Part 9 (1/2)
We located the site of the building, and talked plans until the low sun of January 8th disappeared in the west. Then we adjourned to the sitting room of the farm-house to finish the matter so far as was possible. An hour and a half pa.s.sed, and we were in fair accord, when Mrs. Thompson came into the room to say that supper was ready, and to ask us to join the men at table before starting homeward. I was glad of the opportunity, for I was curious to know if Mrs. Thompson set a good table. We went into the dining room just as the farm family was ready to sit down. There were ten of us,--two women, six men, Nelson, and myself; and as we sat down, I noticed with pleasure that each had evidently taken some thought of the obligations which a table ought to impose. The table was clothed in clean white, and there was a napkin at each plate.
Nelson and I had the only perfectly fresh ones, and this I took as evidence that napkins were usual. The food was all on the table, and was very satisfactory to look at. Thompson sat at one end, and before him, on a great platter, lay two dozen or more pieces of fried salt pork, crisp in their sh.e.l.ls of browned flour, and fit for a king. On one side of the platter was a heaping dish of steaming potatoes. A knife had been drawn once around each, just to give it a chance to expand and show mealy white between the gaping circles that covered its bulk. At the other side was a boat of milk gravy, which had followed the pork into the frying-pan and had come forth fit company for the boiled potatoes. I went back forty years at one jump, and said,--
”I now renew my youth. Is there anything better under the sun than fried salt pork and milk gravy? If there is, don't tell me of it, for I have wors.h.i.+pped at this shrine for forty years, and my faith must not be shaken.”
Such a supper twice or thrice a week would warm the c.o.c.kles of my old heart; but Polly says, ”No modern cook can make these things just right; and if not just right, they are horrid.” That is true; it takes an artist or a mother to fry salt pork and make milk gravy.
There were other things on the table,--quant.i.ties of bread and b.u.t.ter, apple sauce (in a dish that would hold half a peck), stacks of fresh ginger-bread, tea, and great pitchers of milk; but naught could distract my attention from the _piece de resistance_. Thrice I sent my plate back, and then could do no more. That meal convinced me that I could trust Mrs. Thompson. A woman who could fry salt pork as my mother did, was a woman to be treasured.
I left the farm-house at 7, and reached home by 8.45. Polly was not quite pleased with my late hours; she said it did not worry her not to know where I was, but it was annoying.
”Can't you have a telephone put into the farm-house? It would be convenient in a lot of ways.”
”Why, of course; I don't see why it can't be done at once. I'll make application this very night.”
It was six weeks before we really got a wire to the farm, but after that we wondered how we ever got along without it.
CHAPTER XX
A RATION FOR PRODUCT
Nelson was to commence work on the cow-house at once; at least, the mason was. I left the job as a whole to Nelson, and he made some sort of contract with the mason. The agreement was that I should pay $4260 for the barn complete. The machinery we put into it was very simple,--a water heater and two cauldrons for cooking food. All three cost about $60.
Thompson had selected six cows, from those bought with the place, as worth wintering. They were now giving from six to eight quarts each, and were due to come in in April and May. An eight-quart-a-day cow was not much to my liking, but Thompson said that with good care they would do better in the spring. ”Four of those cows ought to make fine milkers,”
he said; ”they are built for it,--long bodies, big bags, milk veins that stand out like crooked welts, light shoulders, slender necks, and lean heads. They are young, too; and if you'll dehorn them, I believe they'll make your thoroughbreds hump themselves to keep up with them at the milk pail. You see, these cows never had more than half a chance to show what they could do. They have never been 'fed for milk.' Farmers don't do that much. They think that if a cow doesn't bawl for food or drink she has enough. I suppose she has enough to keep her from starving, and perhaps enough to hold her in fair condition, but not enough to do this and fill the milk pail, too. I read somewhere about a ration for 'maintenance' and one for 'product,' and there was a deal of difference.
Most farmers don't pay much attention to these things, and I guess that's one reason why they don't get on faster.”
”You've got the whole matter down fine in that 'ration for product,'
Thompson, and that's what we want on this farm. A ration that will simply keep a cow or a hen in good health leaves no margin for profit.
Cows and hens are machines, and we must treat them as such. Crowd in the raw material, and you may look for large results in finished product.
The question ought always to be, How much can a cow eat and drink? not, How little can she get on with? Grain and forage are to be turned into milk, and the more of these foods our cows eat, the better we like it.
If these machines work imperfectly, we must get rid of them at once and at any price. It will not pay to keep a cow that persistently falls below a high standard. We waste time on her, and the smooth running of the factory is interrupted. I'm going to place a standard on this farm of nine thousand pounds a year for each matured cow; I don't think that too high. If a cow falls much below that amount, she must give place to a better one, for I'm not making this experiment entirely for my health.
The standard isn't too high, yet it's enough to give a fine profit. It means at least three hundred and fifty pounds of b.u.t.ter a year, and in this case the b.u.t.ter means at least thirty cents a pound, or more than $100 a year for each cow. This is all profit, if one wishes to figure it by itself, for the skimmed milk will more than pay for the food and care. But why did you say dehorn the cows?”
”Well, I notice that a man with a club is almost sure to find some use for it. If he isn't pounding the fence or throwing it at a dog, he's snipping daisies or knocking the heads off bull-thistles. He's always doing something with it just because he has it in his hand. It's the same way with a cow. If she has horns, she'll use them in some way, and they take her mind off her business. No, sir; a cow will do a lot better without horns. There's mighty little to distract her attention when her clubs are gone.”
”What breeds of cows have you handled, Thompson?”
”Not any thoroughbreds that I know of; mostly common kinds and grade Jerseys or Holsteins.”
”I'm going to put a small herd of thorough bred Holsteins on the place.”
”Why don't you try thoroughbred Jerseys' They'll give as much b.u.t.ter, and they won't eat more than half as much.”
”You don't quite catch my idea, Thompson. I want the cow that will eat the most, if she is, at the same time, willing to pay for her food. I mean to raise a lot of food, and I want a home market for it. What comes from the land must go back to it, or it will grow thin. The Holstein will eat more than the Jersey, and, while she may not make more b.u.t.ter, she will give twice as much skimmed milk and furnish more fertilizer to return to the land. Fresh skimmed milk is a food greatly to be prized by the factory-farm man; and when we run at full speed, we shall have three hundred thousand pounds of it to feed.