CHAPTER SEVEN

THREE YEARS AS A FARMER

My years of helping my father on the farm began after my school examinations were over in June 1918. I was then about 3 months past the age of seventeen. At that time, Clifford was also home for the summer.

Although all of us worked hard during that summer, nevertheless we, as active boys, had some time to romp and play on our house lawn in the evenings after work. One common kind of contest between us was wrestling. After working at it most evenings during the summer, Clifford and I both became quite good at it. Even some of the neighboring young people learned to have considerable respect for our prowess. From experience I developed a hip roll which, if I could combine it with a certain grip on the arms, gave me a method of throwing which was practically invincible. So on the whole I think I was a little better than Clifford.

Because of our youth and constantly using our muscles in all kinds of hard farm work, we both developed strong physiques and considerable stamina. As a result, I became able to perform a test of strength that I think few people could do. Everyone is familiar with the usual push-ups, by which the body is completely raised off the ground with only the toes touching and the hands and arms in the vertical position under the shoulders. I was able to do a much more difficult variation of this. Instead of placing my hands under me, I could lie on my stomach with my arms fully extended, in the horizontal position, beyond my head, and grasping the front rung of a chair, which was horizontal and about 4 or 5 inches off the floor, I could still come up on my hands and toes as cleanly as any push-up.

A little later, inside a small new barn Dad had built on the site where the large barn had burned down, there was a concrete floor which we turned into a boxing arena. We somehow got enough money to buy boxing gloves for two people. Clifford and I played around with them. We enjoyed the experience and exercise. One time Clifford induced our father to put on a pair, and do a little boxing with him. He was reluctant to do so, but finally consented. It wasn't long before Clifford accidentally and unintentionally struck him on the nose. Dad terminated his boxing right there, hurriedly tore off the gloves and never put them on again.

One time when we were at our annual Sunday School picnic, at the Small Sand Hills, we were down at the lake swimming in the surf and playing on the beach. We discovered in a small inlet, a few feet away from the beach, a small pond of shallow water with weeds growing in it. In the shallow water were several large catfish swimming lazily around. They were so sluggish we could almost handle them. Most of them were about two feet long. We didn't know whether they had been trapped there when high water ran back into the lake or whether they were kept there by a fisherman for later sale.

In the evenings we had time for reading good books, and often we had some fun playing crokinole. Crokinole was a game which could be played by two or by four. Among the books we had in our bookcase at home were the following titles: Phil the Fiddler, Paul the Peddler, From Jest to Ernest, Never Beaten, Dora Deane, John Knox, Boer War, Wreck of the Titanic, The Lady of the Lake, Ben-Hur, The Mistress of Shenstone, Julius Caesar, Self Knowledge, The Rise of Roscoe Paine and others, many of them Boy Scout books.

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One time, I was riding bare-back on an errand to the next crossroad. I was galloping along, and about to pass a farm gate where we had some land rented. The horse, of course, didn't know that I wanted to go farther, so she turned in where she had often come before, and in stopping quickly as she turned, she threw me off her back. I caught myself by hanging onto her neck and landed safely on my feet.

Another time when I was riding a horse I had a funny experience. On this occasion, I was taking a team with me to attach to a farm implement, which was already in the field. They wore their harnesses, and were connected to each other by a line running from the inside of the bit of each to a ring on the harness on the back of the other horse. I was riding on the back of the horse on the left side of the team. It looked like it might rain, so I had an umbrella along with me. The umbrella was not open and the horses were sauntering along. I foolishly began playing with the umbrella, but did not need it to protect me from the rain because it was not then raining. I pointed the umbrella forward and downward between the two horses and started to open it. Both horses saw this strange thing (out of the corner of their eyes) expanding between them, and both, at the same time, moved quickly sideways to get away from it. In doing so they didn't look where they were going, and broke themselves apart. I promptly closed the umbrella, but the horse I was riding was already falling flat on his side on the road. I stepped off the horse before he struck the ground, and was free and unhurt with the closed umbrella still in my hand. The frightened horse picked himself up, and hastily looked around wild-eyed to see what had frightened him. When he couldn't see anything to be frightened of, he hung his head and walked on, with the most embarrassed expression ever seen on an animal.

One spring Dad sent me to the grist mill in Vienna with a load of grain to be ground up into pig feed. On that trip I drove a team of horses consisting of a bay horse on the left side and a black horse on the right side. The black horse was called Prince. He was rather a favorite or ours, because we could pinch him playfully and he would put on a show of fighting back, but he never really hurt us. He was really an intelligent horse, but he turned his energies toward shirking his work. For instance, if he were not watched he would hang back behind his mate until his end of the double-tree was resting on something behind it. In that position all of the work was being done by his mate, and he was merely walking along, with his traces taut, pretending to be pulling his share.

On our trip to the grist mill we had a fairly heavy load of grain. The road was dry, and I never thought of such a thing as encountering ice. When we got to the valley just outside of Vienna, I turned the team down a rather steep short grade on a short-cut road I always used when I went to school in Vienna. To my surprise, no sooner were we on the downgrade when I found that the thin layer of sand hid an icy surface, which was still there because it was sheltered so that the sun could not get at it. I tried to slow the team but the grade was too steep and the horses shoes were already dull. They tried to slow the heavy load, but the bay horse's hind feet slid forward under him, spread widely apart, and he was sliding down the hill on his backside. He was still able to hold up his end of the neck yoke by walking on his front legs, but he could do nothing to hold back the load, nor even help in steering the wagon. I remained seated on the wagon, and kept a firm hold on the reins to guide the horses, as they were forced down the hill and around the curves in it. Black Prince took over full responsibility, and with my help in guiding him, he was able to keep on his feet, and alone he kept that load on the icy road steering both the wagon and the sliding horse safely down the hill until it leveled out, so

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that his mate was able to regain his feet. We proceeded to the mill and got the grain ground, and needless to say, we came back onto our home-bound road by another route.

One night Clifford and I were driving home in a buggy from some meeting we had been attending. Suddenly there was a screeching noise, and sparks were flying on the right side of the buggy, which seemed to be in the vicinity of the seat. The horse got scared and began to go faster. Clifford was driving and he managed to stop the horse. This was during wartime, and we both thought that the sparks meant a fuse was burning to set off a bomb under our seat. When the horse was stopped the sparks and noise also stopped, but in trepidation we got out to look for a bomb.

We soon found that it was not a bomb. We found that during the recent storm a telephone line had fallen down and lay on the road so that the right back wheel of the buggy had run over it, but not the front wheel. At the point where the sparks started to fly, the telephone wire was already rising from the road toward the next telephone pole. In those days telephone lines were bare steel wires, and the buggy had steel tires on the wheels. The sparks and noise were caused by the revolving wheel of the buggy rubbing on the tight wire of the telephone system. We soon got the telephone wire out from under the buggy and continued on home without further incident.

The first winter as a farmer I spent working in Brantford, Ontario, where I boarded with Aunt Effie and cousins Stanley and Vera Park. My first job was a cold and unpleasant one, digging a ditch for a water line for the city. I carried my lunch, which was quite adequate. When I sat down to eat it, I was joined by another young man, who was of some foreign ancestry. He could scarcely speak any English. I noticed that his whole lunch consisted of a raw cucumber and a large piece of raw cabbage.

I did not work long outside, but soon got a job with the Massey-Harris Company, which was assembling farm machinery, chiefly binders. My job was supplying the workmen with the machine parts. To do this I had a heavy two-wheeled truck, which I pushed around like a wheel barrow. I picked up the cog-wheels and other small parts in the storeroom and moved them to the bins near the workmen.

One Sunday, Stanley drove me in his car to visit the famous landmark of the vicinity, the historic Mohawk Church. The inscription on the church was: "St. Paul's, His Majesty's Chapel of the Mohawks. Erected by King George III, 1785. The first church built in Ontario." Adjoining the church was Joseph Brant's Tomb bearing the following inscription: "This tomb is erected to the memory of THAYENDANEGEA or Capt. Joseph Brant, principal chief and warrior of the six nation indians, by his fellow subjects and admirers of his fidelity, and attachment to the British Crown. Born on the banks of the Ohio river 1742, died at Wellington Square, Upper Canada, 1807." It also contains the remains of his son AHYOUWAIGHS or Capt. John Brant, who succeeded his father as TEKARIHOGEA, and distinguished himself in the war of 1812-15. Born at Mohawk Village U.C. 1794. Died at the same place 1832.

One early spring, Dad hired Ben Purdy to dig a long ditch for him on Mother's farm, almost the whole length of the farm, to carry water to a large ditch which flowed across the back part of the property. He did a good job. The ditch was about 4 ft. wide at the bottom and about 2 ft. deep.

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Later Dad and I buried tile across the fields to carry water into that ditch. About the same time Dad and I built a wire fence across the front of the farm, giving me experience in digging postholes and fixing them securely, particularly at the ends and corners, where they had to be braced. The fence had to be stretched tightly, by the use of a stretcher mechanism, and nailed securely by the use of staples.

I often worked alone in the fields with a team of horses. I recall that I was particularly proud of my ploughing with a one furrow plough. I had never been to a ploughing match in competition with other farmers in ploughing, but I think I would have shown up well, because my furrows were so straight across a ten acre field, that you could shoot a rifle bullet in a furrow the whole length and not hit either side of the dirt.

Another thing I practiced doing when out in the fields alone was reading the time of day by the position of the sun. I carried a pocket watch and after much practice I could, at any time of the day, estimate the time within 5 minutes of the correct time.

Working alone on the farm also gave me the opportunity to dwell on my relation ship to God and ponder my purpose in life. I found myself wanting to do something for other young people, so I became the regular teacher of the boys class in Sunday School at the Methodist Church in Fair Ground. We wanted to make our class more private than others in the church, so we obtained permission to use 3 or 4 seats in one back corner of the church. There I fashioned a light post which could be attached to the outside of the seat in front of our section. From this post we strung a small rope to the adjacent wall on which we hung a curtain. This we could easily set up and take down after the class session.

In addition to the Sunday sessions, we thought we could further benefit by getting together one other evening each week. This we did, and formed what was called The Tuxis Boys. It was something like a boy scout group but more oriented to spiritual things. We began those evening meetings with a selected scripture reading and a short prayer. Then we gathered around the church organ and sang hymns, with me playing the organ with my right hand only, and pumping the pedals with my feet. Of course I was not very good, but good enough that we could sing lustily together. Perhaps the familiar hymns, with their religious sentiments, did more to direct the thinking of the boys along more spiritual lines, than anything I said.

Perhaps by mentioning some of our favorite hymns, you will remember something of their spiritual impact. Some titles were -

"My Hope is Built on Nothing Less Than Jesus Blood and Righteousness" "Yield Not to Temptation" "Just As I Am Without One Plea" "Jesus Saviour, Pilot Me" "He Leadeth Me" "Jesus Keep Me Near The Cross" "I Am Thine, 0 Lord I Have Heard Thy Voice" "I Need Thee Every Hour" "Nearer, My God, To Thee"

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One time I attended a Tuxis Boys Conference which further deepened my interest in the program. We of course studied many other things in nature such as birds, animals and flowers, but one of the fields which was most intriguing was study of the skies. On clear nights we could identify many of the constellations and some of the planets.

One time we needed some money for books or some other purposes, so we prepared a program of entertainment and put it on in the Town Hall one evening. We had quite a good turnout of the generous people who wanted to encourage us. I don't remember the nature of the program, but I remember one of the features included some firework sparklers which we hung on the curtain wire across the front of the stage. I remember I was master of ceremonies, standing there within easy reach of one of the sparklers, which threatened to set fire to the nearby curtain. I sensed that the audience was getting uneasy, so I calmly reached up and smothered the burning sparkler in my bare hand. Panic was averted, at the trivial cost of my mildly burned hand.

I remember preaching once at our church when the minister was away. I am sure I made a pretty poor showing because my talents didn't run in that direction.

During the entire First World War period, from when it began in 1914 and dragged on until November II, 1919, the day the Armistice was signed, I worked with my father. At the close of the war, I was still too young to be drafted into the armed forces, but perhaps, for the record, it might be useful to give some details of the Militia Act of 1917 which authorized the drafting of young Canadians into the army.

The Act authorized the call up of men, when their ages and conditions fell into the following classes, if the need for men warranted it. The ages mentioned mean the age of the man on the date the act was passed in 1917 -

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My experience on the farm included a great many things. There was lots of work associated with farm animals. The horses had to be fed and watered, groomed, put out to pasture and brought back. The stable had to be cleaned and fresh straw put in for bedding. Their harnesses frequently were in need of repair. They had to be taken to a blacksmith to have worn shoes replaced, and sometimes pressure sores needed treatment.

The cows required attention in many respects like the horses, but their feed included silage, which meant growing corn for that purpose, silo filling and getting silage out of the silo every day. The cows had to be milked by hand, since we had no mechanical milking machine. The milk had to be readied for the cheese factory. Some milk was put through our hand-operated cream separator to provide cream for cooking and for making butter. The work involved animal breeding, attending birth of calves, and later weaning of calves.

The weaning process involved teaching calves to drink, because after the period of suckling, they did not know how to drink. This was accomplished by placing a pail of milk in front of the calf. After wetting my fingers in the milk and letting the calf taste it, I kept my fingers in the calf's mouth, and then with the other hand on the back of its head, pushed its mouth down into the milk in the pail. By holding the head down, and keeping my fingers in the calf's mouth and submerged in the milk, the calf would continue to suck up milk. By gradually removing my fingers, the calf would continue to suck up milk so long as the head was held down. After a few similar experiences, the calf would ultimately learn that the milk was in the pail, and that it could drink without having anything to suckle.

Caring for pigs was associated mainly with feeding them, cleaning their pens and taking them to market. Some were slaughtered at home to provide pork for our own use. Additional work included rendering of certain tissues to obtain lard. The carcass was then cut up into the usual butcher's segments. Then the process of salting and sugar-curing was undertaken, and some parts were smoked. This was necessary to preserve the meat because in those days we had no refrigeration.

Caring for chickens was not too difficult, because we did not have many, and they had free range of the barnyard. It was easy to tell when a hen wanted to set on her nest to hatch out some chickens. When this time arrived, we would provide

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her with a suitable number of eggs, and she would settle down on them to keep them warm for the three weeks or so necessary to reach the hatching stage. When the little ones were hatched, we provided her with a confined space for her brood, while she sheltered them under her feathers and taught them to eat and drink.

We killed only enough young chickens, usually roosters, to provide us with chicken meat. The smaller fluffier feathers were plucked off dry to use for stuffing our bed pillows. The larger feathers were usually removed after dunking the dead chickens in scalding hot water, which loosened them.

One thing I disliked most about farming was handling the manure. During the last year I was on the farm, my father purchased a used horse-drawn manure spreader. It was equipped with a seat at the front where I could sit and drive the team. There was a lever there to throw the mechanism into gear. The turning of the back wheels caused the apron, which constituted the bottom of the wagon, to move slowly backward. At the back end was a spinning cylinder with an open framework which revolved rapidly and scattered the manure widely out behind in small pieces. It took care of some of the work, but the vehicle itself had to be loaded by hand, using a dung fork.

I learned to use all kinds of horse-drawn farm machinery. In my time on the farm, we never had a tractor nor any kind of power source. Preparing the land began with ploughing, followed by discing, cultivating and harrowing. For grain crops, this was followed by seeding, either by hand or by a horse-drawn drill, which dropped the seeds into channels dug into the soil at a controlled rate.

Spreading of very small seeds, such as various grasses for pasture or hay, was done by a hand-carried sack, which was secured around the neck. It had a finely controlled aperture in the bottom that dropped the seeds into a spinning fan, which threw the seeds in all directions. To use it, the operator walked along at a steady pace, and at the same time cranked by hand the spinning mechanism. The small seeds did not need to be buried in the ground, because rain drove them down sufficiently, so that when they sprouted, the roots found their own way into the soil.

Corn for silage could be planted in rows by a drill, because having the seeds close together in the row was OK, for what was wanted was a vigorous growth of corn stalks, rather than ears of grain.

Planting of corn for its big ears of corn for animal feed, and sweet corn for table use, had to planted by hand, in order to space the hills a proper distance apart. To do this we used a hand-operated planter. It consisted of two slabs of light wood attached to each other near the lower end by a narrow hinge on each side, which held the two slabs about two inches apart. There was flexible canvas attached, on both edges of the two wooden slabs, so that it provided a kind of stocking leading from near the top down to the ground end. At the ground end the wooden slabs ended in metal plates which came together firmly, when the slabs were spread apart at the top. At the top on each slab, sticking out sideways, was a firm handle for the hands of the operator to grasp. On one side of the planter was a metal container which held about a quart and a half of seed corn at a time. On the inside of the planter's other slab was a wooden piece, which projected across the space between the slabs and into the bottom of the metal container carrying the seeds. When the top ends of the planter were pushed together, the wooden projection, mentioned above, moved into the seed container and captured about four kernels of corn in the hole in its center. When the slabs of the mechanism were pulled apart at the top, the

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seeds caught in the hole were released in the stocking-like contraption, and dropped into its bottom. Planting hills of corn, with this planter, involved lifting it out of the ground with the top ends pushed together. In this position the bottom end was open, with the kernels released into the ground. As the planter was pulled out of the ground, the seeds were stepped on to cover them. At the same time, the bottom of the planter was swung forward and pushed into the ground on the next hill. During this swing in the air, the planter was pulled apart at the top, which automatically closed the opening at the bottom, and at the same time, dropped seeds to the bottom of the planter. In this position, the bottom of the planter was jabbed into the ground on the hill ahead and the kernels released into the ground, by pushing the top ends together before lifting it. It was a very satisfactory planter when the operator became accustomed to synchronizing the repetitive movements required.

The rows for planting were marked out, in advance, by pulling a light-weight contraption along by hand, which was equipped with sleigh runners fixed to it about 3 feet apart.

Harvesting hay began early in the summer, when it was still green, in order to make good quality hay. I operated the mower drawn by a team of horses. The wheels operated the cutting knife which ran back and forth in a slotted iron beam which moved along the ground. The cutting knife with its triangular teeth had to be sharpened on a grind stone every day or so. In fine weather the hay was left on the ground, as it was cut, to cure. If it got rained on, we had to go over it with the hay tedder, which tossed it in the air and loosened it up to hasten drying.

When the hay was ready we raked it up with a large horse-operated rake. When the rake was filled it was tripped by stepping on a pedal. In doing this the hay was gathered into long rows. Then we had to gather the hay into piles which we called haycocks. This had to be done by hand with pitchforks.

When the hay was taken into the barn we pitched it onto the wagon load, with our individual pitchforks, with another person on the load arranging it for safe transportation. In the barn we used mechanical unloading.

In the barn there was a strong wooden track hanging in the peak which ran the whole length of the barn and passed over the center floor where unloading took place. On this track was a four-wheeled iron carrier called a trolley which could be connected so that it ran over the mow on either side. For unloading hay a huge iron fork was used. This fork was connected by a rope and pullies by way of the above trolley to a team of horses outside of the barn. To unload hay, this fork was released and pulled down from the trolley in the middle of the barn track, with its hoisting rope attached. The fork was then driven deeply into the load of hay by standing on it. Then the movable sharp points of the fork were secured in a horizontal position by shifting a trip handle on the fork. This held the large bundle of hay on the fork. There was a light trip rope attached to the trip lever on the fork, which the man unloading payed out as the load was hauled up by the horses pulling on a thick rope that ran through a pulley in the large post at the side of the barn door. When the forkful of hay reached the dolly, in the center of the barn, it locked into it and was then pulled along the track above the mow. When the load reached the desired position the horses were stopped and a pull on the trip rope, by the man holding it, released the hay so that it fell down into the mow. The hay had to be arranged in the mow by a man with a pitchfork. After the team had re turned to the starting place and released the tension on the large rope to which

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they were hitched, the man doing the unloading pulled the large fork back for reuse by pulling on the trip rope.

Harvesting grain was done by a binder which cut with a knife similar to that on the hay mower. A revolving paddle wheel made the grain lie down on a moving canvas apron, with the heads of the grain all lying in the same direction. The cut grain was then carried up by other moving canvas aprons to a compactor which packed it into sheaves. When the sheaf reached a certain size, a large metal needle automatically fed the binder twine around the sheaf, automatically tied it and afterward kicked the completed sheaf out onto the ground. Other workers followed along and arranged the sheaves of grain in groups with their heads up, so that the grain on the tops of the straw would not be on the ground.

When the harvested grain was dry enough, it was hauled in wagon loads into the barn where it was handled, a sheaf at a time, by pitchforks. Each kind of grain was kept by itself in the mow, and when threshed, run through the threshing machine separately.

Threshing of grain was always a big job, but it was done by farmers joining together and helping each other at their various barns. It was a dusty job, particularly for the person who had to work in the straw as it was blown into the mow from the long spout of the big metal pipe at the back of the machine. I was usually the one assigned to that job at our barn, and I was invariably sick afterwards, with a fever, from inhaling so much dust.

On threshing days the wives had to provide huge meals for the hungry men. They too helped each other in their various homes on threshing days.

One year my father had eleven acres of white beans. These, when harvested, were also put through a threshing machine. That winter we had a great part of the floor in our adjoining one-time boarding house covered by beans. Every evening, practically all winter, we spent looking over beans in our house to find and remove the bad ones. The beans sold fairly well to farmers all around who came to buy a bag full or so each time. I think father found it too much work and never grew beans again.

In harvesting of corn for its ears, the stalks were cut by hand with a sharp short-handled hoe. The cut stalks were stood on end in large circular piles and tied around the top to keep them in place.

Later, when thoroughly dry, the corn was husked out in the field. This was a sitting down job with a gadget attached to the thumb to make it easier to tear off the husks, and to accumulate the bare ears into piles.

Silo corn was harvested by a corn binder, which cut off the stalks as it was pulled along a row by the horses. The corn stalks were kept standing in the machine until they were tied into sheaves, and kicked out onto the ground. They were usually left lying on the ground until they were gathered up in a few days by a gang of men, put through a cutting machine, and blown into the top of our silo through a long pipe. I usually worked in the silo, spreading the ensilage around and trampling it down.

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My dad always grew a lot of potatoes, so a lot of my time was spent in this area. In planting, Dad marked out where the rows were to be with a wooden frame work holding four short sleigh-like runners, which was also used for corn. It left distinct marks on the soft soil. Then he plowed a shallow furrow by following the mark. When he plowed the adjoining furrow in the opposite direction, it threw the soil toward that of the adjoining furrow. In this way a ridge of soil was piled up between the two rows. We dropped pieces of potato in the furrows, with proper spacing, until both furrows were completely planted. Then, to cover the pieces of potato, a two-winged implement was pulled along the ridge by a team, which pushed the loose dirt both ways at the same time, back into the open planted furrows.

When the potato plants came up, there frequently was an early infestation of potato bugs. The adult beatles had yellowish white stripes on their hard back covers, but the slugs had soft red bodies and a black head. The slugs were the most voracious eaters, and could soon eat up a potato plant.

We had to deal with pests promptly. We did so by going over the whole potato patch with a pail and a paddle made from a shingle, to knock the bugs off the plants and into the pail. We had to keep banging the pail to keep the bugs from crawling up the sides and escaping. The bugs were killed by flooding them with kerosene.

Another problem was blight. This was combatted by spraying the plants with a chemical concoction diluted in water. For this purpose we had a horse-drawn sprayer which sprayed four rows at once. The pressure was kept up by continually pumping the handle of a pump, which forced the liquid out of the storage barrel on the center of the vehicle.

The potatoes developed underground, and were ready to harvest when the plants had largely died down in the fall. To dig the potatoes we had a horse-drawn machine which sloped down under the hills of potatoes in the row and brought potatoes and dirt up together onto an iron apron system which shook the dirt through it and dumped the potatoes onto the ground surface behind the machine.

Because of the enormous quantity of potatoes, they had to be stored, originally, in the fields. For this purpose an area was smoothed out on the ground about 10 feet in diameter. It was then covered with straw a few inches deep. We picked up the potatoes by hand in pails, and emptied them in a pile on the center of the straw. When the mound of potatoes was two or three feet deep, the whole mound of potatoes was covered with a layer of straw, and then the straw in turn was buried in several inches of soil piled on top of it. This protection was necessary because of frost at nights, and potatoes must not be long exposed to the sun, or they will turn green from sunburn.

When preparing to plant potatoes, we always had to cut up the seed potatoes into pieces with paring knives. We had to make sure that each piece had at least two eyes on it, which would sprout into plants. These pieces had to be kept from drying out before planting, so this work had to be coordinated with planting.

Dad always produced high quality potatoes. This was achieved by strictly adhering to two dicta. He planted only certified seed potatoes, and he planted his potatoes in a different field every year. The importance of these features was brought home to me many years later when, living in Prescott, Arizona, I planted potatoes in my

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garden. I bought potatoes to plant from a man in Prescott Valley who was advertising them for sale at seed time. When I bought them I asked him if they were certified. He said nothing but took a certified ticket off a nail and showed it to me. So I inferred from that, that they were certified. When I harvested my crop of potatoes they were diseased, and the man who had sold the seed potatoes to me had gone away. Forever after that, when I again planted good potatoes in my Prescott garden, the harvested potatoes also turned out to be diseased.

One feature of life on the farm was that none of our beds had mattresses. Instead we slept on what was called a straw tick. They were large bed-size bags made of strong cotton fabric. When threshing was over we emptied the old straw out of the ticks and replaced it with fresh, clean straw, usually oat straw because it was finer and softer.

Sometime during the winter of 1919, the whole family was sick at once with Spanish influenza which was rampant at that time. We managed to drag around and get enough to eat and drink in spite of it, and we all recovered.

My three years of work on the farm were without pay, but I did get a few dollars to spend occasionally. During the last year I was allowed the use of a horse and buggy, which I used to drive to church gatherings and a few parties. I did not have much to do with girls but associated with them in groups at parties.

One time, I recall that I made a date to see the school teacher at Guysboro after church. I drove to the church and sat through the service. Afterward I drove up to the church stoop, and she hastily got in the buggy and we drove off. Only later did I learn there was some excitement at the church, because she had come to the church with some other young man.

In winding up this chapter on my participation in my father's farm work, it might be of interest to note that in those days the farmers in Houghton Township kept their taxes down by banding together each year and doing a stint of road maintenance themselves. In this capacity, I represented my father in doing his share. What I was assigned to do was hauling gravel to be deposited on the road and spread around by other farmers.

Toward the end of my three years on the farm I became interested in medicine from reading a book called The Doctor. Having experienced quite a lot of illness myself, and seeing my mother ill quite frequently, I was drawn to medicine by a desire to help others. This was crystallized in my wish to become a medical missionary. My three years as a farmer taught me many things to do with my life but after some considerable time I reached the conclusion that I did not want to be a farmer all my life.

I don't think I actually planned to become a doctor, but there seemed to be a force greater than my own intentions drawing me in that direction. When I now look back on the changes which have taken place in my life and the things I have accomplished, I realize that I didn't plan it that way. It seems that I can't put my finger on any plans which I myself made and carried through to their ultimate completion. Rather I must admit that there seemed to be some supernatural power which was leading me and the end result was not of my making. It leads me to ponder,

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with wonder, the words of St. Paul in Romans 8, verse 28 of the King James version. "And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God". Even the vicissitudes in my life seem to fall into place, as contributing their part to what turned out to be something better. So I can only think of my undertaking to become a doctor as an act of faith.

As I look at it now, it looked on the surface to be an impossible undertaking. Six university years of difficult education were required, and one year thereafter as a hospital intern. I had no money, and my parents could not possibly see me through, for financial reasons. In spite of all this, I submitted my application and was accepted, mainly because of my age. My father managed to help me to the extent of $300.00. This was only enough to see me part way through the first year. By borrowing another $300.00 from grandpa Cutler, I was assured of being able to manage the first year, and no more.

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