Laura Ingalls Wilder, Farm Journalist
Page 12
Tact does for life just what lubricating oil does for machinery. It makes the wheels run smoothly and without it there is a great deal of friction and the possibility of a breakdown. Many a car on the way of life fails to make the trip as expected for lack of this lubricant. Tact is a quality that may be acquired. It is only the other way of seeing and presenting a subject. There are always two sides to a thing, you know, and if one side is disagreeable, the reverse is quite apt to be very pleasant. The tactful person may see both sides but uses the pleasant one.
“Your teeth are so pretty when you keep them white,” said Ida to Stella; which, of course was equal to saying that Stella’s teeth were ugly when she did not keep them clean, as frequently happened, but Stella left her friend with the feeling that she had been complimented and also with the shamed resolve that she would keep those pretty teeth white.
Tom’s shoulders were becoming inclined to droop a little. To be sure he was a little older than he used to be and sometimes very tired; but the droop was really caused more by carelessness than by anything else. When Jane came home from a visit to a friend whose husband was very round shouldered indeed, she noticed more plainly than usual the beginning of the habit in Tom.
Choosing a moment when he straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders, she said: “Oh, Tom! I’m so glad you are tall and straight, not round shouldered like Dick. He is growing worse every day until it is becoming a positive deformity with him.” And Tom was glad she had not observed the tendency in his shoulders and thereafter their straightness was noticeable.
Jane might have chosen a moment when Tom’s shoulders were drooping and with perfect truthfulness have said: “Tom! You are getting to be round shouldered and ugly like Dick. In a little while you will look like a hunchback.”
Tom would have felt hurt and resentful and probably would have retorted, “Well you’re getting older and uglier too,” or something like that, and his hurt pride and vanity would have been a hindrance instead of a help to improvement.
The children, of course, get their bad tempers from their fathers, but I think we get our vanity from Adam, for we all have it, men and women alike, and like most things it is good when rightly used.
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Tact may be trickery but after all I think I prefer the dictionary definition—“nice discernment.” To be tactful one has only to discern or distinguish, or in other words to see nicely and speak and act accordingly.
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My sympathy just now, however, is very much with the persons who seem to be unable to say the right thing at the proper time. In spite of oneself there are times when one’s mental fingers seem to be all thumbs. At a little gathering, not long ago, I differed with the hostess on a question which arose and disagreed with just a shade more warmth than I intended. I resolved to make it up by being a little extra sweet to her before I left. The refreshments served were so dainty and delicious that I thought I would find some pleasant way to tell her so. But alas! As it was a very hot day, ice water was served after the little luncheon and I found myself looking sweetly into my hostess’s face and heard myself say, “Oh, wasn’t that water good.” What could one do after that, but murmur the conventional, “Such a pleasant afternoon,” at leaving and depart feeling like a little girl who had blundered at her first party.
An Autumn Day
October 20, 1916
King Winter has sent warning of his coming! There was a delightful freshness in the air the other morning, and all over the low places lay the first frost of the season.
What a beautiful world this is! Have you noticed the wonderful coloring of the sky at sunrise? For me there is no time like the early morning, when the spirit of light broods over the earth at its awakening. What glorious colors in the woods these days! Did you ever think that great painters have spent their lives trying to reproduce on canvas what we may see every day? Thousands of dollars are paid for their pictures which are not so beautiful as those nature gives us freely. The colors in the sky at sunset, the delicate tints of the early spring foliage, the brilliant autumn leaves, the softly colored grasses and lovely flowers—what painter ever equalled their beauties with paint and brush? I have in my living room three large windows uncovered by curtains which I call my pictures. Everchanging with the seasons, with wild birds and gay squirrels passing on and off the scene, I never have seen a landscape painting to compare with them.
As we go about our daily tasks the work will seem lighter if we enjoy these beautiful things that are just outside our doors and windows. It pays to go the top of the hill, now and then, to see the view and to stroll thru the wood lot or pasture forgetting that we are in a hurry or that there is such a thing as a clock in the world. You are “so busy”! Oh yes I know it! We are all busy, but what are we living for anyway and why is the world so beautiful if not for us? The habits we form last us thru this life and I firmly believe into the next. Let’s not make such a habit of hurry and work that when we leave this world we will feel impelled to hurry thru the spaces of the universe using our wings for feather dusters to clean away the star dust.
The true way to live is to enjoy every moment as it passes and surely it is in the everyday things around us that the beauty of life lies.
I strolled today down a woodland path—
A crow cawed loudly and flew away.
The sky was blue and the clouds were gold
And drifted before me fold on fold;
The leaves were yellow and red and brown
And patter, patter the nuts fell down,
On this beautiful, golden autumn day.
A squirrel was storing his winter hoard,
The world was pleasant: I lingered long,
The brown quails rose with a sudden whirr
And a little bundle, of eyes and fur,
Took shape of a rabbit and leaped away.
A little chipmunk came out to play
And the autumn breeze sang a wonder song.
Our Fair and Other Things
November 5, 1916
The annual fair at Mansfield was a success in spite of the summer’s drouth. Farmers surely are the most optimistic people in the world! Altho badly punished, in the conflict with the forces of nature this season, they were by no means defeated, as was proved by the agricultural exhibits and everywhere could be overheard planning for next year’s campaign.
Discouraged? Not a bit of it! “It’s been a bad season but we’ll come out all right,” said one man. “The old cows will take us thru.” One could understand his confidence after looking at the stock exhibited. Purebred Jerseys, Holsteins and Polled Durhams were there, each so good in its way that one could not be partial to any. In the hog pens were fine Duroc Jerseys and Poland Chinas, one weighing 800 pounds. It looked as tho the day of the “hazel splitter” was past in the Ozarks.
The women as usual did their part toward the fair in a very satisfactory manner in every department. Mrs. C. A. Durnell of Hillside Poultry Farm made a good superintendent of poultry and M. L. Andrews, poultry judge, is conceded to be one of the best in the state. Mr. Andrews is very helpful to anyone interested in poultry. As he examined bird after bird, he displayed their fine points and explained where they failed to come up to standard, to a small interested audience which followed him from coop to coop. Altogether we farmers and people of Mansfield feel very proud of our fair.
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One amusement feature provided as a free show on the street was, to me, shocking. I knew of course that the thing is often done, but I never have watched while knives were thrown around a human target. The target as usual was a woman and a man threw the knives. Effacing myself behind a convenient corner, which hid the spectacle, I watched the faces of the crowd. They reminded me strongly of the faces of the crowd watching a Mexican bull fight that I saw in a moving picture. There happened to be no bloodshed in the knife throwing but judging by the expression of some of the faces there was a tense expectancy and unconsciously almost a hope
that there might be. In the crowd were women and children as well as men and boys, all eager, alert and watching—for what? A failure of nerve, perhaps, in one of the performers; an instant’s dimming of vision or slight miscalculation on the part of the man. There is something thrilling and ennobling in seeing a person brave death in a good cause or for an ideal, but to watch anyone risk being butchered merely to make holiday sport savors too much of other things. We condemn the bull fight and the spectators you know. Is it perhaps a case of the pot calling the kettle black?
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It is not alone “one touch of nature” which “makes the whole world kin,” but every emotion which writes itself on the human countenance creates a family likeness, with others of its kind, even between people of different races. I saw this plainly when present at a Chinese Salvation Army meeting, on a street corner in San Francisco’s Chinatown. The crowd was large and all Chinese except myself and escort. Altho Chinese was the only language spoken and I could not understand a word, I could follow the exhorter’s meaning and by the expressions on the faces about me could tell the state of mind of his audience. It was one of my many curious experiences in the city and when the leader started singing “Onward Christian Soldiers,” in Chinese and the crowd joined in, I felt as tho my ears must be bewitched. It was quite as startling as it was to see the words “Methodist Episcopal Church” over the door of a beautiful building, built in Chinese style, on another street corner in Chinatown. The words seemed no more to belong with the fanciful Chinese architecture than the Chinese words belonged with the good old American hymn tune sung by Oriental folks.
Thanksgiving Time
November 20, 1916
As Thanksgiving day draws near again, I am reminded of an occurrence of my childhood. To tell the truth, it is a yearly habit of mine to think of it about this time and to smile at it once more.
We were living on the frontier in South Dakota then. There’s no more frontier within the boundaries of the United States, more’s the pity, but then we were ahead of the railroad in a new unsettled country. Our nearest and only neighbor was 12 miles away and the store was 40 miles distant.
Father had laid in a supply of provisions for the winter and among them were salt meats, but for fresh meat we depended on father’s gun and the antelope which fed, in herds, across the prairie. So we were quite excited, one day near Thanksgiving, when father hurried into the house for his gun and then away again to try for a shot at a belated flock of wild geese hurrying south.
We would have roast goose for Thanksgiving dinner! “Roast goose and dressing seasoned with sage,” said sister Mary. “No not sage! I don’t like sage and we won’t have it in the dressing,” I exclaimed. Then we quarreled, sister Mary and I, she insisting that there should be sage in the dressing and I declaring there should not be sage in the dressing, until father returned, —without the goose! I remember saying in a meek voice to sister Mary, “I wish I had let you have the sage,” and to this day when I think of it I feel again just as I felt then and realize how thankful I would have been for roast goose and dressing with sage seasoning—with or without any seasoning—I could even have gotten along without the dressing. Just plain goose roasted would have been plenty good enough.8
This little happening has helped me to be properly thankful even tho at times the seasoning of my blessings has not been just such as I would have chosen.
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“I suppose I should be thankful for what we have, but I can’t feel very thankful when I have to pay $2.60 for a little flour and the price still going up,” writes a friend, and in the same letter she says, “we are in our usual health.” The family are so used to good health that it is not even taken into consideration as a cause of thanksgiving. We are so inclined to take for granted the blessings we possess and to look for something peculiar, some special good luck for which to be thankful.
I read a Thanksgiving story, the other day, in which a woman sent her little boy out to walk around the block and look for something for which to be thankful.
One would think that the fact of his being able to walk around the block and that he had a mother to send him would have been sufficient cause for thankfulness. We are nearly all afflicted with mental farsightedness and so easily overlook the thing which is obvious and near. There are our hands and feet, —who ever thinks of giving thanks for them, until indeed they, or the use of them, are lost. We usually accept them as a matter of course, without a thought, but a year of being crippled has taught me the value of my feet and two perfectly good feet are now among my dearest possessions. Why! There is greater occasion for thankfulness just in the unimpaired possession of one of the five senses than there would be if some one left us a fortune. Indeed how could the value of one be reckoned? When we have all five in good working condition we surely need not make a search for anything else in order to feel that we should give thanks to Whom thanks are due.
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I once remarked upon how happy and cheerful a new acquaintance seemed always to be and the young man to whom I spoke replied, “Oh he’s just glad that he is alive.” Upon inquiry, I learned that several years before this man had been seriously ill, that there had been no hope of his living, but to everyone’s surprise he had made a complete recovery and since then he had always been remarkably happy and cheerful.
So if for nothing else, let’s “just be glad that we are alive” and be doubly thankful if like the Scotch poet, we have a good appetite and the means to gratify it.
Some hae meat that canna eat
And some want meat that lack it,
But I hae meat and I can eat,
And sae the Lord be thanket.
Learning to Work Together
December 5, 1916
The Bryant Farmers’ Club held their first annual auction and stock sale November 2. This plan of an auction sale for a neighborhood is something new, I think, in the work of farmers’ clubs. The idea originated in the mind of the president, M. L. Andrews and was eagerly adopted by the club members.
Every member listed what he had for sale and it was surprising how a little from every one mounted up in the total. There were 40 head of stock listed and a wagon load of household goods.
The day of the auction was pleasant and the old mill yard and the one street of the little town of Bryant were filled with wagons, buggies, horses and motor cars, while a lively crowd of about 400 men, women and children surrounded the auctioneer as he cried the sale, or gathered at the lunch counter for refreshment.
The sale was a success, considering the fact that it was the first of the kind and rather an experiment, it went off very well indeed. The members and officers of the club are learning from experience, however, and already plans are being made to insure that next year’s sale shall be more satisfactory still. Some farmers are saying that, if they can list their stock together to sell at auction, there is nothing to hinder their shipping together in carload lots to market. And so the idea of co-operation keeps growing, when once it has taken root.
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I know a little band of friends that calls itself a woman’s club. The avowed purpose of this club is study, but there is an undercurrent of deeper, truer things than even culture and self improvement. There is no obligation and there are no promises, but in forming the club and in selecting new members, only those are chosen who are kind hearted and dependable as well as the possessors of a certain degree of intelligence and a small amount of that genius which is the capacity for careful work. In short, those who are taken into membership are those who will make good friends and so they are a little band who are each for all and all for each.
If one needs the helping hand of comradeship, not one but all are eager and willing to help, with financial aid if needed, but more often with a good word or a small act of kindness. They are getting so in the habit of speaking good words that I expect to see them all develop into Golden Gossips. Ever hear of golden gossip? I read of it some years ago.
A woman who was always talking about her friends and neighbors, made it her business to talk of them in fact, never said anything but good of them. She was a gossip but it was “golden gossip.” This woman’s club seems to be working in the same way and associations of friendship and mutual helpfulness are being built up which will last for life. It is a beautiful thing, and more than ever one is impressed with the idea that it is a pity there are—
So many gods, so many creeds,
So many paths that wind and wind
When just the art of being kind
Is all the sad world needs.9
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“Money is the root of all evil” says the proverb, but I think that proverb maker only dug down part way around the plant of evil. If he had really gotten to the root of the matter, I am sure he would have found that root to be selfishness—just selfishness pure and simple. Why all the mad scramble for money? Why are we all “money-mad Americans?” It is just for our selfish gratification with things that money can buy, from world dominion to a stick of striped candy—selfishness, just selfishness.
Not long ago I was visiting in a family where there were several children. The father lost his memorandum book and was inquiring for it. No one had seen it. “I wish,” he said, “that you children would find it for me before I come back at noon.” There was silence for a minute and then one of the children said: “Why don’t you put up a quarter? That’ll find it!”
“Well, I will,” his father answered and at once the children were all eagerness to search. It seemed to me such a pity to appeal to a selfish interest in the home where there should be loving service freely given.
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In the blacksmith shop, one hot day last summer, the blacksmith was sweating over his hot irons when two idle boys sauntered in and over to the water bucket. It was empty. “Ain’t yuh got no water?” asked one of the boys.