Some of these items need explanation.I have charged nothing for my own time waiting for the potatoes to grow.My time in hoeing, fighting weeds, etc., is put in at five days: it may have been a little more.Nor have I put in anything for cooling drinks while hoeing.I leave this out from principle, because I always recommend water to others.I had some difficulty in fixing the rate of my own wages.It was the first time I had an opportunity of paying what Ithought labor was worth; and I determined to make a good thing of it for once.I figured it right down to European prices,--seventeen cents a day for unskilled labor.Of course, I boarded myself.Iought to say that I fixed the wages after the work was done, or Imight have been tempted to do as some masons did who worked for me at four dollars a day.They lay in the shade and slept the sleep of honest toil full half the time, at least all the time I was away.Ihave reason to believe that when the wages of mechanics are raised to eight and ten dollars a day, the workmen will not come at all: they will merely send their cards.
I do not see any possible fault in the above figures.I ought to say that I deferred putting a value on the potatoes until I had footed up the debit column.This is always the safest way to do.I had twenty-five bushels.I roughly estimated that there are one hundred good ones to the bushel.Making my own market price, I asked two cents apiece for them.This I should have considered dirt cheap last June, when I was going down the rows with the hoe.If any one thinks that two cents each is high, let him try to raise them.
Nature is "awful smart." I intend to be complimentary in saying so.
She shows it in little things.I have mentioned my attempt to put in a few modest turnips, near the close of the season.I sowed the seeds, by the way, in the most liberal manner.Into three or four short rows I presume I put enough to sow an acre; and they all came up,--came up as thick as grass, as crowded and useless as babies in a Chinese village.Of course, they had to be thinned out; that is, pretty much all pulled up; and it took me a long time; for it takes a conscientious man some time to decide which are the best and healthiest plants to spare.After all, I spared too many.That is the great danger everywhere in this world (it may not be in the next): things are too thick; we lose all in grasping for too much.
The Scotch say, that no man ought to thin out his own turnips, because he will not sacrifice enough to leave room for the remainder to grow: he should get his neighbor, who does not care for the plants, to do it.But this is mere talk, and aside from the point:
if there is anything I desire to avoid in these agricultural papers, it is digression.I did think that putting in these turnips so late in the season, when general activity has ceased, and in a remote part of the garden, they would pass unnoticed.But Nature never even winks, as I can see.The tender blades were scarcely out of the ground when she sent a small black flv, which seemed to have been born and held in reserve for this purpose,--to cut the leaves.They speedily made lace-work of the whole bed.Thus everything appears to have its special enemy,--except, perhaps, p----y: nothing ever troubles that.
Did the Concord Grape ever come to more luscious perfection than this year? or yield so abundantly? The golden sunshine has passed into them, and distended their purple skins almost to bursting.Such heavy clusters! such bloom! such sweetness! such meat and drink in their round globes! What a fine fellow Bacchus would have been, if he had only signed the pledge when he was a young man! I have taken off clusters that were as compact and almost as large as the Black Hamburgs.It is slow work picking them.I do not see how the gatherers for the vintage ever get off enough.It takes so long to disentangle the bunches from the leaves and the interlacing vines and the supporting tendrils; and then I like to hold up each bunch and look at it in the sunlight, and get the fragrance and the bloom of it, and show it to Polly, who is making herself useful, as taster and companion, at the foot of the ladder, before dropping it into the basket.But we have other company.The robin, the most knowing and greedy bird out of paradise (I trust he will always be kept out), has discovered that the grape-crop is uncommonly good, and has come back, with his whole tribe and family, larger than it was in pea-time.He knows the ripest bunches as well as anybody, and tries them all.If he would take a whole bunch here and there, say half the number, and be off with it, I should not so much care.But he will not.He pecks away at all the bunches, and spoils as many as he can.It is time he went south.
There is no prettier sight, to my eye, than a gardener on a ladder in his grape-arbor, in these golden days, selecting the heaviest clusters of grapes, and handing them down to one and another of a group of neighbors and friends, who stand under the shade of the leaves, flecked with the sunlight, and cry, "How sweet!" "What nice ones!" and the like,--remarks encouraging to the man on the ladder.
It is great pleasure to see people eat grapes.
Moral Truth.--I have no doubt that grapes taste best in other people's mouths.It is an old notion that it is easier to be generous than to be stingy.I am convinced that the majority of people would be generous from selfish motives, if they had the opportunity.
Philosophical Observation.--Nothing shows one who his friends are like prosperity and ripe fruit.I had a good friend in the country, whom I almost never visited except in cherry-time.By your fruits you shall know them.
