Tuesday, November 22, 2016


This is Grandmother speaking--speaking out of a rich experience with life and a sound wisdom:

"When times were hard with us sixty-odd years ago--and they were harder than you know about even in these days--Father would gather his family around him of an evening and say, 'Let us pray.'

"And when we had had a short season of communion with God through which we gained new strength and courage, Mother would say, 'Now let us play.' Then would follow an hour of such active games as blindman's buff, and puss wants a corner, and later such quieter games as tic-tac-toe and old mill. Sometimes other families joined us and before they started for home we would make a feast of pop corn.

"So, playing and playing, we got a spiritual and mental refreshment that made the trials of the morrow seem much easier to face. Seems like to me that this generation of today might get something of value out of praying and playing just as we did sixty-odd years ago."

Never--once--since the world began
Has the sun ever once stopped shining;
His face very often we could not see,
And we grumbled at His inconstancy;
But the clouds were really to blame, not He,
For, behind them, He was shining.

And so--behind life's darkest clouds,
God's love is always shining,
We veil it at times with our faithless fears,
And darken our sight with our foolish tears,
But in time the atmosphere always clears,
For His love is always shining.

Dear Editor:  Our little six-year-old had been getting perfect spelling lessons for some time. One day his paper was marked "Good+." This grade was nothing to worry about, but we questioned him as to his lower grade. 

"It must be the depression, Mother," he said. "It does so many funny things."--Mrs. R. L. W., Iowa

Thursday, September 22, 2016

NO STRUGGLE--NO FUN; Perfectly-Farm-Crazy in Wisconsin; 1929

Dear Folks:

Don't we young folks nowadays want a bit too much? Most of us have a car. We want a beautiful home, telephone, radio, electricity, a new hat every season, silk stockings, and what not? Our parents weren't brought up in silk underwear. Are we better than they?

We bought our farm a year ago. Although it hasn't been easy sledding I don't regret our step. If there were no struggle, there'd be no fun.

Times of discouragement come to all humans. When I wish for modern improvements I think of my Mother, who came from a city in Germany, and whose first home in this country, after marriage, was a sod shanty in Nebraska. I have many more advantages than she had. Why grumble?

God said to Adam:  "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread." He knows what is best for us. He has decreed that struggle and attainment shall go hand in hand.

I've often heard the remark:  "Farming is the worst job on earth." Let him who thinks so, spend a day in the mines, a week in the stone quarry, a year in the factory. Perhaps even the so-called "white-collar-jobs" aren't as easy as they look. Farming is the job where head and hand may work together.

Before closing, I wish to say that The Farmer's Wife is not a mere magazine, but an honest-to-goodness friend.

Thursday, September 15, 2016


As you can see from my last post, the editors of The Farmer's Wife magazine didn't shy away from printing letters that spoke of the love of God. I find this so refreshing, especially in our present day. If you appreciate the stories and wisdom found in the Bible, I hope that you will enjoy my upcoming book, The Bible Sampler Quilt. The book features 96 Bible passage paired with 96, six-inch Bible-themed quilt blocks. For the following verses, I chose the quilt block, "Love Knot."
"Love Knot"

Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? Just as it is written, "For Your sake we are being put to death all day, we were considered as sheep to be slaughtered." But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord...Romans 8:35-39

The Bible Sampler Quilt includes a CD with templates, full-size block line drawings, foundation patterns and rotary cutting measurements when applicable. It is expected to be released sometime in the next four to six weeks. If you are interested in purchasing an autographed copy, please write to Laurie at thefarmerswifequilt@yahoo.com. Another option is to preorder the book directly from Amazon (link to the left.) If the second option is chosen, you are eligible to download a free "bonus block" from http://www.fonsandporter.com/pre-order-bible-sampler-quilt

The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever...Isaiah 40:8

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

GOD IS LOVE; Nebraska; 1929

Dear Farmer's Wife:

Guess I'll just write you a line and give you a peep into the life of another busy farmer's wife. Married at fifteen, I became the mother of five rosy, chubby babies in less than eight years. When the third babe arrived we decided town was no place for a "poor man," so we rented a farm.

Well, the first year our hogs died with cholera; the second, all the kiddies, including Daddy, were very sick with scarlet fever; and the third, our four work horses broke the gate and got into the seed wheat and died. Such has been our luck, but have we given up? Not much!

It's true I've shed a good many tears, and it isn't so funny to wear a winter coat ten years. Yet a person can't afford to think of these trivial matters where others are concerned. And when at meal time our baby Ken bows his curly head and says "God is Love," I can truly say I'm not sorry for the sacrifice.--Anna.

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

WE'VE GOT EACH OTHER; Illinois; 1929

Dear Farmer's Wives:

Two years ago I suffered severely with a stroke of--no, not paralysis--discontent. I suffered as much as if I had had a much more serious ailment, to say nothing of what my family bore.

Yes, I was blue and discontented. I lamented my lot as a farmer's wife, a servant, a drudge, a "stick in the mud." Same old housework day after day! Nothing to strive for, nothing to win!

I railed at my good, farmer-lad husband until he--well, he won't quarrel, so he just stayed out of my way as much as he could. Finally, as much for his benefit as my own, he urged me to take a vacation. My work had been heavy all summer, he said, and I needed a change. Of course selfish pig that I was, I never stopped to think that his had been just as heavy and that he needed a rest as well as I. But after threshing I shoved the extra burden of cooking and housekeeping over on him, packed, and with the kiddies left for Cousin Maud's in the city.

I wanted to try city life. It was so alluring in books and stories. I wanted to see it--hear it,--live it.

Dear Readers, I'm glad I went. Did I have a good time?

Well, the first day, I stayed in bed all day with a sick headache because the noise from the street kept me awake most of the night after our arrival.

The second day, a darling little boy was run over by an automobile, directly in front of Cousin Maud's house. He was on his way to school--and was carried home, dying.

The third day, while Cousin Maud was away on an errand, the pale, little neighbor-woman, who had come out for a breath of air, wandered over to the porch, where I was sitting and told me her story.

An ex-school teacher, she was, who had to give up her work because she faced possible blindness. The stalwart young man, who loved her, took her to a tiny cottage in the suburbs where they were married and were so happy until a ghastly siege of inflammatory rheumatism left him helpless, a cripple, unable to use either limb. She struggled on, eking out a living for the two as long as she could and when their baby arrived, one little foot was a club foot--

"Oh," she said, "it has been hard, but we're so happy. You see, we've got each other--and we've got the baby."

The fourth day--I went home! And after the surprise was over, for we surely did surprise Daddy, and I had placed a hot beefsteak-supper on the table, I stood watching my big, healthy, ruddy-faced husband who looked so happy and so good to me, and my two little boys, with their fat, perfect legs dangling from the chairs, that were a trifle too high.

"Fool!" I said to myself. "Oh, worse than fool! 'Count your many blessings.' You didn't dream how many you had!"

Tuesday, June 21, 2016


Live out of doors as much as possible.

Time spent puttering among plants and flowers is not wasted, but most widely needed.

The majority of women need a change of occupation, and this should be sought out-of-doors in summer.

Cultivate an out-door fad--flowers, vegetables, chickens, bees, berries, beans--anything that will furnish a pleasant change of work, accompanied also, if possible, with the prospect of gain, which will make it the more enjoyable.

Or simply go out to rest, and enjoy the sights and sounds of nature with the children, rambling through the fields and woods, and when tired spreading a lunch upon the grass.

The days are long on farms in summer--the day's work, that is. Plan for a rest some time during the day of at least a half hour or an hour, and take it lying down, on the most comfortable bed or couch in the house, in the coolest most quiet spot, sleeping if possible. The utter relaxation of the body and brain that occurs when sleeping is in the highest degree restful, even if the condition lasts but a few minutes. Acquire the habit, if possible, of thus relaxing daily. A business woman who had formed the habit of lying down and dropping asleep for only ten or fifteen minutes at the noon hour declared that she felt as much rested and invigorated by it as by a night's sleep. This is a most health giving, strength sustaining habit.

Ride across the country whenever opportunity offers--every time the team goes to town--to call on friends along the way, or to attend personally to the family shopping and marketing. This simple contact with others at times "doeth good like a medicine."

If the good man feels that he is a better Christian to stay at home and rest on Sunday after the week's work afield, give him that privilege free from criticism, but it may be unwise for you to do the same. It may be for the highest good of the family for you to drive alone with the children to church and Sunday School. You need the spiritual uplift you should receive from the sermon and the singing, and the lesson and discussion in the Bible class, and the children will for the habit of starting the week aright in obedience to Divine command.

Try to attend the mid-week evening meetings, too. The quiet gathering at the close of a busy day is most restful, and the recital of the experiences of others and the "drawing near to Divine aid" will bring a renewed sense of power and peace.

Don't miss the woman's gatherings. However humble the attempt, the pervading spirit of helpfulness towards humanity makes the work worth while and every little helps along any cause. And there is satisfaction in the thought that however limited the opportunity may be "she hath done what she could."

Thursday, June 9, 2016

OUR HOME CLUB: February 1906

                                               COUNTRY VERSES CITY HOMES

Since receiving a holiday visit from a sister who lives in the city, I am not at all inclined to envy city housekeepers. Here are some of the things, as I recall them, from which she suffers:

"Milk that tastes of the barn."

"Stale eggs, even at 25 and 30 cents a dozen."

"Surrounded by houses on every side so that one can't step out for a breath of fresh air without dressing for the street."

"No playgrounds for the children but a narrow lawn and the sidewalk."

"The nuisance of smoke that gets into the house nobody knows how, and casts a dark shade over everything."

"Awakened early in the morning by clanging street cars, rumbling wagons, newsboys and bells and whistles of every description," etc. etc.

Too offset, I reminded her of the many advantages she enjoyed, social, church, educational and recreative, but so much of all this comes to us in our good daily, weekly and monthly periodicals, that felt I would not for the world exchange our comfortable home in the pure air of the free wide country for hers in the city, though much more luxurious. And most she envied me my good health, which, with the children's help, enables me to enjoy doing my own housework. In poor health she is entirely dependent upon hired help, generally incompetent and not to be depended upon from one day to another, so that with frequent changes and lack of skill in her helpers, simply to superintend her work is a heavy burden and wearing nerve strain. O, the country home for me!---Happy Housewife

                                                       ATTENTION TO THE SICK

How many people living in the country think of, perhaps I ought not to say duty--but I don't know what other word to use--toward those who are sick in the neighborhood?

Until I had a long sickness myself I did not realize how greatly sick people really need and are helped to bear their affliction by the visits and little attentions of friendly neighbors. Even when one is too sick to see the callers it is a pleasure to know that they are interested and have been in to ask after the ailing one, and perhaps have left a glass of jelly, a frame of honey or maybe a potted plant in bloom. We should call upon or send to inquire after sick neighbors often, but not make too long a stay in the sick room. From five to twenty minutes is as long a visit as anyone who is really sick abed should receive. To stay longer only wearies one. But it cheers and helps the sick one greatly to know that neighbors are interested enough to run in or send in often to inquire after her welfare. Sometimes assistance is really needed, if not the care of the sick, then in baking of bread or a helping hand about the house for a day now and then will be greatly appreciated.---One Who Has Suffered

Tuesday, May 31, 2016


Make happiness a habit.

Keep within your means.

It is not pleasant to hear disagreeable speeches, do not make them.

Loyalty of friends does not include criticism of others.

Failure is blessed, if it corrects mistakes and strengthens endeavor.

It is a graceful thing to apologize for a mistake or wrong doing.

The whole world will run more smoothly, if our work is well done.

Girls grow old and nervous, crotchety and disagreeable if they continually "fuss." Stop it.

Practice makes perfect is as good a rule for cheerfulness and happiness, as for sewing and cooking.

Make a heaven of your home, and your family and friends will believe in a Heavenly Home.

Do first the thing that must be done. If the lessons are difficult master them; if you have done wrong, confess it; you will enjoy the rest of the day better.

The habitual observance of courtesy prevents many a tempest that makes ship-wreck of homes and families.

A selfish spirit is like a bushel of nettles in the home.

Graciousness of manner and goodness of heart make an attractive personality and a noble life.

True love does not always live in the sunshine, sparkling with jewels and gay with silks and laces, more often you will find her in the shadows, foot-sore and weary, bearing the burden of others on her shoulders, but with a glory on her face.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

SEWING CLASS; 1919; by J. W. M.

Dear Friends:

On a hot June afternoon, a few mothers and daughters came to the ranch at my invitation, to consult about a sewing class which I had offered to carry on for the girls of the community. The two youngest who wished to join, were five and seven years old and had never held a needle or used a thimble. The two oldest had sewed quite a bit on their mother's machine but almost none by hand.

The sewing bulletins given us at the county adviser's office say quite emphatically, "have the meetings short." These girls came a mile or more through rain or shine so we could not afford to have too short sessions. We met at three o'clock, sewed an hour, then stopped for a recess of fun.

The first day, the girls dropped their sewing any where and any how. When they returned later, to the table under the trees to sew, I said pleasantly, "Girls! What's the matter here? What's wrong?" They looked around and one face after another began to look sheepish. The sewing was either in little mussy heaps or sprawled over the chairs or on the ground. The lesson went home with no further words from me. Also at the end of that first lesson, I asked how many would come next time with clean finger nails. These little lessons on the side I consider among the most important.

To return to the recess time, after an hour's lesson the girls ran and played. That first day they took turns riding the Shetland pony whose pasture field is the big yard.

Other afternoons the recreation quarter-hour was spent climbing the low-branched birch trees or dressing the dollies. Always they returned rosy-cheeked and cheerful for another hour's work.

On that first day, I told the mothers and girls in simple story form of early ways of weaving, of the time when people had no needles and no machines; of looms and warp and woof; of Indian rugs, and so forth, and brought it all down to the present time. It was not hard to hold the attention of the girls who sat open-mouthed but many of the mothers would whisper to each other, "Have you weaned the baby yet?" or "Isn't this weather awful to sour milk?" Their minds had been so long running in the rut of cooking and children only, that they could scarcely concentrate on outside subjects of interest.

One afternoon I showed the girls samples of different weaves, goods, textures and dyes.

The simple garments made by the girls, of course, did not amount to much as garments but their coming together was a character-forming influence.

During July, I, their leader, was away. In spite of hot days and busy hours, these girls came together at the call of their girl President. They had each bought muslin and with some help from a mother, each one had made a nightgown. The gown and the making of it were of less importance than their other training. For example: I asked each one to rip off the neck facing and let me show them the correct way to put it on. With no exception they cheerfully complied, although it took more than one long hot afternoon for some to complete the job. To undo the work they had done was a test of patience and good nature and trust in their leader.

These garments went to the County Fair. They received no blue ribbons nor honorable mention. The premiums will be realized in characters of the future.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

OUR HOT NOON LUNCHES; 1919; Putnam County, Ohio

Seventh grader, Odelia Konst, explains the simplicity of her school lunch program.

We have had hot lunches in our school for over two years. I think it is very good for the children. It helps the children to study their lessons. Many children do not eat much for breakfast and if they do not eat much for breakfast and if they do not get a hot dinner, they will get sick. Some children will not eat their cold lunch at school. The farmers will have warm feed for their chickens, pigs and cows. If the farmer takes good care of the animals, why should he not take good care of his boys and girls? Children should have something warm to eat at school.

In some rural schools there is hardly room enough to serve hot lunches but it does not take as much room as some teachers think. The only room needed is for the stove and cupboard. The parents of school children should help the teacher get the things together. We have had three chief cooks: They are the following: Emma P., Loretta W., and myself. We also have some waiters that bring the food to the pupil's desk. We have many things in our school. We have an oil stove, kitchen cabinet and another small cupboard. Our oil stove has three burners. We like it very well. We have a baker with our oil stove. Our kitchen cabinet is very pretty. The upper part is taken off and we use it as a table. In one drawer we keep the spoons, forks and knives, and in the other part we keep the dishes. We have three dozen dishes, large cups and small spoons, knives and forks. We also have pans, a dish pan, a water pail, a large and a small stew pan. All the things in school are bought with the money we received as premiums at the county fair.
Children of the New Cleveland School

The children take turns about bringing the soup meat. Every child brings a potato for the soup then one of the children brings beans, noodles, or whatever we put in the soup. When the soup is done the chief cook takes it from the fire and divides it into cupfuls for the children. The one who brought the meat divides it among his friends. By this way the children bring more and nicer meat. When we have mashed potatoes one of the children brings the milk. When we have baked potatoes or boiled eggs the number of the child is put on it so that each child gets its own egg back. The parents like it very well. We have no trouble in getting the soup meat. Almost every week we had soup three to four times. We have one hot dish every day. It does not take much time away from our studies to tend to the cooking.

In the morning when we come to school we peel the potatoes and put them in pans till recess. The teacher starts the oil stove and the chief cook puts the soup meat on the fire. At recess we put the potatoes in with the soup meat. At half past eleven we eat our dinner. Then we put some water on the fire so that it will get hot to wash the dishes.

Each child has a napkin which he puts on his desk. Then we take the soup from the fire and put it in cups. Each child gets a cup of soup. When we have mashed potatoes each child gets a place of potatoes with white sauce on them. When we have mashed potatoes each child comes to the table and gets his potatoes. We all go to our desks and eat our dinner. The children have to stay in school for twenty minutes while they eat their dinner. After they are through eating their dinner they have to bring the dishes to the table where they will get washed. Some times there are many dishes to be washed.

Oh, how inexpensive and simple! I wonder what Odelia would think of our present day school lunch program?!

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

I AM DAIRYING FOR DOLLARS; 1919; by Mrs. Warren Taylor of Springfield, Illinois

I have been running a dairy farm for three years and I have come to wonder why there are not more farm women in the dairying business.

There is nothing unusual about my dairy farm or my experience. My husband was for twenty-two years the principal of a Springfield grade school. This meant that we had to live in the city. I am a true dyed-in-the-wool farm woman. I was born on West Wood Farm. I dearly love stock. We bought our first cow when my oldest son was about nine as he persuaded us that he could make money selling milk to the neighbors. He paid for the cow and her keep in six months and bought another one which was paid for by the end of the first year. Finally we had four cows and the boys delivered the milk with the newspapers. Ten years ago we moved out to this, my father's farm, and my husband started in earnest to build up a dairy interest and when he died had a profitable retail dairy business in Springfield, Illinois. Neither the boys nor I wished to return to the city although friends and neighbors took it for granted we could not continue to run the farm and dairy and that, of course, we should have to give up and move to town.

Just at first, I was inclined to do this. I had taught school before I was married and I thought of taking up teaching again; then I considered office work of some kind but these means of support meant breaking up our pleasant farm home, giving up the healthy outdoor life and moving into a flat or city boarding house. My four boys were not old enough to provide for themselves and it was my duty as well as privilege to give them, not only food, clothes and a good home but the education and training their father would have given them had he lived.

If I taught school or worked in an office I could only be with my boys at night, and on Sundays and holidays. I have, I think, four of the finest lads in this country and I wanted to bring them up as upright, fine young Americans. (I am proud to say that I had two boys under twenty-one in the war.) I was afraid that if I took them to the city and could spend only a fraction of my time with them and could not share in their life and recreation, that they would grow away from me. I knew too they would feel caged up like the wild animals of a circus if, after their freedom on the farm, I put them in a flat or boarding house. Every cow, calf and pig on our place is a pet! Only recently when I bought a pedigreed bull from the University of Illinois Farm I had to give orders for one not only with a good milk strain but a good temper for I knew my youngest boy would be on the bull's back the first day it arrived! How could I coop up these growing boys in a city home?

If I carried on the dairy, I could stay on the farm, earn money, and our home life together would not be spoiled. Also the boys would have a chance to share in my work. I could think of no other money-earning business that would do this for me. So we stayed. I have not discovered any get-rich-quick secrets in the dairy business but I can say that I have made a comfortable living. I have increased the business and added to my herd and am now considering buying ten more cows. Last month I added forty-five new customers to my list and I have never advertised or solicited patronage. There is one physician, a baby specialist, who insists on his patients using milk from the West Wood Farm, as my dairy is called. I have seventeen of his baby-patients on my list.

Tuesday, April 5, 2016


A Spring Coming-Out Party; April 1933
“We’re having our coming-out party this month,” said the Maple girls to Mrs. Oak, “and we want you to come.”
“Oh, my dear,” replied Mrs. Oak, “I haven’t a thing to wear.”
“That’s quite all right,” answered Miss Sugar Maple, “the Pines are coming and they haven’t worn anything but those dark green dresses since I can remember.”
The day of the party was a gorgeous April one, and the setting was perfect. Down in the meadow it was, along the banks of a brook. The dandelions and Sweet Williams acted as pages while the trilliums stayed in the background for color.
Two of the Maple girls wore dresses of tender red, while the other one had a silver gown that waved in the breeze.
One of the first guests to arrive was Weeping Willow. She looked very happy, however, in her frilly dress of light green. Along with her came her cousin Pussy in his little gray furry jacket that looked like it was ready to shed.
The majestic Elm and Sycamore came together and were humble on this afternoon as the Birches along the bank. The Poplar sisters, tall and graceful, were the talk of the party. They flirted continuously with the Wind boys.
Mrs. Oak came late with all her family, even scrubby little Jack.
“As soon as the Dogwood stops barking at Pussy Willow,” announced the hostess, “we shall have the brook sing a merry song.” The orchestra of robins, wrens and bumblebees played a few selections followed by a dance by the four Winds. The dance was beautiful until North Wind got so loud and boisterous that meek little Aspen trembled all over. He calmed down though when the Sun came out.
Most unexpectedly came April Showers who turned out to be the life of the party.

Friday, March 11, 2016

AT SOUTHVIEW; by Emmy Lou, Minnesota; 1932

Dear Editor:

I look out of my south living room window and behold a beautiful view--trees, meadows, grazing cattle, wooded hills, a river bed, green grass, and cars passing on the highway.
It is all mine. I do not mean that I own it. But the view,--I do not mean that I own it. But the view,--I own that as much as you or anyone. True, Old Skinflint who owns the land might put up a stone wall and shut off that part of my view, but it would have to be a pretty tall one if it did not add to the beauty, for I could see over it from my hill and soon wild vines would cover it and it would be lovely.

The view has been free to me for years and years--as free as the air I breathe.

I do not need a picture on my wall. I have only to look out of my south window to see a most beautiful natural picture. It begins at my very window, takes in our own yard, pine trees and pasture and continues on and on for miles across the farms of my neighbors. A west window close to this south window and just around the corner of the house affords a continuation of the view to the westward without getting up from my easy chair. Many a time from these windows we see a beautiful sunset.

I watch for the mail. New neighbors have moved on Old Skinflint's farm across the way. I see their light at night in the poor old ramshackle house which stands empty so much. A car flits by on the highway, then maybe a truck load of baled hay, or a load of wood, or the road drag drawn by horses, or a cream truck, or a horse and buggy, or wagon and team, some farmer hauling hay, or some one on foot, more cars.

Even the view itself has changed with the years as the land has been cleared, fenced, buildings put up and land cultivated. But the wild beauty remains. The change has been so slight and gradual that it seems the same shifting scene it has always been--the scene I love from my south window, that soothes me with its beauty and rests my eyes with its color, that gives our dear home its pleasant name--Southview.

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

FOR ALL "HOMESTEADS," from Minnesota, 1930

Dear Editor:

I was a town girl before marriage; nevertheless I loved the country. So it was a happy day when my husband, tired of clerking, decided to go back to the land which was his by birthright.
The lonely winter view from my"Old Home"
I shall never forget the day we went to look things over. It was in mid winter. Drifts blocked the roads, necessitating detours across fields. The house stood on a knoll, and was badly in need of paint. Just the old fashioned upright-and-a-half to which, as an after thought, had been added a small lean-to kitchen. Nearby was a summer kitchen.

In spite of the dreary appearance it made, standing there in deep snow with tumbled down out-buildings in the background, I was not dismayed. And the man of the house, satisfied with his wife's attitude toward her future domicile, rented the place.

It would take some time to describe the interior which had been bachelor quarters. My husband admonished me not to speak about paper and paint to the landlord.

"He's a close-fisted fellow," he said, and we mustn't ask for anything this year."

So I scrubbed and made the little house clean. It was dreadfully cold, so cold that we had three stoves burning up all the oxygen that crept in around the doors and windows, and still I wore overshoes while doing the morning work. Small wonder we had so much sickness each winter.

Secretly I did some figuring as to how I could change my home. We had a fine flock of Barred Plymouth Rocks (chickens). To them I turned for the solution, and they never failed me. How proud I was of that flock,--nucleus of so many things that followed.

Ten years we lived in the little house. During that time four babies were born, and one was taken by death. We had our joys and sorrows, like so many others. My health was never very rugged so we had a sale and decided to move West thinking it might prove beneficial.

There's so much that I miss. In winter I think of "the old home" as we all call it, standing bleak and deserted on the knoll, its old comrades, the maples, stripped and broken, guarding it like staunch friends.

Again in May I see a garden; close by an old orchard popped out pink and white. The maples are alive with birds. On a spacious lawn little children are romping with a collie. And on a sandy hilltop a flock of Barred Rocks are scratching in the sunshine, and brood hens are teaching their young chicks to look for food...All this and more we left.

I'd like to make a plea for all "old homesteads." Often they go out of the family into strange hands. How much nicer if they could be kept as a sort of shrine--"the old home" forever.

Wednesday, February 3, 2016


Knowing that there was much sorrow in the world during the Depression, The Farmer's Wife magazine tried their best to print encouraging letters.

From Nebraska--
     We have worked hard the last seven years, worked early and late, and what have we to show for it? Nothing. Perhaps Mrs. M.A.M. (a previous writer) has not had the sickness and expense we have had.
     My husband worked at home till he was 21 to get the few essentials for farming, but had to sell everything and prepare for the army. With practically nothing at all, we married. Husband works by the day when he can get work. He had about $25 to begin with. How far would that go toward buying a farm or stocking it?
      By the time we saved a little money along came a baby and took it all. Five babies in six years, with one going on to the land beyond. Now don't think the babies were unwelcome. Far from it. There are things in this world of more value than mere possession of land.
     You don't know what it is to climb from the depths of poverty, you have never tried it. Does poverty hurt one? No, not as long as he puts his trust in God. It is a refining plant to bring out the gold that there is in us.
From Iowa--
     Dear Me! Everybody's talking hard times! Sometimes we feel sort of downhearted and discouraged about it. But I know one little boy who says, "Hard times are sort of cozy times." That's because the whole family works and plans together. It's like pioneer days when people had to build a new life in a new country. Most of us here wished we had lived in pioneer times. They seemed so thrilling and "cozy." Well now we've a chance to be pioneers.

Wednesday, January 6, 2016

NOT FOR A MANSION IN NEW YORK, 1932, by Thankful and Happy from Missouri

Dear Editor:

When I see so many country folks going to the city it makes me all the more thankful that my husband and I are farmers.

I was born and raised in a city tenement district. At sixteen I began working in a shoe factory and held my job until I was twenty-three. The spring before my twenty-third birthday, father bought a car and we began spending Sundays in the “great open spaces.” Even though I had never been out of the city, I loved the country and dreamed of being a farmer’s wife.

One day a new employee came to the factory. I learned that she was a country girl, and a flourishing friendship followed. I told her of my love for the country and desire to live there. Then my luck turned. She knew an old couple who wanted a girl to take care of them.

My friend helped me get the position, so I gave up my job in the city and started out light-hearted on my adventure. My employers were a lovely old lady and gentleman, who lived on a 150-acre farm, and my new job was easier and much more enjoyable than my city job.

When my work was done for the day I would take a walk in the sunset. Sometimes I would stroll up the hill and look down into the beautiful valley below, and off into the hills which completely surrounded it. It was while on one of these strolls that I met my husband, then a country boy of 24. We have been married now for nearly four years, and have a darling baby, who has just passed the year mark.

When I look out the kitchen window of my little home, and see the jolly, friendly sun shining over
our green fields, and hear the murmur of the creek rippling over the pebbles, and the birds singing, I am happy. Then in the evening when the chores are done and we sit on the porch, Husband and I, and I take Baby in my arms and read to Husband from The Farmer's Wife, and we hear the crickets and katydids, and all the other members of our little insect band, I am glad, so glad, I am a farmer's wife. I wouldn't trade the farm for a mansion on Park Avenue in New York City.