Laura Ingalls Wilder, Farm Journalist

by Stephen Hines

  Pioneering on an Ozark Farm

  A Story of Folks Who Searched—and Found Health, Prosperity and a Wild Frontier in the Mountains of Our Own State

  June 1, 1921

  The days of wilderness adventure are not past! The pioneer spirit is not dead!2

  We still have frontiers in our old, settled states where the joys of more primitive days may be experienced, with some of their hardships and now and then a touch of their grim humor.

  Nestled in a bend of the Gasconade River 13⁄4 miles south of Hartville, the county seat of Wright county, is a little home which is gradually being made into a productive farm while losing none of its natural, woodland beauty. Its wild loveliness is being enhanced by the intelligent care it is receiving and the determination of its owners to take advantage of, and work with nature along the lines of her plans, instead of forcing her to change her ways and work according to man’s ideas altogether—a happy co-operation with nature instead of a fight against her.

  Mr. and Mrs. Frink, owners and partners in the farm, come of pioneer stock and never were quite content with town and village life. They often talked of the joys of pioneering and dreamed of going to the western frontiers somewhere.

  And the years slipped by, leaving their imprint here and there a touch of snow in their dark hair; a few more lines around the eyes. Worst of all they found their health breaking. Mrs. Frink’s nerves were giving way under the constant strain of teaching music and the combined efforts of each failed to pay the expenses of the many reverses, including doctor’s bills with accompanying enforced idleness, and leave any surplus to be laid away for the old age that was bound to arrive with time.

  THEN NATURE CALLED

  All thru the sweet days of spring and summer as Mrs. Frink sat hour after hour, working with some dull music pupil, she heard the call of the big outdoors and would forget to count the beat as she dreamed of pioneering in some wild, free place where, instead of hearing the false notes of beginners on the piano, she might listen to the music of the wild birds’ song, the murmur of the wind among the tree tops and the rippling of some silver stream. And Mr. Frink fretted at the confinement of his law office and longed for wider spaces and the freedom of the old West he had known as a boy. But still they knew deep down in their hearts that there is no more frontier, in the old sense.

  By chance, Mr. Frink found the little nook, embraced by the bend of the river, tucked securely away in its hidden corner of the world and Mrs. Frink said, “This is our frontier, we will pioneer here!”

  There were only 27 acres in the farm mostly woodland, some flat, some set up edgeways and the rest at many different angles as is the way of land in the Ozarks, where, as has been said, we can farm three sides of the land thus getting the use of many more acres than our title deeds call for.

  I think at no time did Mr. and Mrs. Frink see the farm as it actually was, but instead they saw it with the eyes of faith as it should be later. What they bought were possibilities and the chance of working out their dreams. Mrs. Frink believed that here they could make their living and a little more. Mr. Frink was doubtful but eager to take a chance.

  It required courage to make the venture for the place was in a bad state. There were some 6 or 7 acres of good bottom land in rather a poor state of cultivation and 7 acres of second bottom, or bench land, on which was an old thrown out, worn out field. The rest was woods land, a system of brush thickets a rabbit could hardly penetrate. The valleys and glens were overgrown with grape vines and poison ivy the abiding place of rattlesnakes and tarantulas. There were no fences worth the name.

  The farm was bargained for in June, but negotiations were long and tedious for it was necessary to bring three persons to the same mind at the same time and it proved to be a case of many men of many minds instead. But at last the transaction was completed and one sunny morning in August, 1918, Mr. and Mrs. Frink gathered together their household goods and departed for the new home, on the frontier of the Ozarks, leaving Hartville without a mayor and its most prominent music teacher with one closed law and insurance office.

  They went in a dilapidated hack, containing household goods and a tent, drawn by a borrowed horse. Hitched at the back of the hack was Mat, the Jersey cow, and Bessie Lee, her 9-months old calf. Dexter, a 4-months old colt, about 20 chickens, and three shoats had been sent ahead with a lumber wagon.

  At four o’clock that afternoon the tent was pitched at Campriverside and the Frinks were at home on their own farm. As Mr. Frink says, “The great problem was solved; we would not live our whole lives on a ½-acre lot.” For supper they feasted on roasting ears and ripe tomatoes from their own fields. These were principal articles of fare for some time. The green corn later gave place to “grits” and finally these were replaced by their own grown corn meal.

  The Frinks began their life on the farm in a small way and handicapped by debt. The price of the land was $600, but after paying off old indebtedness there was left of their capital, only $550 to pay for the land, build a house and buy a horse. For there was no house on the land and the tent must be the shelter until one could be built, while a horse was absolutely necessary to even a “one-horse farm.”

  Four hundred dollars was paid on the place and a note given for the balance of $200. Out of the remaining $150 a cabin was built and a horse bought. The material and labor in the house cost $120 and the horse cost $30.

  Mr. and Mrs. Frink made up their minds at the start that the place must furnish fencing and building material as far as possible and really, log buildings seemed more in keeping with the rugged surroundings. The log house was built the first fall. It was 14 by 18 feet and a story and a half high. A shed for the stock, a chicken house and a good many rods of fence have been added since to the improvements.

  From the first they lived from the proceeds of the little place. The land had been rented when bought and they were to have the owner’s share from the 5 acres of corn on the bottom field. In the fall, the renter put 125 bushels of good, hard, white corn in the hastily constructed crib. The crop could have been cashed for $300.

  The next fall there was 100 bushels of corn as their share from the rented field and a bunch of hogs raised on the place were sold for $125.

  In 15 months after moving on the place the note for $200 and an old bill of $60 was paid off and a cream separator had been bought and paid for.

  For the year of 1920 their share of corn was again 100 bushels, but because of the drop in prices, only $70 worth of hogs were sold. The income from cream and eggs averaged a little over a dollar a day for 10 months of the year. And from the little new-seeded meadow, 2 tons of clover hay were cut and stacked.

  The stock has been increased. There are now at home on the place, 3 good Jersey cows, a team of horses, 2 purebred Poland China brood sows, 10 shoats, and 50 laying hens.

  There is also on hand 600 pounds of dressed meat and stores of fruits and vegetables—the bulk of a year’s provisions ahead. And best of all there are no debts but instead a comfortable bank account.

  The expense of running the farm has been very little, about $25 a year for help. It is the intention that the eggs and cream shall provide money for running expenses, which so far they have done, leaving clear what money comes from selling the hogs, calves and surplus chickens.

  The start in raising chickens was made under difficulties. Mrs. Frink was eager to begin stocking the place and early in the spring, when first the bargain was made for the farm, she wished to raise some chickens to take to it. At that time the law forbade selling hens, so she borrowed one from a neighbor and set her.3 And that hen hatched out 11 roosters and only two pullets! Rather a discouraging start in the poultry business. But Mrs. Frink, while seeing the humor of the situation refused to admit failure. She took the 13 chickens out to the farm and put their coop up in a hickory tree beside the road. The roosters were fine, large Orpingtons and attracted the attention and admiration of the neighbors. Mrs. Frink refused to sell but offered to exchange fo
r pullets and soon had a flock of 12 pullets and one rooster in the hickory tree. The pullets began laying in November, laid well all winter and raised a nice bunch of chicks in the spring.

  The plans of these Ozark pioneers are not yet completed. Thirteen acres of the woodland are being cleared and seeded to timothy and clover. In the woods pasture the timber is being thinned, underbrush cleaned out and orchard grass, bluegrass and timothy is being sown.

  Mr. Frink says, “There is much yet to be done. When the place is all cleared and in pasture it will support six cows, which means from $50 to $60 a month for cream and the fields in the bottom and on the bench will furnish grain for them and the hogs and chickens.

  AND THEY’VE MADE GOOD

  “We have demonstrated what can be done on a small piece of land even by renting out the fields. An able-bodied man could have done much better because he could have worked the fields himself and I would like to have more people know what a man with small means can accomplish.”

  Campriverside is located on the main fork of the Gasconade River, a section of country noted for its beautiful river and mountain scenery and Mrs. Frink’s artist soul has found delight in the freedom and the beauties surrounding her. She says there is magic at Campriverside. An oak tree growing near the south side of the cabin, has the power, when atmospheric conditions are right, of seeming to talk and sing, being in some way a conductor of sounds of conversations and singing of neighbors living as far as a mile away. Among the branches of this tree, brushing the sides and roof of the house, birds of brilliant plumage and sweet song build their nests.

  The rugged scenery and placid river had a greater charm for Mrs. Frink than the fertile soil of the bottom land and she took time each day to explore her little kingdom. Many were the beauty spots she discovered.

  There were the basins in the rocks below the spring and Pulpit Rock which she desecrated by setting her tub upon it when she washed.

  When the spring rises and makes a brook in the little glen, there are the Cascades and Wildcat Falls.

  And there is Wild Cat Den where at rare intervals, the bobcat screams, calling the mate who has been the victim of encroaching civilization, while just below is Fern Glen where magnificent sword ferns grow.

  As if these were not enough natural beauties for one small farm, there are the Castle Rocks and the Grotto and the dens where the woodchucks and minks live.

  And there are wild flowers everywhere—“wild flowers that mark the footsteps of the Master as He walks in His garden and the brilliant coloring of the autumn foliage speaks again of His presence.”

  As a Farm Woman Thinks (1)

  June 15, 1921

  Did you ever hear anyone say, “I don’t know what the world is coming to; people didn’t use to do that way; things were different when I was young,” or words to that effect?

  Is it possible you ever said anything of the kind yourself? If so, don’t be deluded into thinking it is because of your knowledge of life nor that the idea is at all original with you. That remark has become a habit with the human race, having been made at least 900 years ago and I suspect it has been repeated by every generation since.

  An interesting article in “Asia” tells of a book of old Japan that is being translated by the great Japanese scholars Mr. Aston and Mr. Sansome. The book was written by a lady of the court, during the reign of the Japanese Emperor Ichijo, nearly a thousand years ago.

  Among other interesting things in the article, I found this quotation from the old book—“‘In olden times’ said one of her Majesty’s ladies, ‘even the common people had elegant tastes. You never hear of such things nowadays’.”

  Doesn’t that have a familiar sound? One’s mind grows dizzy trying to imagine what things would have been like in the times that were “olden times” a thousand years ago, but evidently things were “going from bad to worse” even then.

  “Distance lends enchantment to the view,” looking in one direction as well as in another and that is why, I think, events of olden times and of our childhood and youth are enveloped in such a rosy cloud, just as at that time the future glowed with bright colors. It all depends on which way we’re looking. Youth ever gazes forward while age is inclined to look back. And so older persons think things were better when they were young.

  “WHEN I WAS A CHILD—”

  Not long ago, I caught myself saying, “when I was a child, children were more respectful to their parents;” when as a matter of fact I can remember children who were not so obedient as some who are with us today and I know, when I am truthful with myself, that it always, as now, has taken all kinds of children to make the world.

  Sometimes we are inclined to wish our childhood days might come again but I am always rescued from such folly by remembering a remark I once heard a man make—“Wish I were a boy again!” he exclaimed, “I do not! When I was a boy I had to hoe my row in the corn-field with father and the hired man; I must keep up too and then while they rested in the shade I had to run and get the drinking water.”

  And so quite often the rather morbid longing for the past will be dispelled by facing the plain facts.

  There are abuses in the world, today, surely; there have always been. Our job is to face those of our day and correct them.

  We have been doing a great deal of howling over the high prices we have to pay and the comparatively low prices we get and we should do more than cry aloud about it, but we would have suffered worse in those good old times after the civil war when the coarsest of muslin and calico cost 50 cents a yard and banks failed over night, leaving their worthless money in circulation.

  Prices have not been so high after this much greater war and our money has been good. It is a frightful thing that our civilization should be disgraced by the conditions of the world today, but in the former Dark Ages of history there was no Red Cross organization working to help and save.

  Abuses there are, to be sure, wrong to be righted, sorrows to be comforted; these are obstacles to be met and overcome. But as far back as I can remember the old times were good times; they have been good all down thru the years, full of love and service, of ideals and achievements—the future is in our hands to make it what we will.

  Love and service, with a belief in the future and expectation of better things in the tomorrow of the world is a good working philosophy; much better than, “in olden times—things were so much better when I was young.” For there is no turning back nor standing still; we must go forward, into the future, generation after generation toward the accomplishment of the ends that have been set for the human race.

  The notes of the great bell over a Buddhist temple in Japan are said to announce the transience of life and to say as it tolls—

  “All things are transient,

  They, being born, must die,

  And being born are dead,

  And being dead are glad to be at rest.”

  But however fleeting and changeable life may appear to be on the surface, we know that the great underlying values of life are always the same; no different today than they were a thousand years ago.

  From a Farm Woman to You

  July 1, 1921

  When Rose Wilder Lane wrote me about the street of the alchemists in the old city of Prague, it gave me a sense of shock that people, not so very long ago, should have credited anyone with the powers which alchemists were popularly supposed to possess. No wonder the poor things failed to live up to their reputation and were thrown to the wild beasts! It was really too much to demand that they should change common metals into gold.

  But I have found an alchemist who is successful in doing what was then attempted in vain. She is just a farm woman like ourselves and would be very much surprised if she were accused of practicing alchemy. But she has a clear right to the title for she is continually transmuting the dross of common things into pure gold, or the most precious things in life.

  To her, the every day work is not drudgery but a labor of love, to help the husband
who works so hard, to make the dear ones comfortable and happy, to keep the home bright and beautiful outside and in.

  Discouragements do not dishearten her because she sees always some advantage, some blessing in them, changing by her magic arts their dark hues to brightness. I bewailed the fact that the freezing weather had killed the fruit, she replied: “Well, we will get a rest from putting up this year and how good it will be next year and how we’ll enjoy working with it. Besides we all have a good supply left over. There are bright spots, let’s look at them!”

  Indeed why not enjoy the vacation from the work, instead of making ourselves miserable over the loss! Complaints and wailings don’t help matters and we may as well get joy and happiness out of circumstances as to choose gloom and discontent.

  As a Farm Woman Thinks (2)

  July 15, 1921

  It is hot in the kitchen these days cooking for the men in the hay harvest fields. But perhaps we are making ourselves more warm and tired than necessary, by fretting and thinking how tired and warm we are. We would be much cooler and less tired if, instead of thinking of the weather and our weariness, we would try to remember the bird songs we heard in the early morning, or notice the view of the woods and hills, or valley and stream. It would help us to think of the cooling breeze on the porch where we rest in the evening’s lengthening shadows when the long, hot day is over.

  There are pleasant things to think about and beauty to be found everywhere and they grow by dwelling on them. If we would but open our eyes to the beauty of our surroundings we would be much happier and more comfortable. The kingdom of home, as well as the Kingdom of Heaven, is within us. It is pleasant and happy or the opposite according as our minds and hearts atune themselves to the beauty and joy around us, or vibrate to thoughts of ugliness and discomfort.