The Bismarck Tribune Newspaper, July 22, 1932, Page 6

Unie nT i TT OUT MMOL pee JYVNVOUANAQOOOSUOETO OAACUACUOEESE NE WOT ili Vemma Going back to the land calls for hard work, and lots of it. . . shows a farmer, newly-arrived from the city, getting the stumps and timber slashings of his land after removing the second-growth trees. MERICA is developing a new gen- eration of pioneers. Like those of an earlier day, who went west in creaking covered wag- ons, these modern pioneers are leaving the pop- ulous cities behind them and journeying to new lands, new opportunities, a new mode of life. Instead of ox-drawn wagons, the 1932 hegira employs squeaking, battered moior cars, ofttimes groaning and limping under the burden of humanity and household chattels heaped upon them. The end of the rainbow for these courageous travelers is the same which beckoned their forefathers into the wil- derness—a piece of land on which they hope to establish a home where they will have food, shelter and a living which cannot be snatched from them by the adversities of industrial fluctuations. Today the United States is in the midst of a back-to-the-land movement of the greatest magnitude witnessed in decades. It is led by the unemployed who have saved a little money—some- times no more than a hundred dollars or two—and who are willing to face tre- mendous hardships and often real physi- cal suffering for the chance to win them- selves a home. In New England, the south, the midwest, the northwest and on the far Pacific Coast the stream of families going back to the farm is flowing slowly but earnestly on its way. Several thousand familics already have made the change. Thousands more are un- dertaking their adventurous transition this spring and summer. In the cheap land dis tricts of the central north west alone, letters from prospective settlers are coming to raiiroads and other agencies at the rate of about a thousand a day. and have been for months. ayes business of go ing back to the farm isn't all roses, as every family which has tried it will testify. Of the thousands who make the attempt to change from a city life to country life, many are foredoomed to failure, others to a life of bare existence, while on- ly those best fitted by na- ture and experience to survive the battle will eventually come out on top. None can succeed without the most gruel- ling labor and sacrifice, unless they have plenty of capital. Sentimentalists who would put the jobless on land indiscriminately and by wholesale, write poetically of the joys of life in God’s pure air and sunshine, where a kindly and beneficent Mother Nature pours out food, health and happiness to all comers. These theorists would learn much by going out into the semiwilderness and talking to some of the hundreds of families which have trans- lated into action the dream of getting “just a little piece of ground with a few chickens and cows.” They would discover that a city man with no rural experience or knowledge can starve on a piece of potentially productive land. ‘AS expressed by Bill Ford, who was a bus driver in Buffalo, N. Y., before he moved onto a hundred acres of timbered land in northern Minnesota: “A farmer may seem a tube when he comes to the big towns, but just put a real city man on the land and see what a dumb ox HE is!” In the district where Ford settled, more than a hundred other families from industrial centers of the east, midwest and south have bought cut- over land in the past 18 months. They center about the little town of Lengby, Minn., on the Great Northern Railway, and form a typical colony of the back-to-the-land movement. Their experiences should be of some help to the. scores of thousands of other city folks who are thinking of the soil as a haven of refuge from present economic troubles. Bill Ford and his wife and three small chil- M0000 There’s no bake shop handy for the new pioncers. . Mrs. B. H. Berry, with their three children looking on, bake their Bem vecereengaqanegceenetcerecnee eee ea aaa ateeet gang enacerattta This photograph Under the whip of the depression, a new generation of pioneers is developing in America as thousands of unemployed drift from the cities to hew their living from the soil . » So Mr. and own bread. dren are accustomed to the comforts, conven- iences and luxuries common to the city family of modest but steady income. They have spent something more than a year in their little cabin in the woods, “By trading in our automobile and using our savings,” said Bill, “we got what seemed a first-class cut-over homestead. Then 1 began to learn about the country. “In the first place, 1 bought too much tim- bered land, when for the same money | could have had a smaller piece with more clearing done. It takes cleared ground to grow crops and it’s all-fired hard, slow labor for a man to do the clearing, especially if he has never tried it before. %¢¢-)F course a settler with little means needs plenty of timber for fuel, log buildings and for cutting to sell in the winter months, but you don’t want all timber. “Our first spring on the land we managed to get some ground ready for planting potatves, beans and other vegetables, and some stock feed. Then I found out there is more to rais- ing crops than just planting the seeds. “T planted some stuff too early and lost it. { planted some too late and lost it. If I had known more about the work we would have had good yields, for the soil is very productive here. “I had bought a team of horses and half a dozen pigs, also a couple of cows, as a start in livestock. Because I did not know how to OUTTA HUTTE Co Where heating plants are a trifle primitive. . . John Hall (right) and her son and sister, grouped around their stove, made of an old sheet-steel oil barrel. take care of them one horse died, and it was followed by five of the pigs. That's losing money fast. “Meantime, I lost 100 pounds in weight from worry and the extremely hard physical labor, to which I was unaccustomed. But now we have that first year behind us, and we learned much from our experiences. | am not ready to quit and am determined not to go back east, but it certainly is a whole lot harder to make good on the land than we expected.” Perhaps it should be explained here what cut-over land is and why it attracts that class The first step in the process of winning a new home. . . log cabin in the North Central cut-over region. kim just $20. of settlers with the least funds. There are large areas in Upper Michigan, Northern Wiscon- sin, Northern Minnesota, Ida- ho, Washington, Oregon and other states where virgin for- ests were cut by the lumbermen scores of years ago. UCH of this land is cov- ered with second growth timber, pine, oak, birch, ma- ple, poplar and other trees. Some of it has excellent soil, plentiful moisture and other requisites for good farming ground. Oth- er parts are sandy, dry, swampy, or with similar draw- backs. Some of the distncts are near roads and markets. Others are isolated and far from highways or towns, The right type of cut-over land is attractive to settlers of little means because the land is naturally cheap, can be bought with little down and taxes are comparatively low. A man who knows how can build a snug, warm log cabin for $25, grow enough vegetables for food and make a few dollars cash in the winter by cutting cord wood, pulp wood or logs, providing there is a market. As he gradually clears off trees and grubs out stumps, he can grow more crops, add a few pigs, cows and sheep and get more equipment. Thus if he makes good he gradually develops a farm of much more than original value which is capable of making him a comfortable living. Years are required to do this. As Mr. Ford intimated, a little farming ex- perience mgy mean all the difference between success and starvation. For instance, there is John Hall, who lives » Mrs. (Copyright, 1932, by EveryWeek Magazine—Printed in U. 8. A.) UNEAUNEAU MN . A settler and his newly-completed ._... The cabin, which he built himself, cost ONNUUULAASN AAT can ETAT UT TTT " Instead of ox-drawn covered wagons, the 1932 hegira employs squeaking, battered motor cars, ofttimes groaning and limping under the burden of humanity and house- hold chattels heaped upon them. only a few miles from the Ford place. He is a big, broad-shouldered, soft- voiced man who came all the way from Asheville, N. C. He was almost without funds, but he did know something about farming. He picked a smaller tract of land than Ford, but one on which a former settler had built a log cabin and cleared several acres for cultivation. The first settler gave up the battle after getting that far. “WE had just $7.40 after we got on this piece of ground and paid the freight on what belongings we brought,” said Mr. Hall. “That was two years ago this April. “Last summer we grew 200 bushels of potatoes on two and a half acres. Of course, potatoes aren’t worth much of anything now, but they are good hog feed, as well as good food for the family. “We also raised corn and plenty of vegetables of all kinds. We grew enough hogs to keep us supplied with meat win- ter and summer. Now I have a herd of 10 cows, also two horses. “There is plenty to eat, plenty of fuel in winter, and a good chance to pay out on our land. We are glad we came.” Hall, of course, has not paid for all his stock. He was able to obtain credit because he proved he understood farming and care of livestock. B. H. Berry and his wife and their three small children left a modern six-room home in Milwaukee to live in a one-room board house in the cut-over lands, Berry grew up on an Iowa farm. The era of high wages drew him into a Milwaukee fac- tory, where he made a good living as a ma- chinist. He married, bought a home on con- tract, and considered himself settled. Then came a long period of part-time work, then no work at all. His savings dwindled. He could not meet the payments on his home. Finally it was taken from him. Determined to seek independence, he salvaged enough from the wreck to make a small down payment on 80 acres of unimproved ground and get his fam- ily on it. “On four acres we grew 400 bushels of po- tatoes last summer, and plenty of vegetables to carry us through the winter,” Berry recounted. “We have butchered two hogs for meat. I've been able to keep a little cash coming in through the winter by cutting wood. 6 is the hardest kind of work, but you could not drag me back to the city with a team of horses. Eventually I think we will have a nice, comfortable home of our own and be safe from want.” What of the women and children? As with the men, some belong on the land and some do not. Most of the women were used to electric lights, vacuum cleaners, gas ranges, furnace heat, up-to-date grocery shops and meat mar- kets, pretty clothes, movies and some sort of an automobile. On the “homesteads” they cook on a wood stove, have a kerosene lamp, carry water from a spring or well, sometimes a quarter mile away; buy only bare necessities, such as sugar, flour and salt; dress in rough clothes and have little recreation save possibly an occasional neighborhood gathering. HTC : | msn li <M QSUNUEUIAOUUNUESA0 A400 UGE CASE A cag = TT Py :