Farm life -- United States; Girls -- United States
It is depressing, it is terrible, that a concourse of country girls will
stand up before The Fathers and declare that while they love the
country, and prefer to remain there all their days, yet they cannot,
because life there is intolerable to them. They say this in all
sobriety; no one can accuse them of speaking in haste; their mood is
most judicial. The young woman in the farm life of to-day has a
deep-seated love for country life; many things about it command her
affection and give her delight; but there are also some things that she
does not feel called upon to endure. If it were not for them, for these,
and these, and lo! all of these, objections to it, she would be
perfectly content and satisfied to live on the farm all her days; but as
it is, well, she can only join that funeral procession of the nation
cityward.
It is true that the Country Girl does not enjoy a house with no music
under its roof-tree, a house where no games are played, where no stories
are told or read about the lamp in the long winter evenings: a house, in
short, with nothing she calls happiness in it; but this is a small part
of her indictment.
She does not enjoy trudging back and forth a million times a year over
the same square yards of floor-space; but that, too, is immaterial to
her. In fine, she does not object to the work itself, but she cannot
endure that heterogeneous, unsystematized, objectless drudgery, the
enforced character of the toil, the out-of-date methods, the absence of
acknowledgment of any economic value in her contribution to the
business--this is what grinds her soul.
She is not wanting in appreciation of the possibilities in farm life and
the farming business; but, to quote with variations, she says to
herself:
If they be not fair for me,
What care I how fair they be?
She sees the beauty of the changing seasons, and she enjoys the
companionship of animals, naming them one by one after all her favorite
heroes and heroines of fairyland; but the fact that she has nor chick
nor lambkin for her own is as
The little rift within the lute
That by and by will make the music mute.
[Illustration: The Country Girl takes a pride in her chickens that makes
their care a pleasure to her.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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