Family life -- Fiction; Farm life -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction
A few moments later she saw him going up the lane, that continued on
past the house, with his stout team and the plow, and she smiled as she
heard him whistling "Coronation" with levity, as some good people would
have thought.
Plowing and planting time had come and under happier auspices,
apparently, than he had ever imagined possible again. With the lines
about his neck, he began with a sidehill plow at the bottom of a large,
sloping field which had been in corn the previous year, and the long,
straight furrows increased from a narrow strip to a wide, oblong area.
"Ah," said he in tones of strong satisfaction, "the ground crumbles
freely; it's just in the right condition. I'll quit plowing this
afternoon in time to harrow and sow all the ground that's ready. Then,
so much'll be all done and well done. It's curious how seed, if it
goes into the ground at the right time and in the right way, comes
right along and never gets discouraged. I aint much on scientific
farming, but I've always observed that when I sow or plant as soon as
the ground is ready, I have better luck."
The horses seemed infected by his own brisk spirit, stepping along
without urging, and the farmer was swept speedily into the full, strong
current of his habitual interests.
One might have supposed the recent events would have the uppermost
place in his thoughts, but this was not true. He rather dwelt upon
them as the unexpectedly fortunate means to the end now attained. This
was his life, and he was happy in the thought that his marriage
promised to make this life not merely possible, but prosperous and full
of quiet content.
The calling of the born agriculturist, like that of the fisherman, has
in it the element of chance and is therefore full of moderate yet
lasting excitement. Holcroft knew that, although he did his best, much
would depend on the weather and other causes. He had met with
disappointments in his crops, and had also achieved what he regarded as
fine successes, although they would have seemed meager on a Western
prairie. Every spring kindled anew his hopefulness and anticipation.
He watched the weather with the interested and careful scrutiny of a
sailor, and it must be admitted that his labor and its results depended
more on natural causes than upon his skill and the careful use of the
fertilizers. He was a farmer of the old school, the traditions
received from his father controlled him in the main. Still, his good
common sense and long experience stood him fairly well in the place of
science and knowledge of improved methods, and he was better equipped
than the man who has in his brain all that the books can teach, yet is
without experience. Best of all, he had inherited and acquired an
abiding love of the soil; he never could have been content except in
its cultivation; he was therefore in the right condition to assimilate
fuller knowledge and make the most of it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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