes and understanding can be trained to take in the fundamental principles of beauty, dignity, fitness, and repose, we shall soon see fewer architectural monstrosities. That there are not more is a wonder. What lad or lass has ever had the slightest instruction by teacher in rural or city school along the lines of fitness, beauty, and healthfulness of sites for country homes? The few youths who reach the institutions of higher learning are scarcely better off. Some of these are taught to see the beauties and wonders of nature through a microscope, and, in rare cases, one may be taught to observe the lines of symmetry and form as exhibited in a poor plaster cast of some mythological Roman warrior; but as for any instruction which leads directly to a broad understanding or keen appreciation of nature in her broader, happier, and grander aspects, it is painfully conspicuous by its absence. So, is it any wonder that the farmer is deficient in appreciation of the fitness and beauty of the tree-clad, gently rolling plateau for a home site, when the “liberally” educated fail to see the innumerable beauty-spots which cover the face of nature?

CHAPTER VII
PLANNING RURAL BUILDINGS

The farm house is not what is called, a “paying investment.” It is not a direct source of income; neither can the other rural buildings be said to produce a direct income. Generally speaking, the farm house can fulfil but four purposes if properly planned and well constructed: the house may serve to keep the family warm in cold weather, cool in hot weather, dry in wet weather, and to gratify a love for the beautiful. Since the farm house as a paying investment is usually a failure, if it does not supply the wants of the household and fulfil its object, it becomes a failure indeed. The first great mistake which the prosperous farmer usually makes is to invest too much money in expensive, hastily planned buildings. The house should be built to serve its inmates; too often the inmates become the servants of the house. A farmer’s wife cannot well afford to devote one room in the overcrowded house to the storage of expensive, useless upholstery and bric-a-brac, nor time to keep them presentable and in order.

The debt incurred for a part of the purchase price of the farm forbids the employment of help to keep in order this home museum of things useful and beautiful, and things useless and ugly. If plainness, durability, and natural beauty in parlor, sitting-room and chamber would only become fashionable, what a burden would be removed from the shoulders of housewives, both in country and city! The time is at hand when health and intelligence should count for more among American women than show and the possession of a miniature upholstery shop. The furnishings of the rooms should minister to the comfort of their owner, and not tend to make life burdensome.

Not infrequently farmers of energy and ability become possessed of more than a competence near the close of life. Having lived in somewhat restricted circumstances, they think to make the close of life more comfortable and luxurious. So, notwithstanding the fact that most of the children have left the paternal roof, they set about building a large house, tear down or remodel, and add to the outbuildings; and at the close of life they leave the possessions encumbered and a farm overloaded with buildings as an inheritance to a child unable, by reason of youth and inexperience, to secure a competence sufficient to live and keep up repairs.

A beautiful farm of 180 acres, in central New York, is provided with the following buildings:

Fig. 8. The buildings on a 180-acre farm.

A house, part 2-, and part 1¹⁄₂-story, 110 feet long.
A horse barn, 30 by 80 feet.
A grain barn, 40 by 80 feet.
A straw shed, 20 by 30 feet.
A machinery and husking barn, 20 by 80 feet.
A hay barn, 16 by 30 feet.
A cart shed and chicken house, 20 by 24 feet.
A piggery, 20 by 24 feet.
A corn crib, 12 by 18 feet.
A carriage house, 24 by 32 feet.

Fig. 9. The farm house that is too big for the farm.

Some of this lay-out is shown in [Figures 8], [9], and [10]. These buildings could not have cost less than $15,000. A fair valuation of the farm at the present time would be $14,000 to $16,000. The family which now occupies the house consists of man and wife, one child, and two regular employes, one of whom has his own home. The father overloaded the farm with buildings, his son is struggling to keep them in repair, and the wife labors to keep unused rooms presentable. These buildings might well serve for a section of land and a family of twenty.

Fig. 10. Scattered farm buildings.

Fig. 11. A cosy farm house.

Another house not far from this one was built nearly a century ago ([Fig. 11]). If the upper story was a full instead of a half-story, it would fulfil all the demands of a house, except possibly beauty. It stands on a rather steep front slope, which stops abruptly on the shore of one of our beautiful inland lakes ([Fig. 12]). By reason of the steep incline at the front of the house, a tall building would be far less beautiful than this lean-to, severely plain structure. This simple old house has a restful, almost beautiful appearance when viewed in conjunction with the trees, the steep, sloping lawn, and the broad, placid lake. The shaded veranda gives the idea of social repose far more than does the formal, stiff, restricted one shown in [Fig. 9], which has scarcely room for two easy chairs, and is so constructed that no grateful shade is secured. Woe be to the man who destroys this restful old house and substitutes for it a lofty, narrow-waisted one adorned with peaks and spires, bay windows and a filigree cornice!

Fig. 12. The lake view in front of the house.

Before ground is broken for the foundation, carefully considered plans suited to the site, the size and productiveness of the farm, and the probable income, should have been made. It may be said that the size of the house should be governed by the size, or the probable size, of the family. But “it is better to dwell in the corner of the house-top than in a wide house” with insufficient means to maintain it. The general plans should be outlined at least a year before a new building or extensive enlargement of the old is begun. The houses which are to be built in the future should be planned with a view to greater economy, convenience, beauty, and durability. There is now little excuse for erecting poor, uncomfortable, inconvenient houses on the farm. True, the rural population is handicapped, for few city architects have made any study of the plain rural house, and fewer have paid any attention whatever to farm barn construction. Even if architects had given attention to the needs of the rural population, the farmer would feel that he could hardly afford to pay $100 to $200 for the plans of a house costing $1,000 to $2,000, exclusive of the labor which the owner, his men and teams were able to perform upon it. The task of planning a country house is too great for the country carpenter; he cannot even interpret plans correctly; his range of observation and training have been too limited. Then, who is to plan the house? Why, the farmer and his family, and it will take at least two years of study and observation of other houses and their modern conveniences before intelligent, crude plans and instructions are ready to be placed in the hands of the draughtsman.

Fig. 13. A house of seven gables.

Few persons are original; therefore, if the little conveniences which help to lighten work and make life more pleasurable are to find a place in the house, they must be seen in other houses. All men have more ideas than any one man; therefore, the range of study should be wide, that whatever is suitable to the conditions may be adopted. After having built many farm houses and barns, and having made a long and most careful study of them, I estimate that from 30 to 40 per cent of the cost of farm buildings is useless, and sometimes worse than thrown away.

A small farm house on a modest-sized farm is shown in [Fig. 13]. The site is beautiful, and is worthy of a house better fitted to the situation, the farm, and the farmer. The illustration shows seven gables, and the house, therefore, might serve as a model for a work of fiction; but the left-hand side of the house is like unto the right-hand side, so it will not do for fiction, for if the truth must be told, there are eleven gables and twenty-two valleys on this house.

Fig. 14. Filigree work is expensive, and does not look well on a farm house.

The vine-covered veranda is most beautiful, and looks cool and comfortable, but there are too many vines, and, with the exception of a few days in summer at midday, the air under this veranda would be damp and uncomfortable. It is far better to secure shade by means of awnings and a few tall, well trimmed shade trees, which preclude dampness and permit air drainage, than to overburden the veranda with vines. The covering of this veranda is an unprotected floor, and extends along the front and well around both sides. Notice the too expensive balustrade and frequent fancy posts, an enlarged section of which is shown in [Fig. 14]. All of this expensive wooden material is exposed to our ever-changeful, paint-destroying climate. The tinsmith, the painter, and the carpenter will reap a rich harvest if the external part of this house is kept in order. It seems hardly necessary to call attention to the chambers, which, of necessity, must be of such a character as to preclude comfort, beauty and repose.

Fig. 15. Ground plan of a house which is out of character on a farm.

A house built after the ground plan, [Fig. 15], might make a not unpleasing picture in the landscape, but it would not be appropriate for the farm, and would be unnecessarily expensive in construction and maintenance. It would be difficult to heat, on account of the great surface exposure due to the broken outlines and numerous corners, which are seldom air-tight. The style might not be altogether inappropriate for a cheap seaside cottage.

Fig. 16. A good model for a farm house, having strong lines and much character.

A rear view of a somewhat larger house is given ([Fig. 16]). It would not cause the passerby to stop and stare. It may be compared to a well, appropriately, and simply dressed lady, while the other is a reminder of the over-dressed, furbelowed damsel, who attracts the prolonged stare and the thoughtless comments of every sidewalk idler. Here are seen repose, beauty, elements of durability, and freedom from expensive ornamentation and repairs.

A back view of this house has been shown purposely to emphasize the fact that the rear side of a house may be made nearly as beautiful as the front side. It would be improved both in looks and convenience if a partially enclosed porch were placed over the door and two of the windows.

Fig. 17. Ground plan of the house shown in [Figs. 16] and [19].

The planning of a house is not difficult if wants are clearly defined and the principles of economy, dignity, durability and repose, as applied to the exterior of the house, are fairly well understood. If the site is ample, and it always is in the country, you have but to draw a rectangle, the length of which is one-third to one-fourth longer than its breadth. [Fig. 17] is a ground plan of the house shown in [Fig. 16].

The farm house shown in [Fig. 18] is located thirty feet from a dusty, muddy, much-traveled public highway. Opposite to it, and immediately on the road, are located the ill-kept farm buildings. How the aromas of the stables and kitchen are to be kept each on its respective side of the road is a question difficult to solve. Here, as in so many cases, the wife showed better training and more commendable pride in her surroundings and her workshop than the husband. She may coax him some day to set a few trees, which may serve in part to hide his workshop on the other side. There are many things about this farm house which are commendable, and the only wonder is that so few mistakes were made in planning it. Farmers’ wives must have a sort of natural intuition; how else can the fewness of their mistakes be explained, for they have seldom received the slightest instruction along the lines of house-building. True, the tower on the corner is expensive and inappropriate, but if the house had an appropriate setting of trees and shrubs it might be beautiful.

Fig. 18. The house is too fancy. The small projections make it look weak. The view is not attractive.

The farm house should have one large bed-room on the first floor, a well appointed kitchen and living room. When the size, number, and arrangement of the other rooms are fixed, the lines which bound the outside of the rooms will not, of necessity, always coincide with the rectangular lines. On one side the house may extend slightly over, on another fall short of the lines which bound the rectangle. Does the rectangle embody fitness and beauty? If the manufactured things by which we are surrounded are noted, it will be seen how many of them are rectangular. The book, the sheet of paper, the pamphlet, the photograph, the picture frame on the wall, the rug on the floor, the writing case, the chiffonier, the trunk, and thousands of objects of use and beauty naturally take the rectangular form: then why not the house? Man constructs along the lines of acute, obtuse, and right angles unless there are specific reasons for adopting curves, while nature’s modes adhere closely to circular and curved outlines.

A front view of a substantial, appropriate house fronting to the west is shown in [Fig. 19]. It is the house of which a rear view is shown in [Fig. 16]. The wide, projecting eaves, the simple roof over the second-story windows, and the plain veranda, all protect the windows from storm and the glaring afternoon sun. The eave-trough near the edge of the roof serves to relieve the plainness of the projecting roof, which really has no cornice. The side and ends of some of the rafters are seen, and no attempt has been made to box them in. The treatment is dignified, plain, inexpensive, and suitable,—therefore it is beautiful. The planting at the left is too thick for any but a dry climate. A lofty elm tree would serve better for shading the veranda in the late afternoon, and permit of better air drainage. The trees shown are deciduous, and therefore cannot form an ideal winter windbreak. If they were evergreens they would be entirely too close to the house. The mournful sighing of evergreen trees in the bleak November winds does not promote cheerfulness.

Fig. 19. A dignified, restful, economical house.

Four college buildings are shown in [Figs. 20], [21], [23], and [24]. School buildings can hardly be said to be a part of the farm lay-out, but they will serve quite as well as farm buildings to educate the taste and to train the eye and the judgment. The reader will see at once which two of these buildings are most dignified and pleasing.

Fig. 20. University building,—gray stone and tile roof.

In the schools, the people of the rural districts have had no instruction which would lead them to carefully observe and compare buildings of any kind; and hence, with but rare exceptions, they are ill-qualified to make an intelligent study of them. They are totally unprepared to grasp the fundamental principles which should govern the erection of structures on the farm, and totally ignorant of the principles to be observed when large public buildings are planned and erected. Fortunately or unfortunately, some farmers will be called upon to judge of the plans for school and other public buildings. The plans for a president’s house and an expensive college building were submitted to a board of thirteen trustees of a flourishing agricultural college. Ten of these trustees were farmers of more than local reputation. I forbear giving illustrations of the results: suffice it to say, that happily the house fell down before it was roofed in.

Fig. 21. University building,—red brick and slate roof.

A school building for the higher education should be light and airy; but light does not enter a building freely through narrow windows placed in thick stone or brick walls. [Fig. 22] shows the effect of narrow and wide windows in the lighting of a building. Observe the shadow cast by the wall between the two narrow windows. The sun is directly in front of the windows for but a small part of the day. Usually it enters at a more or less acute angle, in which case a window three feet wide may be more than twice as efficient in lighting a room as one two feet wide, and a four-foot window three or four times as efficient as one half its width.

Fig. 22. Showing the greater proportionate amount of light admitted by one broad window, as compared with two narrow ones of equal combined opening.

Fig. 23. University laboratories,—red brick and slate roof.

[Figs. 20], [21], [23], and [24] serve to illustrate some of the fundamental principles which should be observed in constructing expensive public buildings, and they may also serve for comparison, and for educating the eye and the judgment. The knowledge acquired in a study of these buildings may be useful in the planning and erection of rural homes, for in some respects all buildings should be alike. The farmer seldom has opportunity to contrast and study large detached buildings in which beauty, dignity, durability, and, above all, utility, are combined, and he seldom plans and erects more than one homestead; therefore, many buildings should be observed, the desirable and undesirable features noted and discussed thoroughly before the erection of a new structure, however simple it may be, is begun. It requires no little knowledge to construct in the best manner even a modern chicken house.

Fig. 24. University building,—gray stone and slate roof.

The consideration of these four school buildings, so different in character, may not be dismissed at once. They are introduced for the purpose of arousing interest and for giving opportunity to study the principles of external construction. The true principles once mastered, their application to rural homes will not be difficult. If [Fig. 20] be studied carefully, it will be noticed that the lines are dignified, restful and even beautiful, although the building is constructed on straight lines, with little attempt at ornamentation. This building is sometimes taken for an art gallery, and so it is, for in it is taught the fine art of butter making. Its strong tile roof, ample projection of eaves, and freedom from peaks and valleys give assurance that this building, barring accidents, will stand for centuries with slight repair, and be more beautiful as time tones down and softens the colors.

The building shown in [Fig. 21] satisfies neither eye nor judgment. It is a noble building as to size and material, but are not the twenty miniature peaks out of place? It does not have the appearance of a restful school building, but of a mammoth seaside hotel. The many little gables might have been combined into a few large, noble ones, which would have given abundant light and lent dignity and charm to this well built structure. If we now transfer our thought from the large buildings to the brick dwelling house ([Fig. 25]), we find the same strong lines, the same dignity, and the same durability of roof structure, with a little added ornamentation, as are found in some school buildings. It should have been two-story instead of a story and a half, and the veranda might well have been more ample. This house, too, like the large stone structure ([Fig. 20]) is restful and satisfying. One instinctively sees that the cost of maintenance of this durable structure will be comparatively little. If this house be compared with the one shown in [Fig. 26], it will be easily seen how much more appropriate and beautiful it is. One is built of cream brick and roofed with soft-colored tile; the other is roofed with poor shingles, has a cheap hemlock frame, and is sided with wood, which is covered with gaudy, ready mixed earth paints, which may fade out before the bill for them is paid.

Fig. 25. A simple and attractive little dwelling house.

Some day a genius will set forth for the farmer, in simple language and illustrations, the fundamental principles which should be followed in the building of rural homes. When that time comes the present children will then be mature and will have been so energized by nature-study work, which is now being introduced so extensively in the schools, as to be able to appreciate and profit by such literature.

Fig. 26. Another type of dwelling house.

Some of the tree-embowered farm houses have such a restful look and often embody such true lines of beauty that it seems almost sacrilegious to change them. On the other hand, some of them are so ill adapted to farm life, so unhandy and uncomfortable, that radical changes should be made. After the farmer has prospered, he naturally has a desire to build a new house or to transform the old one, not only to secure needed conveniences, but that greater beauty and a more luxurious home may be secured. It is difficult for him to find adequate help to solve the problem if he keeps the cost within reasonable limits. He may know where to begin; he seldom knows where he will end. Usually the first thought should be to preserve the old home, or the greater part of it. The architect is almost certain to advise demolition and the erection of a new house, asserting that the new structure will be no more expensive than the remodeling of the old, which may or may not be true. But he does not always know what is best, as he is usually unfamiliar with the farmers’ needs and traditions. Sacred associations usually cluster round the old farm house; every room and door and window may be associated with some epoch in life’s history. Through yonder door came the happy bride a half century ago; in yonder room the children were born;—every nook and corner has some tale to tell, some happy association. We cross oceans and mountains to view the birthplaces and homes (which happily sometimes are preserved and held sacred) of a Burns and a Shakespeare. Then is it not well to preserve the farm houses, where possibly are the birthplaces of many “Cromwells guiltless of their country’s blood.”

The first thought, then, should be to save and improve the old house, not to destroy it. But most of these farm houses are either too low or too high: that is, they are neither one- nor two-storied, but a story and a half. A two-story wing may often be placed either at the front or side, and may serve to give dignity to the house; or a lower room or two, a few comfortable chambers, and an entrance hall or vestibule may be added. Such addition would make it possible to remove the low, flat-roofed, leaky kitchen to more appropriate quarters. The formerly unused parlor might be transformed into a living-room, the former living-room into a dining-room, and the old dining-room into a kitchen. The details by which this evolution is made must, of necessity, be worked out by those who are to occupy the house. That home is enjoyed best which is planned by those who have to pay the bills; therefore, I shall not go into detail of arrangement. My object will have been accomplished if I succeed in creating a greater respect and love for the houses of our ancestors, and shall have stayed the hand of the iconoclast. Any one can destroy, but few can create.

So reasoned the college graduate on his return to the old homestead. The old house ([Fig. 27]) was improved by making slight additions and some minor changes. Even the green window blinds and the white siding were not disturbed, only brightened by the use of old-fashioned, unadulterated paints. The major effort was along the line of improving the live stock and making the acres more productive, soon resulting in surplus funds, which were used to erect the large and commodious barn. Simultaneously with the barn came the icehouse, and the windmill for pumping water. The observant passer-by instinctively knows that here are all the outward indications of morality, intelligence, and a rational and progressive system of agriculture. If the family be judged by what is seen in this picture of the farm above ground, the conclusion must be reached that here is a true home.

How different the impression is when we look through the open roadside gate in the next picture ([Fig. 28])! Lack of intelligent purpose and of neatness and thrift is written upon every structure, and is especially shown by the want of any logical plan in the arrangement of the numerous small structures. The house, which stands just to the right of the beautiful tree, is modern in many respects, but the front is supported by numerous Grecian columns nearly twenty feet long, as inappropriate and as useless for a farm-house as is a coon’s tail on a lady’s hat.

Fig. 27. The old homestead.

Fig. 28. Lack of intelligent purpose.

Instinctively we judge people at first sight, and largely by the clothes they wear and the manner of wearing them. So we judge, and often very accurately, of families by the houses which shelter them and the objects which surround them. One can easily tell much of the character of a man by the style and tip of his hat. What noble deeds, what lofty aspirations in this day and age of plenty and opportunity, should we expect to have birth and fruition in the house shown in illustration [Fig. 29]! This building is not located in the country, but in the suburbs of a small, prosperous inland city. Unfortunately, this village is unlike many beautiful country villages and small cities in western New York in which there are no poor people. What a depressing effect this building must have on the well bred country lad who passes it weekly on his journey to and from the post office!

But how easy to go from one extreme to the other! Too many farm houses stand alone, unrelieved by noble trees or by modest planting of appropriate shrubbery, looking in the distance at the setting sun like lofty, whitewashed sepulchres. On the other hand, the house may be made dark and damp by over-planting. The house shown in [Fig. 30] is a comfortable, fairly attractive stone structure, but is made gloomy and damp by the superabundance of evergreen and deciduous trees which fill all the space, barely thirty feet, between the house and the highway.

Fig. 29. Environment often makes the man.

The church, as well as the farm house, is or should be the home of the farmer; but the church, like the individual, may become proud, in which case the old meeting-house is demolished and replaced by a modern new one, which may serve for a time to stimulate laggards and appear to take the place of changed purposes in life. But the debt saddled on the congregation tends to drive the church-goers to the rear seats and eventually out of doors. I have sometimes thought that a country church could not well be too small. Man is a gregarious animal, and does not enjoy church-going when the seats are but partially occupied.

Fig. 30. Buried in trees. The opposite extreme from [Fig. 26].

The plain, substantial stone church shown in [Fig. 31] is located in a sparsely settled district on the windy prairies of Kansas. It is certainly most appropriate and fits its environment; all it lacks to make it beautiful is a suitable setting of trees and shrubbery. It would then serve as a reminder of “God’s first temple not made with hands,” and not of one made with a jig-saw.

Fig. 31. A plain, substantial stone church.

“It is a plain, rugged, austere structure, like the men who built it, and any proposal to modernize it would be received with disfavor; for it means more to the people than merely a church building—it is a sacred possession that is a part of their life,” and it is an appropriate monument to the sturdy religious character of the pioneers who stood in the forefront as a wall guarding human rights and liberties in those stormy days of the past. The country church should be as truly a part of the farm structure as are the house and barn, located on land held in fee simple.

Fig. 32. Where horses are kept.

Fig. 33. Where boys and girls are taught.

The school-house also, as well as the church, should form a part of the farm above ground. We sometimes build parlors for the pictures, and palaces for the horses and cattle, and neglect the school-house. A city of 12,000 inhabitants in central New York has many expensive stables, some of them works of art. The barn shown in [Fig. 32] is not more than half a mile from the school-house shown in [Fig. 33]. The beautiful stable might serve as a well appointed dwelling house by making a few minor changes. While such buildings are being constructed, the country school-house, the pride of the American, is left to fall into decay; or, if rebuilt, it is located too often on a little scrap of land which may be almost worthless, as though land in America were the most precious of all our inheritance. This school-house is designed to provide accommodations for both farm and city children living in the suburbs. The school-house has not a tree for shade nor a shrub to admire, situated on the commons among weeds and rocks, provided with one dilapidated outhouse unscreened by fence or tree or vine or shrub, while the stable is surrounded with rare trees and shrubs artistically arranged and a smoothly shaven lawn. Are horses and cattle worth more than boys and girls?

To leave the reader to infer that all school-houses are like the one shown would be misleading. A more pleasing illustration is presented in [Fig. 34]. Here the meeting-house, the school-house, and a bit of the farm are shown in juxtaposition, as they were found at the meeting of the roads in a shady grove. Since moral character should be the foundation upon which to symmetrically build intelligence and industry, the church may be treated first. While taking the photograph, I was struck by the inexpensive character of the meeting-house. The outside covering was of plain, matched, vertical boards, but they were kept well painted and therefore looked neat, and the seats were entirely comfortable. I judge that here true, practical religion finds a congenial home, for a long line of comfortable sheds were being built to house the horses during the hours of devotion. Then, too, the sheds will serve a doubly humane purpose, for where the pupils live long distances from the school the horse driven in the morning will have comfortable quarters until the school closes in the evening. A public water-trough near by, kept full from a spring, gave evidence that this little church and the school-house were potent factors in promoting civilization. To the right is seen a lad plowing. Here, then, in this picture is represented the three great corner-stones of civilization upon which to build a symmetrical, beautiful superstructure. To build on either one alone is to insure disappointment; when life is grounded on all three the result is practical religion and intelligence eventuating in a better understanding of the complex soil and the interrelations of nature’s modes of action. It means steady and effective employment, the abandonment of nomadic life, and in lieu thereof a permanent home and an abundant supply of the necessaries and comforts of life. The Bible, the school book, and the plow should all be engraven and intertwined in our modern civilization.

Fig. 34. School house and church at the corners.

So far the general characteristics, fitness, durability and beauty of the country farm house have been discussed and illustrated, together with such public buildings as are directly related to rural life. But having discussed the size, best proportions, and most suitable materials for the house, and having put them into visible form, the building may be made hideous and unnecessarily expensive by careless or ignorant treatment of external details.

Fig. 35. The sway-back house.

Most of the farmers who now occupy the country west of the Alleghanies came from the east and brought with them a varied assortment of styles of architecture inherited from the many European countries from which they or their ancestors came. These people, though of limited means, had pride and tenacity of purpose, and they could not easily change to the plain and appropriate exterior treatment of the farm house. This inheritance and persistence, as shown in the farm houses of the middle states, is fitly illustrated by the expensive and heavy return cornice, the massive columns, and the complicated and ornate entablatures which are supposed to adorn an otherwise plain house.

Fig. 36. The expensive box cornice.

Fig. 37. A plain and durable cornice.

I have said that there is no place for the story-and-a-half house. Here is shown ([Fig. 35]) the results of two serious mistakes; viz., an effort to build a cheap frame of such a form that it is almost impossible to tie the building together, with the result that the roof is in danger of collapsing; and the attempt to beautify this cheap structure by over-heavy, complicated cornices. An enlarged detailed drawing of a typical return cornice is shown in [Fig. 36]. On the right is shown a cross-section outline of the members of the cornice. There are ten of them. The mouldings are now “stuck” by machinery, but these were made by hand, and 10 and 8 were formed of two pieces each, making twelve members in all. The infinite pains and labor in preparing the material and placing it cannot be realized except by a carpenter who has spent weeks and months in sawing out, in planing and “sticking,” and mitering such an elaborate system of useless ornamentation. Compare this with the cornice, or rather projection, of a house ([Fig. 19]) which cost $6,000. [Fig. 36] shows a projecting eave of scarcely one foot. The next illustration ([Fig. 37]) shows one of nearly two feet. The latter is far superior to the former in that it is quite as beautiful, is inexpensive, and protects the external paint and woodwork far more than does the former. The piece at the top of the rafter serves to cover the projecting cornice, and as a roof-board as well, and gives opportunity to place the eave trough well outside, which prevents damage to the house should it ever leak. The frieze board is simple and serves its purpose well. It has taken a long time to learn that a wooden roof which is at least one-third pitch is far more durable than the flat roof shown in [Fig. 38]. Here the return cornice is carried across the entire end of the house, and the gable is ceiled with plain matched boards, both likely to leak and to rapidly become paintless.

Many veranda and porch floors and outside doors have no roof over them, or other protection. This is poor economy. It would be better to reduce the cornice to the fewest possible members, if it were necessary to do so, in order to secure means to roof the veranda, which, unprotected, decays rapidly. Or the money expended on the cornice, which results in neither use nor beauty, might well suffice for the building of an additional room, or to provide many conveniences, such as hot and cold water, storm sash, and window screens.

Fig. 38. The old-time gable end cornice.

Fig. 39. Framework of a ship.

When the farmer reached the fertile, treeless prairies he was compelled to economize in lumber. Some genius soon discovered that the best and most scientific method of constructing the frame of a house was along the lines of ship construction ([Fig. 39]): that is, ribs, joined to a sill or sills, encircling the entire structure and placed at equal distances apart. Two keels or sills joined together by joists, straight ribs—joists—instead of curved ones, a roof instead of a deck, and the balloon frame ([Fig. 40])—the best of all frames when properly constructed,—was invented. Unwittingly the ship construction, slightly modified, was adopted. In this frame the westerner departed radically from the style of his ancestors, but he could not be satisfied with a plain oversail projection. He could not afford the heavy box cornice. Having succeeded so well on the frame, he set about inventing a new style of decoration for the projecting eaves, but the cornice was not a success. The decorations shown in [Figs. 41] and [42] serve to make hideous many a cheap dry-goods-box house, which blisters and cracks in the hot prairie winds. These houses sometimes receive no paint or one coat, or at most two, and in a few years, what with storm and sun, mischievous boys and wind cracks, this ginger-bread, dog-eared cornice, made of inch lumber by the use of scroll saw, looks as dilapidated as a college boy after a cane-rush.

Fig. 40. The balloon frame.

Fig. 42.
The jig-saw cornice.

Fig. 41.
Too elaborate and short-lived.

The thought of permanent beauty, as well as economy and usefulness, should enter into the plans of a house. But what is beauty? I am well aware that many of my readers will not agree with me, for

“The standard of beauty ofttimes it doth vary:
Two pretty girls are Eliza and Mary.”

They may be very unlike, yet both beautiful. From the farmer’s standpoint it may be said that the chief characteristics of beauty are fitness, naturalness and simplicity.

CHAPTER VIII
BUILDING THE HOUSE—GENERAL LAY-OUT

The reader will understand that no attempt is made to treat this subject in detail nor strictly from the architect’s viewpoint. A casual observation will make it self-evident that the structures on farms have received little attention as to beauty of form, economy of construction, or adaptation of means to ends. Like many others, I have noted all this and have made a somewhat careful study of the causes which usually have produced this want of harmony, durability, adaptability and economy in the construction of rural homesteads.

The many illustrations of detail are designed to emphasize underlying principles. Principles are always the same: details may be varied to suit conditions. While the numerous illustrations are meant to explain the details, it is believed that they will also give help to a large part of the rural population who have had little opportunity to secure any adequate instruction in the art and science of home building.

Usually the cellar would better be extended under the entire house, although it is neither wise nor healthy to store large quantities of material in it which, if not cared for, may decay and vitiate the air in the rooms above. If the cellar be properly constructed there is no objection to storing family supplies of fruit and vegetables for the winter in this partly underground room. Large quantities of vegetables held for future sale should not find storage in the house cellar. Now that the floors of houses are made tight, often double with paper between, and carpets or rugs to cover them, the cold no longer enters the cellar through the floor. The cellar wall may therefore extend upwards on three sides, well above ground, that opportunity may be given for the introduction of light and air. With only single-glazed cellar windows, no building paper, and floors and boarding of unseasoned lumber, the pioneer was compelled to place the cellar well under ground, or bank the walls with manure if the winter’s supply of vegetables was to be made secure.

Fig. 43. Cellar under the upright only.

Fig. 44. Cellar under the entire house.

A common form of the foundation for farm houses is shown in [Fig. 43]—a main structure, reinforced by a wing which, in most cases, has no cellar under it. [Fig. 44] shows the cellar under the whole structure. If the walls of the unexcavated wing are placed 3¹⁄₂ feet below ground, as they should be in a cold climate, and extend 2 feet above ground, it will take more stone to construct the foundation walls of the house with a cellar under only a part than when it extends under the entire structure. The stone saved by leaving out the wall between the two sections of the house will more than suffice for building the walls of the wing to their full height. In the latter case, it would cost slightly more for excavation than in the former. Since cellars, when appropriately used, are in some respects the most useful and cheapest rooms in the structure, there is no economy in not placing them under the entire house. A cellar may be divided by 4-inch brick walls into various rooms, corresponding in shape to those above, thereby securing for the partitions in the superstructure, separate compartments, in order that the vegetables, fruit, milk, and furnace may be separate one from the other.

Fig. 45. A footing course under the cellar wall.

Fig. 46. Showing a layer of material to stop vermin.

To prevent rats from entering the cellar under the walls, either one of two methods may be adopted. A footing-course projecting beyond the outside of the wall arrests the rodents, for having dug down to it they have not sufficient intelligence to dig around the footing-course ([Fig. 45]). Or the desired result may be accomplished by placing a thin layer of refuse broken glass against the outside of the wall two to three feet from the surface of the ground ([Fig. 46]). Cellars would be much improved if they had higher ceilings. At least 7 feet should be allowed between the cellar floor and the under side of the overhead joists. All cellars should have concrete floors and plastered ceilings, for both warmth and cleanliness. In an extremely rigorous climate, the upper angle of the wall should be lathed and plastered as shown in [Fig. 47].

Fig. 47. Protecting the cellar from frost by plastering across the upper corners.

If the front cellar wall and the greater part of the side walls extend 2 to 3 feet above the earth, a good sized window (which may be single- or double-glazed) can be secured. The rear walls should extend not more than one foot above ground. If the earth slopes rearward, then grade up to the wall until not more than two steps will be necessary to reach the kitchen floor; it is easier to climb a gentle ascent than steps. The front steps are used but a comparatively few times, while the rear ones are used many times, so it matters little if the front of the house is several steps above grade.

It makes a visitor unhappy to know that the busy housewife must descend three steps, walk forty feet and ascend two steps to reach the well platform, then reverse the journey, to secure the drink of cold water desired ([Fig. 48]). The illustration in [Fig. 49] shows how the farmer solved the difficulty by building an elevated plank walk from the kitchen to the well. [Fig. 50] shows how he might have solved it in another way.