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PART
III
Goldfoot Farm, Scotia, N.Y.
Mon., July 27, 1925
From
all we hear we have struck the best place to work in the
neighborhood. We hear that most everybody hereabouts is
either stingy or cranky. George and Ella Goldfoot certainly
are neither, although they have no flair for management.
Everything in the house is placed most inconveniently, so
the least little job takes innumerable steps. Their chief
fault, I imagine, is over-ambition, trying to tackle more
than they are able to accomplish. One of two large farms
goes almost entirely to waste because it is impossible to
get around to tending it. Cherries, pears and apples rot
for want of picking. For a couple of years they have had
to buy several hundred dollars' worth of hay because there
was not time to cut their own. There are fields of rye,
oats, wheat, alfalfa, and corn, yet they buy grain for the
chickens. They try to grow watermelons and cantaloupe, besides
the regular garden vegetables. They sell eggs, chickens,
veal, and butter; every other day Robert and Mrs. G. churn
as much as forty-three pounds at one time.
This morning Bill was astonished by the missus' saying that
right after breakfast she had to kill a calf to take to
town. Sure enough, before the men had finished milking she
had caught and killed a calf, strung it up on a pulley over
the barn door, all quartered, ready for market. Nothing
fazes her; certainly she is the "swashbuckleer"
Bill calls her. It used to take a full day a week to deliver
her produce in town with horse and buggy; but today Bill
took her in the motorcycle, calf and all, thereby saving
her at least half a day.
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