The Heirloom Orchardist

Good Roads and Bad Roads (Or the Difference between Harmony and Discontent)

A month ago, when we last looked into the lives of James and Lena McKenney,* we realized how quickly we can take some of our modern conveniences for granted.  The topic then was electricity.  That was easy.  Now, James’s notes in his ledger help us to appreciate bituminous concrete.

Say what?

Alright, most of us know it as “blacktop” or “asphalt.”  Some of us know it as “ashfault.”  I could go on.  But those individuals who make a career out of designing or building today’s byways, call it “bituminous concrete.”  And today, it's everywhere.

The point is, one hundred years ago there was a real good chance that nice, smooth, rut-free roads were not part of James’s and Lena’s lives.  This had a significant impact on the ease and comfort (or lack of it) in getting from one location to another.  And it often resulted in some minor inconveniences that could really get under one’s skin.  We know it did for James.  I’m pretty sure that one hundred years ago this week, on the last day of April 1912, there was a moment when James was pretty darn ticked off.

"Tues. 30
Fair I worked for Colcord to
day he paid me to night $10.00
got two quarts of Syrup and lost
it coming home.  Fish 22 cts.

By late April, maple sugaring season was over, and James was bringing two quarts of syrup home to Lena.  But he lost them.  We’re not saying he misplaced them.  That syrup just didn’t make the whole trip.  In New England, the spring season was also known as the mud season.  James probably set the syrup down in his cart, got his horse pointed in the right direction, and headed home…over a terrible muddy and rutted dirt road.  Somewhere along the way, that jug of syrup fell off his cart.

Were these roads an inconvenience?  Obviously, yes.  But more importantly, the roadway system in the United States was so bad at the turn of the century, that it was having a dramatic impact on the expansion of our economy.  Consider this statement, published in the American Motorist, in May of 1913, just about a year after James lost his syrup:

“…and it is generally true that the employers of labor will find that difference between harmony and discontent in the ranks of their employees is often only the difference between good roads and bad roads in all parts of the country.  For poor roads make for a high cost of living and when the price of the necessaries of life goes up, the small wage earner is the first to feel the pinch.”

Eventually, things got better for James and his horse cart.  On April 30, 1914 (exactly two years to the day after James lost his syrup!), The Automobile magazine published this recognition of the State's effort to improve Maine roads:

“Maine has awakened to the possibilities of what good highways mean, and last year saw the installation of a highway commission of three men… The state began by improving the road between the state line at New Hampshire and Portland, the worst stretch in the state, if not in New England…”

“Bout time!” said James, over a stack of dry pancakes.

 __________________________

*In 1912, James McKenney lived and farmed with (his wife?) Lena, in Readfield, Maine.  I'm fortunate to have found his ledger at a flea market.  Occasionally, we’ll look back at James's notes to see what he and Lena were up to, one hundred years ago.

You're Never Too Old to Plant an Orchard!

Nowadays, with the availability of dwarf and semi dwarf trees, we think nothing of setting out a small orchard and expect fruit within a few years.

This wasn’t the case for The Heirloom Orchardist.  To him, an orchard was an investment.  The site was chosen wisely, and the trees were planted carefully.  Of course The Heirloom Orchardist wanted to benefit from his efforts, but he was also thinking of the many generations of Orchardists that would follow.  His trees took a while to get to a bearing age.

Does this mean that an elderly Orchardist might have thought twice about investing his limited time to planting a new fruit grove?  Perhaps.  Thomas Close, of Port Chester, NY felt strongly against that sort of thinking.  So strongly, that he wrote to the editor of The Cultivator, on January 3rd, 1846.  His comments were published in April of that year:

“Nothing is more common than to hear a man at the very period of his life when he is best capable of doing the thing well - from 50 to 60 - excusing himself from putting out fruit trees upon the plea that he is too old to be benefited by it.  The two following instances will show at how late a period of life a fondness for the cultivation of fruit has been practically manifested, and at how much later a period of life has been prolonged, as if in reward of the deed.”

“An aged lady, in the adjoining town of Greenwich, not many years ago, planted a peach in her one hundredth year, and lived to eat the first fruit the tree produced.  The Rev. Mr. Cobb, of Braintree, Mass., set out an orchard at the advanced age of 77, and was laughed at by his neighbors, who were much too wise to plant frees for posterity - he lived thirty years afterwards.  These it will be admitted are extreme cases, and yet many not very dissimilar ones could easily be collected, were due justice done to the scattered individual enterprise of the nation.”

Indeed.  Thomas Close was right!  Plant a fruit tree!  If not for your descendants, than do it for yourself!

The Outburst of Spring - "Laugh and be fat"

The apple blossoms have come early this year.  There’s not much that makes The Heirloom Orchardist feel more joyful.  I kinda feel like the child that finds the Easter Bunny’s stash a few days before Easter.

But I shouldn’t feel guilty.  This is they way it’s supposed to be when the apple blossoms are here.  This is the way it’s always been.

Henry F. French felt it.  In 1852, he was so overcome by “The Outburst of Spring” that he had to write his thoughts down (as I’m doing now).

“Somebody says that Spring in New England may be defined as a leap from Winter to Summer, and verily, the space between the sublime and the ridiculous is not shorter than the disjunctive conjunction between good sleighing and apple-blossoms in New Hampshire.”  I’d like to know who that somebody was … probably Henry himself.

That’s the way it comes.  February and March seem so very long as I’m making my way through Winter.  Then, all of a sudden, boom!  (Should I say “bloom?)  Spring is here.

Thank goodness, Henry and I are not the only crazy Orchardists out there feeling it.  The Editors of Appleton’s Journal felt it too, in June of 1869:

“The apple-orchard in bloom is a part of our most domestic experience and of our gentlest human sentiments.  It is a part of the best memories of home.  Every man in his boyhood has had his perfect moment under apple-blossoms.”

And the editor of Harper’s Monthly felt it, in May 1884:

“This is something like it.  A shower of apple blossoms.”

So, even though it’s come early, don’t feel guilty.  I enjoy it.  As Henry F. French said,  “The true measure of time – The force and vigor of the farmer’s character (is) developed in the Spring – Agriculture is cheerful – “Laugh and be fat””