Dear Editor:
I was married to a farm work hand thirty-one years ago. We had a strong desire for our own farm that we might get the results of our labors. We bought a farm of 65 acres, very poor, because it had been rented to Tom, Dick, and Harry until it wouldn't rent any longer and stood deserted.
The buildings were a dilapidated log henhouse and a two room dwelling house, almost as dilapidated as the henhouse. No barn nor sign of building that could be used as a barn. Hubby made a straw shed which housed our two cows, calf, and feed till spring. Then he bought a team and farm implements and another heifer to freshen.
In debt? I'll say we were, as only a first payment was made on the farm, the rest being mortgaged for all it was worth. I put my shoulder to the wheel, we both worked hard, and economized to the last degree of decency. Our children came, five boys in succession, the sixth baby boy living only five hours. Then, after six years, God answered our prayers and gave us a daughter.
Many times Hubby was so discouraged he thought of quitting the farm and trying a day-labor job, but I loved the farm and the stock that I had helped to care for. Oh, yes, I bottled pigs and lambs and slopped calves and hogs. So I always tried to console Hubby even though I fought back tears of discouragement to do it.
We stayed by the farm through thick and thin, profited by our losses and tried to correct our mistakes. Today I am a grandmother, and Hubby and I are still on the farm we started on thirty-one years ago.
We worked hard to get a start but that is past, and now we are enjoying the fruits of our labor. Hubby knows if the crops fail, he can pay the taxes from the interest on his Government bonds.