Farmer Boy

by Laura Ingalls Wilder

  Inside it were two black creatures. He had never seen anything like them. They were something like horses, but they were not horses. Their tails were bare, with only a bunch of hair at the tip. Their short, bristly manes stood up straight and stiff. Their ears were like rabbits’ ears. Those long ears stood up above their long, gaunt faces, and while Almanzo stared, one of those creatures pointed its ears at him and stretched out its neck.

  Close to Almanzo’s bulging eyes, its nose wrinkled and its lips curled back from long, yellow teeth. Almanzo couldn’t move. Slowly the creature opened its long, fanged mouth, and out of its throat came a squawking roar.

  “Eeeeeeeeee, aw! Heeeeeee, Haw!”

  Almanzo yelled, and he turned and butted and clawed and fought through the crowd toward Father. The next thing he knew, he reached Father, and everybody was laughing at him. Only Father did not laugh.

  “It’s only a half-breed horse, son,” Father said. “The first mule you ever saw. You’re not the only one that was scared, either,” said Father, looking around at the crowd.

  Almanzo felt better when he saw the colts. There were two-year-olds, and yearlings, and some little colts with their mothers. Almanzo looked at them carefully, and finally he said:

  “Father, I wish—”

  “What, son?” Father asked.

  “Father, there’s not a colt here that can hold a candle to Starlight. Couldn’t you bring Starlight to the fair next year?”

  “Well, well,” Father said. “We’ll see about that when next year comes.”

  Then they looked at the cattle. There were fawn-colored Guernseys and Jerseys, that come from islands named Guernsey and Jersey, near the coast of France. They looked at the bright-red Devons and the gray Durhams that come from England. They looked at young steers and yearlings, and some were finer than Star and Bright. They looked at the sturdy, powerful yoke-oxen.

  All the time Almanzo was thinking that if only Father would bring Starlight to the Fair, Starlight would be sure to take a prize.

  Then they looked at the big Chester White hogs, and the smoother, smaller, black Berkshire hogs. Almanzo’s pig Lucy was a Chester White. But he decided that some day he would have a Berkshire, too.

  They looked at Merino sheep, like Father’s, with their wrinkled skins and short, fine wool, and they looked at the larger Cotswold sheep, whose wool is longer, but coarse. Father was satisfied with his Merinos; he would rather raise less wool, of finer quality, for Mother to weave.

  By this time it was noon, and Almanzo had not seen his pumpkin yet. But he was hungry, so they went to dinner.

  The church dining-room was already crowded. Every place at the long table was taken, and Eliza Jane and Alice were hurrying with the other girls who were bringing loaded plates from the kitchen. All the delicious smells made Almanzo’s mouth water.

  Father went into the kitchen, and so did Almanzo. It was full of women, hurriedly slicing boiled hams and roasts of beef, and carving roast chickens and dishing up vegetables. Mother opened the oven of the huge cookstove and took out roasted turkeys and ducks.

  Three barrels stood by the wall, and long iron pipes went into them from a caldron of water boiling on the stove. Steam puffed from every crevice of the barrels. Father pried off the cover of one barrel, and clouds of steam came out. Almanzo looked into the barrel, and it was full of steaming potatoes, in their clean brown skins. The skins broke when the air struck them, and curled back from the mealy in sides.

  All around Almanzo were cakes and pies of every kind, and he was so hungry he could have eaten them all. But he dared not touch even a crumb.

  At last he and Father got places at the long table in the dining-room. Everyone was merry, talking and laughing, but Almanzo simply ate. He ate ham and chicken and turkey, and dressing and cranberry jelly; he ate potatoes and gravy, succotash, baked beans and boiled beans and onions, and white bread and rye ’n’ injun bread, and sweet pickles and jam and preserves. Then he drew a long breath, and he ate pie.

  When he began to eat pie, he wished he had eaten nothing else. He ate a piece of pumpkin pie and a piece of custard pie, and he ate almost a piece of vinegar pie. He tried a piece of mince pie, but could not finish it. He just couldn’t do it. There were berry pies and cream pies and vinegar pies and raisin pies, but he could not eat any more.

  He was glad to sit down with Father in the grand-stand. They watched the trotting-horses flashing by, warming up for the races. Little puffs of dust rose in the sunshine behind the fast sulkies. Royal was with the big boys, down at the edge of the track, with the men who were betting on the races.

  Father said it was all right to bet on races, if you wanted to.

  “You get a run for your money,” he said. “But I would rather get something more substantial for mine.”

  The grand-stand filled up till people were packed in all the tiers of seats. The light sulkies were lined up in a row, and the horses tossed their heads and pawed the ground, eager to start. Almanzo was so excited he could hardly sit still. He picked the horse he thought would win, a slim, bright chestnut thoroughbred.

  Somebody shouted. All at once the horses were flying down the track, the crowd was one roaring yell. Then suddenly everyone was still, in astonishment.

  An Indian was running down the track behind the sulkies. He was running as fast as the horses.

  Everybody began to shout. “He can’t do it!” “Two dollars he’ll keep up!” “The bay! The bay! Come on, come on!” “Three dollars on the Indian!” “Watch that chestnut!” “Look at the Indian!”

  The dust was blowing on the other side of the track. The horses were flying, stretched out above the ground. All the crowd was up on the benches, yelling. Almanzo yelled and yelled. Down the track the horses came pounding. “Come on! Come on! The bay! The bay!”

  They flashed past too quickly to be seen. Behind came the Indian, running easily. In front of the grand-stand he leaped high in the air, turned a handspring, and stood, saluting all the people with his right hand.

  The grand-stand shook with the noise of shouting and stamping. Even Father was shouting, “Hurrah! Hurrah!”

  The Indian had run that mile in two minutes and forty seconds, as fast as the winning horse. He was not even panting. He saluted all the cheering people again, and walked off the track.

  The bay horse had won.

  There were more races, but soon it was three o’clock, time to go home. Driving home was exciting that day, because there was so much to talk about. Royal had thrown a ring over one of the black-and-white-striped canes, and he had it. Alice had spent a nickel for peppermint candy. She broke the striped stick in two and each had a piece to suck slowly.

  It seemed strange to be at home only long enough to do the chores and sleep. Early next morning they were driving away again. There were two more days of the Fair.

  This morning Almanzo and Father went quickly past the stock-sheds to the display of vegetables and grains. Almanzo caught sight of the pumpkins at once. They shone out brightly, golden among all the duller things. And there was Almanzo’s pumpkin, the largest of them all.

  “Don’t be too sure of getting the prize, son,” Father said. “It isn’t size that counts as much as quality.”

  Almanzo tried not to care too much about the prize. He went away from the pumpkins with Father, though he couldn’t help looking back at his pumpkin now and then. He saw the fine potatoes, the beets, turnips, rutabagas, and onions. He fingered the brown, plump kernels of wheat, and the grooved, pale oats, the Canada peas and navy beans and speckled beans. He looked at ears of white corn and yellow corn, and red-white-and-blue corn. Father pointed out how closely the kernels grew on the best ears, how they covered even the tip of the cob.

  People walked slowly up and down, looking. There were always some people looking at the pumpkins, and Almanzo wished they knew that the biggest pumpkin was his.

  After dinner he hurried back to watch the judging. The crowds were larger now, and sometimes he had
to leave Father and squirm between people to see what the judges were doing. The three judges wore badges on their coats; they were solemn, and talked together in low voices so that no one heard what they said.

  They weighed the grains in their hands, and looked at them closely. They chewed a few grains of wheat and of oats, to see how they tasted. They split open peas and beans, and they shelled a few kernels off each ear of corn to make sure how long the kernels were. With their jack-knives they cut the onions in two, and the potatoes. They cut very thin slices of the potatoes and held them up to the light. The best part of a potato is next to the skin, and you can see how thick the best part is, if you hold a very thin slice to the light and look through it.

  The thickest crowd pressed around the table where the judges were, and watched without saying anything. There wasn’t a sound, when at last the tall, thin judge with the chin whiskers took a snip of red ribbon and a snip of blue ribbon out of his pocket. The red ribbon was second prize, the blue one was first prize. The judge put them on the vegetables that had won them, and the crowd breathed a long breath.

  Then all at once everybody talked. Almanzo saw that people who didn’t get any prize, and the person who got second prize, all congratulated the winner. If his pumpkin didn’t get a prize, he would have to do that. He didn’t want to, but he guessed he must.

  At last the judges came to the pumpkins. Almanzo tried to look as if he didn’t care much, but he felt hot all over.

  The judges had to wait till Mr. Paddock brought them a big, sharp butcher knife. The biggest judge took it, and thrust it with all his might into a pumpkin. He bore down hard on the handle, and cut a thick slice out. He held it up, and all the judges looked at the thick, yellow flesh of the pumpkin. They looked at the thickness of the hard rind, and at the little hollow where the seeds were. They cut tiny slices, and tasted them.

  Then the big judge cut open another pumpkin. He had begun with the smallest. The crowd pressed tight against Almanzo. He had to open his mouth to get his breath.

  At last the judge cut open Almanzo’s big pumpkin. Almanzo felt dizzy. The inside of his pumpkin had a big hollow for seeds, but it was a big pumpkin; it had lots of seeds. Its flesh was a little paler than the other pumpkins. Almanzo didn’t know whether that made any difference or not. The judges tasted it; he could not tell from their faces how it tasted.

  Then they talked together for a long time. He could not hear what they said. The tall, thin judge shook his head and tugged his whiskers. He cut a thin slice from the yellowest pumpkin and a thin slice from Almanzo’s pumpkin, and tasted them. He gave them to the big judge, and he tasted them. The fat judge said something, and they all smiled.

  Mr. Paddock leaned over the table and said:

  “Good afternoon, Wilder. You and the boy are taking in the sight, I see. Having a good time, Almanzo?”

  Almanzo could hardly speak. He managed to say: “Yes, sir.”

  The tall judge had taken the red ribbon and the blue ribbon out of his pocket. The fat judge took hold of his sleeve, and all the judges put their heads together again.

  The tall judge turned around slowly. Slowly he took a pin from his lapel and stuck it through the blue ribbon. He was not very near Almanzo’s big pumpkin. He was not near enough to reach it. He held out the blue ribbon, above another pumpkin. He leaned, and stretched out his arm slowly, and he thrust the pin into Almanzo’s pumpkin.

  Father’s hand clapped on Almanzo’s shoulder. All at once Almanzo could breathe, and he was tingling all over. Mr. Paddock was shaking his hand. All the judges were smiling. Ever so many people said, “Well, well, Mr. Wilder, so your boy’s got first prize!”

  Mr. Webb said, “That’s a fine pumpkin, Almanzo. don’t know as I ever saw a finer.”

  Mr. Paddock said:

  “I never saw a pumpkin that beat it for size. How’d you raise such a big pumpkin, Almanzo?”

  Suddenly everything seemed big and very still. Almanzo felt cold and small and scared. He hadn’t thought before, that maybe it wasn’t fair to get a prize for a milk-bred pumpkin. Maybe the prize was for raising pumpkins in the ordinary way. Maybe, if he told, they’d take the prize away from him. They might think he had tried to cheat.

  He looked at Father, but Father’s face didn’t tell him what to do.

  “I—I just—I kept hoeing it, and—” he said. Then he knew that he was telling a lie. Father was hearing him telling a lie. He looked up at Mr. Paddock and said: “I raised it on milk. It’s a milk-fed pumpkin. Is—is that all right?”

  “Yes, that’s all right,” Mr. Paddock answered.

  Father laughed. “There’s tricks in all trades but ours, Paddock. And maybe a few tricks in farming and wagon-making too, eh?”

  Then Almanzo knew how foolish he had been. Father knew all about the pumpkin, and Father wouldn’t cheat.

  Afterward he went walking with Father among the crowds. They saw the horses again, and the colt that won the prize was not so good as Starlight. Almanzo did hope that Father would bring Starlight to the Fair next year. Then they watched the foot-races, and the jumping contests, and the throwing contests. Malone boys were in them, but the farmer boys won, almost every time. Almanzo kept remembering his prize pumpkin and feeling good.

  Driving home that night, they all felt good. Alice’s woolwork had won first prize, and Eliza Jane had a red ribbon and Alice had a blue ribbon for jellies. Father said the Wilder family had done itself proud, that day.

  There was another day of the Fair, but it wasn’t so much fun. Almanzo was tired of having a good time. Three days of it were too much. It didn’t seem right to be dressed up again and leaving the farm. He felt unsettled, as he did at house-cleaning time. He was glad when the Fair was over and everything could go on as usual.

  Chapter 22

  Fall of the Year

  “Wind’s in the north,” Father said at breakfast. “And clouds coming up. We better get the beechnuts in before it snows.”

  The beech trees grew in the timber lot, two miles away by the road, but only half a mile across the fields. Mr. Webb was a good neighbor, and let Father drive across his land.

  Almanzo and Royal put on their caps and warm coats, Alice put on her cloak and hood, and they rode away with Father in the wagon, to gather the beechnuts.

  When they came to a stone fence Almanzo helped to take it down and let the wagon through. The pastures were empty now; all the stock was in the warm barns, so they could leave the fences down until the last trip home.

  In the beech grove all the yellow leaves had fallen. They lay thick on the ground beneath the slim trunks and delicate bare limbs of the beeches. The beechnuts had fallen after the leaves and lay on top of them. Father and Royal lifted the matted leaves carefully on their pitchforks and put them, nuts and all, into the wagon. And Alice and Almanzo ran up and down in the wagon, trampling down the rustling leaves to make room for more.

  When the wagon was full, Royal drove away with Father to the barns, but Almanzo and Alice stayed to play till the wagon came back.

  A chill wind was blowing and the sunlight was hazy. Squirrels frisked about, storing away nuts for the winter. High in the sky the wild ducks were honking, hurrying south. It was a wonderful day for playing wild Indian, all among the trees.

  When Almanzo was tired of playing Indian, he and Alice sat on a log and cracked beechnuts with their teeth. Beechnuts are three-cornered and shiny-brown and small, but every shell is solidly full of meat. They are so good that nobody could ever eat enough of them. At least, Almanzo never got tired of eating them before the wagon came back.

  Then he and Alice trampled down leaves again, while the busy pitchforks made the patch of bare ground larger and larger.

  It took almost all day to gather all the beechnuts. In the cold twilight Almanzo helped to lay up the stone fences behind the last load. All the beechnuts in their leaves made a big pile on the South-Barn Floor, beside the fanning-mill.

  That night Father said they’d see
n the last of Indian summer.

  “It will snow tonight,” he said. Sure enough, when Almanzo woke next morning the light had a snowy look, and from the window he saw the ground and barn roof white with snow.

  Father was pleased. The soft snow was six inches deep, but the ground was not yet frozen. “Poor man’s fertilizer,” Father called such a snow, and he set Royal to plowing it into all the fields. It carried something from the air into the ground, that would make the crops grow.

  Meanwhile Almanzo helped Father. They tightened the barn’s wooden windows, and nailed down every board that had loosened in the summer’s sun and rain. They banked the walls of the barn with straw from the stalls, and they banked the walls of the house with clean, bright straw. They laid stones on the straw to hold it snug against winds. They fitted storm doors and storm windows on the house, just in time. That week ended with the first hard freeze.

  Bitter cold weather had come to stay, and now it was butchering-time.

  In the cold dawn, before breakfast, Almanzo helped Royal set up the big iron caldron near the barn. They set it on stones, and filled it with water, and lighted a bonfire under it. It held three barrels of water.

  Before they had finished, Lazy John and French Joe had come, and there was time to snatch only a bite of breakfast. Five hogs and a yearling beef were to be killed that day.

  As soon as one was killed, Father and Joe and John dipped the carcass into the boiling caldron, and heaved it out and laid it on boards. With butcher knives they scraped all the hair off it. Then they hung it up by the hind feet in a tree, and cut it open and took all the insides out into a tub.

  Almanzo and Royal carried the tub to the kitchen, and Mother and the girls washed the heart and liver, and snipped off all the bits of fat from the hog’s insides, to make lard.

  Father and Joe skinned the beef carefully. The hide came off in one big piece. Every year Father killed a beef and saved the hide to make shoes. All that afternoon the men were cutting up the meat, and Almanzo and Royal were hurrying to put it all away. All the pieces of fat pork they packed in salt, in barrels down cellar. The hams and shoulders they slid carefully into barrels of brown pork-pickle, which Mother had made of salt, maple sugar, saltpeter, and water, boiled together. Pork-pickle had a stinging smell that felt like a sneeze.