Were Mabel and Kate kin-folks? Oh no, merely relatives!
Showing Dad the Way
Mansfield Has a Boys’ Good Road Club That Works and Plays
August 5, 1916
The science of road making was brought to such perfection in the days of ancient Rome, that some of the old Roman roadways are in existence today. But it remained for the Ozark Mountain town of Mansfield, in the year 1915, to show the world something new in the way of road building.
Mansfield is situated on one of the highest points of the Ozarks, so exactly at the crest of the slopes to the north and south that the rainfall from the caves, on the north side of the railway station, runs north to the Gasconade river, which drains the northern slopes of the Ozarks, while the rain that falls on the south side of the station roof, finds its way south to Bryant River which is the waterway for the southern slope.
Steep hillsides and swift flowing mountain streams make beautiful scenery but also they make it very hard to keep the roads in fit condition to be traveled and last summer a new element entered into the problem—the urge of competition.
One of the proposed routes, for the state automobile road, runs thru Mansfield and consequently the citizens of the town and surrounding country had quite a severe attack of roadmaking fever.
Other places were affected also and there was a strong, tho friendly rivalry, among the nearby town and different road districts, as to which should make the best showing in working the roads.
Then the mayor of Mansfield, Dr. F. H. Riley, had an idea. He has an idea every once in a while, but this has proved to be one of the happiest, — “Why not make use of the energy and activity of the boys of the road district, which were going to waste?
“Growing boys must have some excitement. They must have an outlet for their exuberant spirits and some way to work off their superfluous energy. Without proper guidance these things run riot and make trouble for themselves and all concerned. I have it! We will guide this energy and it shall help to turn the wheels of industry even as do the swift streams of the Ozarks, when properly controlled.”
Mansfield is a town with only 900 inhabitants but they are very much alive and quite capable of following an idea to see where it will lead, so the “Mansfield Boys Good Roads Club” was organized with 50 members and started out to help work the road.
It is astonishing how much work 50 good lively boys can do in a day when their hearts are in it. They raked the loose rocks out of the road; cleaned out ditches and culverts; picked up rocks from adjoining fields to be used on the road; cut brush from the roadway; and thoroly enjoyed it all.
Especially did they enjoy themselves when noontime came, for, with the dinner hour, arrived their mothers and their sisters and their aunts, with well filled baskets. And you all know what happens when a small boy meets a picnic.
The boys were not all so small at that—though it made no difference with what happened to the picnic—for the business and professional men of Mansfield, learning what was afoot, had begged to be taken on as associate members of the boys’ club. They were present with their picks and shovels and acquired a good appetite for the noontime lunch.
Some of the business men of the town, who were unable to take an active part, opened their purses and contributed to help along the work.
Farmers, who knew of the plans, not to be outdone by the townspeople, came with their teams and gave their time and strength to the cause.
All worked with great enthusiasm and the spirit of the old time country “workings” and the roads leading into Mansfield presented the appearance of an elongated beehive.
The club spent two days on the road last summer and, besides other work accomplished, the boys themselves picked up and hauled more than 200 loads of rock, which were used in bad places in the road bed and in building a culvert.
The Mansfield Boys Good Roads Club has been a great success, not only in the amount of work accomplished, but because of the example it has set. Which example will be followed, when spring comes, by the organization of several other boys’ clubs, for work on the roads of the Ozarks.
As the Mansfield club was the first organized, its members intend to stay in the lead and Dr. Riley and the boys expect to do very much better next summer than they did last. There will be at least one “working” a month, during the summer season, Dr. Riley thinks, and the picnic lunch, at noon, will be a special feature of each occasion.
Being the originator of the plan and one of the three road commissioners for the district, Dr. Riley is in a position to greatly influence the boys of the club and he intends to lead them in beautifying the roads as well as improving their driving condition. He says there is no need for anything to be ugly in order to be useful, and nut and fruit trees, by the roadside, give a pleasant shade on warm days; and make of a road a beautiful driveway. Planting and caring for these trees would be an education in itself for the boys.
Some of the effects of organizing the boys for this work are shown in the increased interest their elders take in the subject of good roads. The Mansfield road district, last fall, voted a bond issue of $20,000 for road work and it is hoped that it will result in putting in good shape the 35 miles of road in the district.
But it is expected that the effects of this work on the boys themselves will be very far reaching. It keeps them occupied during some of their idle time and thus out of mischief; gives them a good, healthy, live interest and makes them feel themselves responsible members of the community.
It teaches them the necessity for good roads; and a proper respect for public property. What boy, after realizing the work it takes to make a good road; and feeling that he owns an interest in it, because of his labors in making it good, but would feel indignant to see the road carelessly or wantonly damaged?
This feeling of a proprietary interest in public property, if wisely handled, will surely extend to other things and help to make, of these boys, public spirited, intelligent citizens.
A Dog’s a Dog for A’ That
Intelligent Pets Sometimes Seem Almost Like Real Folks
August 20, 1916
A redbird swinging in the grape arbor saw himself in the glass of my kitchen window not long ago. He tried to fly thru the glass to reach the strange bird he saw there and when his little mate came flitting by he tried to fight his reflection. Apparently he was jealous. During all one day he fretted and struggled to drive the stranger away. He must have told his little wife about it that night, I think, for in the morning they came to the arbor together and she alighted before the window while he stayed in the background. She gave Mr. Redbird one look, after glancing in the glass, then turned and flew fiercely at her reflection, twittering angrily. One could imagine her saying: “So that’s it! This strange lady Redbird is the reason for your hanging around here instead of getting busy building the nest. I thought something was wrong, but I’ll soon drive her away!” She tried to fight the strange lady bird until her husband objected to her paying so much attention to his rival and then they took turns, he declaring there was a gentleman there, she vowing there was a lady and doing her best to drive her away. At last between them they seemed to understand and now they both come occasionally to swing on the grape vine before the window and admire themselves in the glass.
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There are many interesting things in the out-of-doors life that comes so close to us in the country, and if we show a little kindness to the wild creatures they quickly make friends with us and permit us a delightful intimacy with them and their homes. A bird in a cage is not a pretty sight, to me, but it is a pleasure to have the wild birds and the squirrels nesting around the house and so tame that they do not mind our watching them. Persons who shoot or allow shooting on their farms drive away a great deal of amusement and pleasure with the game, as well as do themselves pecuniary damage, while a small boy with a stone handy can do even more mischief than a man with a gun.
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It is surprising how
like human beings animals seem when they are treated with consideration. Did you ever notice the sense of humor animals have? Ever see a dog apologize—not a cringing fawning for favor, but a frank apology as one gentleman to another?
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Shep was trying to learn to sit up and shake hands, but try as he would he could not seem to get the knack of keeping his balance in the upright position. He was an old dog, and you know it has been said that, “It is hard to teach an old dog new tricks.” No sympathy has ever been wasted on the dog but I can assure you that it also is hard for the old dog. After a particularly disheartening session one day, we saw him out on the back porch alone and not knowing that he was observed. He was practicing his lesson without a teacher. We watched while he tried and failed several times, then finally got the trick of it and sat up with his paw extended. The next time we said, “How do you do, Shep,” he had his lesson perfectly. After that it was easy to teach him to fold his paws and be a “Teddy Bear” and to tell us what he said to tramps. We never asked him to lie down and roll over. He was not that kind of character. Shep never would do his tricks for any one but us, tho he would shake hands with others when we told him to do so. His eyesight became poor as he grew older and he did not always recognize his friends. Once he made a mistake and barked savagely at an old friend whom he really regarded as one of the family tho he had not seen him for some time. Later as we all sat in the door yard, Shep seemed uneasy. Evidently there was something on his mind. At last he walked deliberately to the visitor, sat up and held out his paw. It was so plainly an apology that our friend said: “That’s all right Shep old fellow! Shake and forget it!” Shep shook hands and walked away perfectly satisfied.
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My little French Poodle, Incubus, is blind. He used to be very active and run about the farm, but his chief duty, as he saw it, was to protect me. Altho he cannot see, he still performs that duty, guarding me at night and flying at any stranger who comes too near me during the day. Of what he is thinking, when he sits for long periods in the yard, with his face to the sun, I am too stupid to understand perfectly, but I feel that in his little doggy heart, he is asking the eternal, “Why?” as we all do at times. After awhile he seemingly decides to make the best of it and takes a walk around the familiar places, or comes in the house and does his little tricks for candy with a cheery good will. If patience and cheerfulness and courage, if being faithful to our trust and doing our duty under difficulties count for so much in man that he expects to be rewarded for them, both here and hereafter, how are they any less in the life of my little blind dog? Surely such virtues in animals are worth counting in the sum total of good in the universe.
Do Not Waste Your Strength
September 5, 1916
“Clothes are much more sanitary if not ironed after washing,” said a physician in an article, on fresh air and sunshine which I read the other day. Isn’t that delightful news and especially so in hot weather? I have not ironed knit underwear, stockings, sheets or towels for years but, altho I knew there was a very good reason for not doing so, I have always felt rather apologetic about it. Science is surely helping the housewife! Now instead of fearing that the neighbors will say I am lazy or a poor housekeeper, when they find out that I slight my ironing, I can say: “Oh no, I never do much ironing, except the outside clothes. We must not iron out the fresh air and sunshine, you know. It is much more healthful not, the doctors say.” Seriously, there is something very refreshing about sheets and pillow slips just fresh from the line, after being washed and dried in the sun and air. Just try them that way and see if your sleep is not sweeter.
Our inability to see things that are right before our eyes, until they are pointed out to us, would be amusing if it were not at times so serious. We are coming, I think, to depend too much on being told and shown and taught, instead of using our own eyes and brains and inventive faculties, which are likely to be just as good as any other person’s.
I should like to know who designed our furniture as we use it today? It must have been a man. No woman, I am sure, at least no woman who has the care of a house, would ever have made it as it is. Perhaps, if some physician or some domestic science teacher would point out to us the unnecessary dirt and the extra work caused by the height of our furniture, we would insist on having it different. Otherwise it is quite likely we shall keep on in the same old way, breaking our backs and overworking tired muscles, or we shall become careless and let the dirt accumulate.
Most furniture, and especially that in the bedroom, where of all places cleanliness should be most observed, is just high enough from the floor to permit dust and dirt to gather underneath but not high enough to be cleaned easily. It is more than likely, also, not to fit back smoothly against the wall but to set out just far enough to make another hiding place for dust. The only way to clean under and behind such articles is to move them bodily from their place, clean the wall and floor, and then move them back. This should be done every few days. However, dragging heavy dressers and wardrobes from their places and then putting them back again is hard work and it is a great deal worse than time wasted to do it.
Built-in furniture does away with a great deal of heavy work. A little built-in cupboard and a light dressing table may take the place of the heavy dresser. One does not have to clean under, behind, or on top of closets and wardrobes that reach smoothly from floor to ceiling, nor do sideboards and china closets built into the walls need to be moved when cleaning the dining room.
All the World Is Queer
September 20, 1916
“All the world is queer, except for thee and me,” said the old Quaker to his wife, “and sometimes I think thee is a little queer.”
The Man of the Place once bought me a patent churn. “Now,” said he, “throw away that old dash churn. This churn will bring the butter in 3 minutes.” It was very kind of him. He had bought the churn to please me and to lighten my work, but I looked upon it with a little suspicion. There was only one handle to turn and opposite it was a place to attach the power from a small engine. We had no engine so the churning must needs to be done with one hand, while the other steadied the churn and held it down. It was hard to do, but the butter did come quickly and I would have used it anyway because the Man of the Place had been so kind.
The tin paddles which worked the cream were sharp on the edges and they were attached to the shaft by a screw which was supposed to be loosened to remove the paddles for washing, but I could never loosen it and usually cut my hands on the sharp tin. However, I used the new churn, one hand holding it down to the floor with grim resolution, while the other turned the handle with the strength of despair when the cream thickened. Finally, it seemed that I could use it no longer. “I wish you would bring in my old dash churn,” I said to the Man of the Place. “I believe it is easier to use than this after all.”
“Oh!” said he; “you can churn in 3 minutes with this and the old one takes half a day. Put one end of a board on the churn and the other on a chair and sit on the board, then you can hold the churn down easily!” And so when I churned I sat on a board in the correct mode for horseback riding and tho the churn bucked some I managed to hold my seat. “I wish,” said I to the Man of the Place, “you would bring in my old dash churn.” (It was where I could not get it.) “I cut my hands on these paddles every time I wash them.”
“Oh, pshaw!” said he, “you can churn with this churn in 3 minutes—”
One day when the churn had been particularly annoying and had cut my hand badly, I took the mechanism of the churn, handle, shaft, wheels and paddles all attached, to the side door which is quite high from the ground and threw it as far as I could. It struck on the handle, rebounded, landed on the paddles, crumpled and lay still and I went out and kicked it before I picked it up. The handle was broken off, the shaft was bent and the paddles were a wreck.
“I wish,” I remarked casually to the Man of the Place, “that you would bring in my old dash churn. I wan
t to churn this morning.”
“Oh, use the churn you have,” said he. “You can churn in 3 minutes with it. What’s the use to spend half a day—”
“I can’t,” I interrupted. “It’s broken.”
“Why, how did that happen?” he asked.
“I dropped it—just as far as I could,” I answered in a small voice and he replied regretfully, “I wish I had known that you did not want to use it. I would like to have the wheels and shaft, but they’re ruined now.”
This is not intended as a condemnation of patent churns—there are good ones—but as a reminder that being new and patented is no proof that a thing is better, even tho some smooth tongued agent has persuaded us that it will save time.
Also, as the old Quaker remarked to his wife, “Sometimes I think thee is a little queer.”
Just a Question of Tact
Every Person Has Said Things They Didn’t Mean
October 5, 1916
“You have so much tact and can get along with people so well,” said a friend to me once. Then after a thoughtful pause she added, “But I never could see any difference between tact and trickery.” Upon my assuring her that there was no difference, she pursued the subject further.
“Now I have no tact whatever, but speak plainly,” she said pridefully. “The Scotch people are, I think, the most tactful and the Scotch, you know, are the trickiest nation in the world.”
As I am of Scotch descent, I could restrain my merriment no longer and when I recovered enough to say, “You are right, I am Scotch,” she smiled ruefully and said, “I told you I had no tact.”
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Laura Ingalls Wilder, Farm Journalist Page 11
