TALKS ON MANURES A SERIES OF FAMILIAR AND PRACTICAL TALKS BETWEEN THE AUTHOR AND THE DEACON, THE DOCTOR, AND OTHER NEIGHBORS, ON THE WHOLE SUBJECT TEXT

manure is handled but once. It is made in the yard and sheds, and lies there until it is drawn to the field in the spring. The manure from the cow and horse stables, and from the pig-pens, is thrown into the yard, and nothing is done to it except to level it down occasionally. In proportion to the stock kept, I think I make twice as much manure as you do.” “Yes,” said I, “twice as much _in bulk_, but one load of my manure is worth four loads of your long, coarse manure, composed principally of corn-stalks, straw, and water. I think you are wise in not spending much time in piling and working over such manure.” The Deacon and I have a standing quarrel about manure. We differ on all points. He is a good man, but not what we call a good farmer. He cleared up his farm from the original forest, and he has always been content to receive what his land would give him. If he gets good crops, well, if not, his expenses are moderate, and he manages to make both ends meet. I tell him he could double his crops, and quadruple his profits, by better farming--but though he cannot disprove the facts, he is unwilling to make any change in his system of farming. And so he continues to make just as much manure as the crops he is obliged to feed out leave in his yards, and no more. He does not, in fact, _make_ any manure. He takes what comes, and gets it on to his land with as little labor as possible. It is no use arguing with such a man. And it certainly will not do to contend that his method of _managing_ manure is all wrong. His error is in making such poor manure. But with such poor stuff as he has in his yard, I believe he is right to get rid of it with the least expense possible. I presume, too, that the Deacon is not altogether wrong in regard to the good mechanical effects of manure on undrained and indifferently cultivated land. I have no doubt that he bases his opinion on experience. The good effects of such manure as he makes must be largely due to its mechanical action--it can do little towards supplying the more important and valuable elements of plant-food. I commend the Deacon’s system of managing manure to all such as make a similar article. But I think there is a more excellent way. Feed the stock better, make richer manure, and then it will pay to bestow a little labor in taking care of it. CHAPTER XIX. HOW JOHN JOHNSTON MANAGES HIS MANURE. One of the oldest and most successful farmers, in the State of New York, is John Johnston, of Geneva. He has a farm on the borders of Seneca Lake. It is high, rolling land, but needed underdraining. This has been thoroughly done--and done with great profit and advantage. The soil is a heavy clay loam. Mr. Johnston has been in the habit of summer-fallowing largely for wheat, generally plowing three, and sometimes four times. He has been a very successful wheat-grower, almost invariably obtaining large crops of wheat, both of grain and straw. The straw he feeds to sheep in winter, putting more straw in the racks than the sheep can eat up clean, and using what they leave for bedding. The sheep run in yards enclosed with tight board fences, and have sheds under the barn to lie in at pleasure. Although the soil is rather heavy for Indian corn, Mr. Johnston succeeds in growing large crops of this great American cereal. Corn and stalks are both fed out on the farm. Mr. J. has not yet practised cutting up his straw and stalks into chaff. The land is admirably adapted to the growth of red clover, and great crops of clover and timothy-hay are raised, and fed out on the farm. Gypsum, or plaster, is sown quite freely on the clover in the spring. Comparatively few roots are raised--not to exceed an acre--and these only quite recently. The main crops are winter wheat, spring barley, Indian corn, clover, and timothy-hay, and clover-seed. The materials for making manure, then, are wheat and barley straw, Indian corn, corn-stalks, clover, and timothy-hay. These are all raised on the farm. But Mr. Johnston has for many years purchased linseed-oil cake, to feed to his sheep and cattle. This last fact must not be overlooked. Mr. J. commenced to feed oil-cake when its value was little known here, and when he bought it for, I think, seven or eight dollars a ton. He continued to use it even when he had to pay fifty dollars per ton. Mr. J. has great faith in manure--and it is a faith resting on good evidence and long experience. If he had not fed out so much oil-cake and clover-hay, he would not have found his manure so valuable. “How much oil-cake does he use?” asked the Deacon. “He gives his sheep, on the average, about 1 lb. each per day.” If he feeds out a ton of clover-hay, two tons of straw, (for feed and bedding,) and one ton of oil-cake, the manure obtained from this quantity of food and litter, would be worth, according to Mr. Lawes’ table, given on page 45, $34.72. On the other hand, if he fed out one ton of corn, one ton of clover-hay, and two tons of straw, for feed and bedding, the manure would be worth $21.65. If he fed one ton of corn, and three tons of straw, the manure would be worth only $14.69. He would get _as much manure_ from the three tons of straw and one ton of corn, as from the two tons of straw, one ton of clover-hay, and one ton of oil-cake, while, as before said, the manure in the one case would be worth $14.69, and in the other $34.72. In other words, a load of the good manure would be worth, when spread out on the land in the field or garden, more than two loads of the straw and corn manure. To get the same amount of nitrogen, phosphoric acid, and potash, you have to spend more than twice the labor in cleaning out the stables or yards, more than twice the labor of throwing or wheeling it to the manure pile, more than twice the labor of turning the manure in the pile, more than twice the labor of loading it on the carts or wagons, more than twice the labor of drawing it to the field, more than twice the labor of unloading it into heaps, and more than twice the labor of spreading it in the one case than in the other, and, after all, twenty tons of this poor manure would not produce as good an effect the first season as ten tons of the richer manure. “Why so?” asked the Deacon. “Simply because the poor manure is not so active as the richer manure. It will not decompose so readily. Its nitrogen, phosphoric acid, and potash, are not so available. The twenty tons, _may_, in the long run, do as much good as the ten tons, but I very much doubt it. At any rate, I would greatly prefer the ten tons of the good manure to twenty tons of the poor--even when spread out on the land, ready to plow under. What the difference would be in the value of the manure _in the yard_, you can figure for yourself. It would depend on the cost of handling, drawing, and spreading the extra ten tons.” The Deacon estimates the cost of loading, drawing, unloading, and spreading, at fifty cents a ton. This is probably not far out of the way, though much depends on the distance the manure has to be drawn, and also on the condition of the manure, etc. The four tons of feed and bedding will make, at a rough estimate about ten tons of manure. This ten tons of straw and corn manure, according to Mr. Lawes’ estimate, is worth, _in the field_, $14.69. And if it costs fifty cents a load to get it on the land, its value, _in the yard_, would be $9.69--or nearly ninety-seven cents a ton. The ten tons of good manure, according to the same estimate, is worth, _in the field_, $34.72, and, consequently, would be worth, _in the yard_, $29.72. In other words, a ton of poor manure is worth, in the yard, ninety-seven cents a ton, and the good manure $2.97. And so in describing John Johnston’s method of managing manure, this fact must be borne in mind. It might not pay the Deacon to spend much labor on manure worth only ninety-seven cents a ton, while it might pay John Johnston to bestow some considerable time and labor on manure worth $2.97 per ton. “But is it really worth this sum?” asked the Deacon. “In reply to that,” said I, “all I claim is that the figures are comparative. If your manure, made as above described, is worth ninety-seven cents a ton in the yard, _then_ John Johnston’s manure, made as stated, is _certainly_ worth, at least, $2.97 per ton in the yard.” Of this there can be no doubt. “If you think,” I continued, “your manure, so made, is worth only half as much as Mr. Lawes’ estimate; in other words, if your ten tons of manure, instead of being worth $14.69 in the field, is worth only $7.35; then John Johnston’s ten tons of manure, instead of being worth $34.72 in the field, is worth only $17.36.” “That looks a little more reasonable,” said the Deacon, “John Johnston’s manure, instead of being worth $2.97 per ton in the yard, is worth only $1.48 per ton, and mine, instead of being worth ninety-seven cents a ton, is worth forty-eight and a half cents a ton.” The Deacon sat for a few minutes looking at these figures. “They do not seem so extravagantly high as I thought them at first,” he said, “and if you will reduce the figures in Mr. Lawes’ table one-half all through, it will be much nearer the truth. I think my manure is worth forty-eight and a half cents a ton in the yard, and if your figures are correct, I suppose I must admit that John Johnston’s manure is worth $1.48 per ton in the yard.” I was very glad to get such an admission from the Deacon. He did not see that he had made a mistake in the figures, and so I got him to go over the calculation again. “You take a pencil, Deacon,” said I, “and write down the figures: Manure from a ton of oil-cake $19.72 Manure from a ton of clover-hay 9.64 Manure from two tons of straw 5.36 -------- $34.72 “This would make about ten tons of manure. We have agreed to reduce the estimate one-half, and consequently we have $17.36 as the value of the ten tons of manure. “This is John Johnston’s manure. It is worth $1.73 per ton in the field. “It costs, we have estimated, 50 cents a ton to handle the manure, and consequently it is worth in the yard $1.23 per ton.” “This is less than we made it before,” said the Deacon. “Never mind that,” said I, “the figures are correct. Now write down what your manure is worth: Manure from 1 ton of corn $6.65 Manure from 3 tons of straw 8.04 -------- $14.69 “This will make about ten tons of manure. In this case, as in the other, we are to reduce the estimate one-half. Consequently, we have $7.35 as the value of this ten tons of manure in the field, or 73½ cents a ton. It costs, we have estimated, 50 cents a ton to handle the manure, and, therefore, it is worth _in the yard_, 23½ cents a ton.” “John Johnston’s manure is worth in the yard, $1.23 per ton. The Deacon’s manure is worth in the yard, 23½ cents per ton.” “There is some mistake,” exclaimed the Deacon, “you said, at first, that one load of John Johnston’s manure was worth as much as two of my loads. Now you make one load of his manure worth more than five loads of my manure. This is absurd.” “Not at all, Deacon,” said I, “you made the figures yourself. You thought Mr. Lawes’ estimate too high. You reduced it one-half. The figures are correct, and you must accept the conclusion. If John Johnston’s manure is only worth $1.23 per ton in the yard, yours, made from 1 ton of corn and 3 tons of straw, is only worth 23½ cents per ton.” “And now, Deacon,” I continued, “while you have a pencil in your hand, I want you to make one more calculation. Assuming that Mr. Lawes’ estimate is too high, and we reduce it one-half, figure up what manure is worth when made from straw alone. You take 4 tons of wheat straw, feed out part, and use part for bedding. It will give you about 10 tons of manure. And this 10 tons cost you 50 cents a ton to load, draw out, and spread. Now figure: “Four tons of straw is worth, for manure, according to Mr. Lawes’ table, $2.68 per ton. We have agreed to reduce the figures one half, and so the 10 tons of manure from the 4 tons of straw is worth $5.36 Drawing out 10 tons of manure at 50 cents 5.00 -------- Value of 10 tons of straw-manure _in yard_ $0.36 “In other words, if John Johnston’s manure is worth only $1.23 per ton in the yard, the straw-made manure is worth only a little over 3½ cents a ton in the yard.” “That is _too_ absurd,” said the Deacon. “Very well,” I replied, “for once I am glad to agree with you. But if this is absurd, then it follows that Mr. Lawes’ estimate of the value of certain foods for manure is not so extravagant as you supposed--which is precisely what I wished to prove.” “You have not told us how Mr. Johnston manages his manure,” said the Deacon. “There is nothing very remarkable about it,” I replied. “There are many farmers in this neighborhood who adopt the same method. I think, however, John Johnston was the first to recommend it, and subjected himself to some criticism from some of the so-called scientific writers at the time. “His general plan is to leave the manure in the yards, basements, and sheds, under the sheep, until spring. He usually sells his fat sheep in March. As soon as the sheep are removed, the manure is either thrown up into loose heaps in the yard, or drawn directly to the field, where it is to be used, and made into a heap there. The manure is not spread on the land until the autumn. It remains in the heaps or piles all summer, being usually turned once, and sometimes twice. The manure becomes thoroughly rotted.” Mr. Johnston, like the Deacon, applies his manure to the corn crop. But the Deacon draws out his fresh green manure in the spring, on sod-land, and plows it under. Mr. Johnston, on the other hand, keeps his manure in a heap through the summer, spreads it on the sod in September, or the first week in October. Here it lies until next spring. The grass and clover grow up through manure, and the grass and manure are turned under next spring, and the land planted to corn. Mr. Johnston is thoroughly convinced that he gets far more benefit from the manure when applied on the surface, and left exposed for several months, than if he plowed it under at once. I like to write and talk about John Johnston. I like to visit him. He is so delightfully enthusiastic, believes so thoroughly in good farming, and has been so eminently successful, that a day spent in his company can not fail to encourage any farmer to renewed efforts in improving his soil. “You _must_ drain,” he wrote to me; “when I first commenced farming, I never made any money until I began to underdrain.” But it is not underdraining alone that is the cause of his eminent success. When he bought his farm, “near Geneva,” over fifty years ago, there was a pile of manure in the yard that had lain there year after year, until it was, as he said, “as black as my hat.” The former owner regarded it as a nuisance, and a few months before young Johnston bought the farm, had given some darkies a cow on condition that they would draw out this manure. They drew out six loads, took the cow--and that was the last seen of them. Johnston drew out this manure, raised a good crop of wheat, and that gave him a start. He says he has been asked a great many times to what he owes his success as a farmer, and he has replied that he could not tell whether it was “dung or credit.” It was probably neither. It was the man--his intelligence, industry, and good common sense. That heap of black mould was merely an instrument in his hands that he could turn to good account. His first crop of wheat gave him “credit” and this also he used to advantage. He believed that good farming would pay, and it was this faith in a generous soil that made him willing to spend the money obtained from the first crop of wheat in enriching the land, and to avail himself of his credit. Had he lacked this faith--had he hoarded every sixpence he could have ground out of the soil, who would have ever heard of John Johnston? He has been liberal with his crops and his animals, and has ever found them grateful. This is the real lesson which his life teaches. He once wrote me he had something to show me. He did not tell me what it was, and when I got there, he took me to a field of grass that was to be mown for hay. The field had been in winter wheat the year before. At the time of sowing the wheat, the whole field was seeded down with timothy. No clover was sown, either then or in the spring; but after the wheat was sown, he put on a slight dressing of manure on two portions of the field that he thought were poor. He told the man to spread it out of the wagon just as thin as he could distribute it evenly over the land. It was a very light manuring, but the manure was rich, and thoroughly rotted. I do not recollect whether the effect of the manure was particularly noticed on the wheat; but on the grass, the following spring, the effect was sufficiently striking. Those two portions of the field where the manure was spread were _covered with a splendid crop of red clover_. You could see the exact line, in both cases, where the manure reached. It looked quite curious. No clover-seed was sown, and yet there was as fine a crop of clover as one could desire. On looking into the matter more closely, we found that there was more or less clover all over the field, but where the manure was not used, it could hardly be seen. The plants were small, and the timothy hid them from view. But where the manure was used, these plants of clover had been stimulated in their growth until they covered the ground. The leaves were broad and vigorous, while in the other case they were small, and almost dried up. This is probably the right explanation. The manure did not “bring in the clover;” it simply increased the growth of that already in the soil. It shows the value of manure for grass. This is what Mr. Johnston wanted to show me. “I might have written and told you, but you would not have got a clear idea of the matter.” This is true. One had to see the great luxuriance of that piece of clover to fully appreciate the effect of the manure. Mr. J. said the manure on that grass was worth $30 an acre--that is, on the three crops of grass, before the field is again plowed. I have no doubt that this is true, and that the future crops on the land will also be benefited--not directly from the manure, perhaps, but from the clover-roots in the soil. And if the field were pastured, the effect on future crops would be very decided. CHAPTER XX. MY OWN PLAN OF MANAGING MANURE. One of the charms and the advantages of agriculture is that a farmer must think for himself. He should study principles, and apply them in practice, as best suits his circumstances. My own method of managing manure gives me many of the advantages claimed for the Deacon’s method, and John Johnston’s, also. “I do not understand what you mean,” said the Deacon; “my method differs essentially from that of John Johnston.” “True,” I replied, “you use your winter-made manure in the spring; while Mr. Johnston piles his, and gets it thoroughly fermented; but to do this, he has to keep it until the autumn, and it does not benefit his corn-crop before the next summer. He loses the use of his manure for a year.” I think my method secures both these advantages. I get my winter-made manure fermented and in good condition, and yet have it ready for spring crops. In the first place, I should remark that my usual plan is to cut up all the fodder for horses, cows, and sheep. For horses, I sometimes use long