Part 10 (2/2)
To intensify farming is the only way to get the fat of the land. The nations of the old world have nearly reached their limit in food production. They are purchasers in the open market. This country must be that market; and it behooves us to look to it that the market be well stocked. There is land enough now and to spare, but will it be so fifty or a hundred years hence? Our arid lands will be made fertile by irrigation, but they will add only a small percentage to the amount already in quasi-cultivation. Our future food supplies must be drawn largely from the six million farms now under fences. These farms must be made to yield fourfold their present product, or they will fall short, not only of the demands made upon them, but also of their possibilities.
That is why I preach the gospel of intensive farming, for grain, hay, market, and factory farm alike.
I will put the chickens out of the way for the present, referring to them from time to time and indicating their general management, the cost of their houses and food, and the amount of money received for eggs and fowls. I do not think my plant would win the approval of fanciers, and it is not in all ways up to date; but it is clean, healthy, and commodious, and the birds attend as strictly to business as a reasonable owner could wish. I shall be glad to show it to any one interested enough to search it out, and to go into the details of the business and show how I have been able to make it so remunerative.
Sam is with me no longer. For three years he did good service and saved money, and the lurid nose grew dim. There is, however, a limit to human endurance. Like victims of other forms of circular insanity, the dipsomaniac completes his cycle in an uncertain period and falls upon bad times. For a month before we parted company I saw signs of relapse in Sam. He was loquacious at times, at other times morose. He talked about going into business for himself, and his nose took on new color. I labored with him, but to no purpose; the spirit of unrest was upon him, and it had to work its own. I held him firm long enough to secure another man, and then we parted, he to do business for himself, I to get on as best I could. Sam painted his nose and raised chickens and other things until his savings had flown; then he got a position with a woman who runs a broiler plant, and for two years he has given good service.
He will probably continue in ways of well-doing until the next cycle is complete, when the beacon light will blaze afresh and he will follow it on to the rocks. Such a man is more to be pitied than condemned, for his anchor is sure to drag at times.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE HOLSTEIN MILK MACHINE
During the month of March the teams hauled more gravel. They also distributed the manure that had been purchased in the fall for mulching the trees. While the ground was still frozen this mulch was placed near the trees, to be used as soon as the sun had warmed the earth. The mound of dirt at the base of each tree was of course levelled down before this dressing was applied. I never afterward purchased stable or stock-yard manure, though I could often have used it to advantage; for I did not think it safe to purchase this kind of fertilizer for a farm where large numbers of animals are kept. The danger from infection is too great.
Large quant.i.ties of barnyard manure were furnished yearly out of my own pits, and I supplemented it with a good deal of the commercial variety.
I try to turn back to the land each year more than I take from it, but I do not dare to go to a stock-yard for any part of my supply. It was not until I had mentally established a quarantine for my hogs that I realized the danger from those six carloads of manure; and I promised myself then that no such breach of quarantine should again occur.
The cows arrived on St. Patrick's Day. Our herd was then composed of the twenty Holstein heifers (coming three years old), and six of the best of the common cows purchased with the farm. Within forty days the herd was increased by the addition of twenty-three calves. Twenty-five were born, but two were dead. Of this number, eighteen were Holsteins eligible for registration, ten heifers, and eight bulls. Each calf was taken from its mother on the third day and fed warm skim-milk from a patent feeder three times a day, all it would drink. When three weeks old, seven of the Holstein calves and the five from the common cows were sent to market. They brought $5.25 each above the expense of selling, or $63 for the bunch. The ten Holstein heifer calves were of course held; and one bull calf, which had a double cross of Pieterje 2d and Pauline Paul, and which seemed an unusually fair specimen, was kept for further development.
The cow barn was finished about April 1st, and shortly after that the herd was established in permanent quarters. As the dairy-house was unfinished, and there was no convenient way of disposing of the milk which now flowed in abundance, I bought a separator (for $200) and sent the cream to a factory, using the fresh skim-milk for the calves and young pigs and chickens.
From March 22, when I began to sell, until May 10, when my dairy-house was in working order, I received $203 for cream. Thompson had sold milk from the old cows, from August to December, 1895, to the amount of $132.
This item should have been entered on the credit side for the last year, but as it was not, we will make a note of it here. These are the only sales of milk and cream made from Four Oaks since I bought the land.
The milk supply from my herd started out at a tremendous rate, considering the age of the cows. It must be borne in mind that none of the thoroughbreds was within three years of her (probable) best; yet they were doing n.o.bly, one going as high as fifty-two pounds of milk in one day, and none falling below thirty-six as a maximum. The common cows did nearly as well at first, four of them giving a maximum of thirty-two pounds each in twenty-four hours. It was easy to see the difference between the two sorts, however. The old ones had reached maturity and were doing the best they could; the others were just beginning to manufacture milk, and were building and regulating their machinery for that purpose. The Holsteins, though young, were much larger than the old cows, and were enormous feeders. A third or a half more food pa.s.sed their great, coa.r.s.e mouths than their less aristocratic neighbors could be coaxed to eat. Food, of course, is the one thing that will make milk; other things being equal, then the cow that consumes the most food will produce the most milk. This is the secret of the Holsteins'
wonderful capacity for a.s.similating enormous quant.i.ties of food without retaining it under their hides in the shape of fat. They have been bred for centuries with the milk product in view, and they have become notable machines for that purpose. They are not the cows for people to keep who have to buy feed in a high market, for they are not easy keepers in any sense; but for the farmer who raises a lot of grain and roughage which should be fed at his own door, they are ideal. They will eat much and return much.
As to feeding for milk, I have followed nearly the same plan through my whole experiment. I keep an abundance of roughage, usually shredded corn, before the cows all the time. When it has been picked over moderately well, it is thrown out for bedding, and fresh fodder is put in its place. The finer forages, timothy, red-top, clover, alfalfa, and oat straw, are always cut fine, wetted, and mixed with grain before feeding. This food is given three times a day in such quant.i.ties as will be eaten in forty-five minutes. Green forage takes the place of dry in season, and fresh vegetables are served three times a week in winter.
The grain ration is about as follows: By weight, corn and cob meal, three parts; oatmeal, three parts; bran, three parts; gluten meal, two parts; linseed meal, one part. The cash outlay for a ton of this mixture is about $12; this price, of course, does not include corn and oats, furnished by the farm. A Holstein cow can digest fifteen pounds of this grain a day. This means about two and a half tons a year, with a cash outlay of $30 per annum for each head. Fresh water is always given four times a day, and much of the time the cows have ready access to it. In cold weather the water is warmed to about 65 F. The cows are let out in a twenty-acre field for exercise every day, except in case of severe storms. They are fed forage in the open when the weather is fine and insects are not troublesome, and they sometimes sleep in the open on hot nights; but by far the largest part of their time is spent in their own stalls away from chilling winds and biting flies. In their stables they are treated much as fine horses are,--well bedded, well groomed, and well cared for in all ways.
A quiet, darkened stable conduces rumination. Loud talking, shouting, or laughing are not looked upon with favor in our cow barn. On the other hand, continuous sounds, if at all melodious, seem to soothe the animals and increase the milk flow. Judson, who has proved to be our best herdsman, has a low croon in his mouth all the time. It can hardly be called a tune, though I believe he has faith in it, but it has a fetching way with the herd. I have never known him to be quick, sharp, or loud with the cows. When things go wrong, the crooning ceases. When it is resumed, all is well in the cow world. The other man, French, who is an excellent milker, and who stands well with the cows, has a half hiss, half whistle, such as English stable-boys use, except that it runs up and down five notes and is lost at each end. The cows like it and seem to admire French for his accomplishment even more than Judson, for they follow his movements with evident pleasure expressed in their great ox eyes.
Rigid rules of cleanliness are carried out in every detail with the greatest exactness. The house and the animals are cared for all the time as if on inspection. Before milking, the udders are carefully brushed and washed, and the milker covers himself entirely with a clean ap.r.o.n.
As each cow is milked, the milker hangs the pail on a spring balance and registers the exact weight on a blackboard. He then carries the milk through the door that leads to the dairy-house, and pours it into a tank on wheels. This ends his responsibility. The dairymaid is then in charge.
CHAPTER XXV
THE DAIRYMAID
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