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, will almost invariably give us a greatly increased yield of grain crops. I should expect, on my farm, that on land which, without manure, would give me 15 bushels of wheat per acre, such a dressing of manure would give me, in a favorable season, 35 or 40 bushels per acre, with a proportional increase of straw; and, in addition to this, there would be considerable nitrogen left for the following crop of clover. Is it not worth while making an earnest effort to get this 80 lbs. of available nitrogen? I have on my farm many acres of low, mucky land, bordering on the creek, that probably contain several thousand pounds of nitrogen per acre. So long as the land is surcharged with water, this nitrogen, and other plant-food, lies dormant. But drain it, and let in the air, and the oxygen decomposes the organic matter, and ammonia and nitric acid are produced. In other words, we get _available_ nitrogen and other plant-food, and the land becomes capable of producing large crops of corn and grass; and the crops obtained from this low, rich land, will make manure for the poorer, upland portions of the farm. CHAPTER V. SWAMP-MUCK OR PEAT AS MANURE. “It would pay you,” said the Deacon, “to draw out 200 or 300 loads of muck from the swamp every year, and compost it with your manure.” This may or may not be the case. It depends on the composition of the muck, and how much labor it takes to handle it. “What you should do,” said the Doctor, “is to commence at the creek, and straighten it. Take a gang of men, and be with them with yourself, or get a good foreman to direct operations. Commence at _a_, and straighten the creek to _b_, and from _b_ to _c_ (see map on next page). Throw all the rich, black muck in a heap by itself, separate from the sand. You, or your foreman, must be there, or you will not get this done. A good ditcher will throw out a great mass of this loose muck and sand in a day; and you want him to dig, not think. You must do the thinking, and tell him which is muck, and which is only sand and dirt. When thrown up, this muck, in our dry, hot climate, will, in the course of a few months, part with a large amount of water, and it can then be drawn to the barns and stables, and used for bedding, or for composting with manure. Or if you do not want to draw it to the barn, get some refuse lime from the lime-kiln, and mix it with the muck after it has been thrown up a few weeks, and is partially dry. Turn over the heap, and put a few bushels of lime to every cord of the muck, mixing the lime and muck together, leaving the heap in a compact form, and in good shape, to shed the rain. “When you have straightened, and cleaned out, and deepened the creek,” continued the Doctor, “commence at _z_ on the new creek, and cut a ditch through the swamp to _y_. Throw the muck on one side, and the sand on the other. This will give you some good, rich muck, and at the same time drain your swamp. Then cut some _under-drains_ from _y_ towards the higher land at _w_, _v_, and _h_, and from _f_ to _x_. These will drain your land, and set free the inert plant-food, and such crops of timothy as you will get from this swamp will astonish the natives, and your bill for medical attendance and quinine will sink to zero.” [Illustration: Map of Creek.] The Doctor is right. There is money and health in the plan. Prof. S. W. Johnson, as chemist to the Conn. State Ag. Society, made accurate analyses of 33 samples of peat and muck sent him by gentlemen from different parts of the State. The amount of potential ammonia in the chemically dry peat was found to vary from 0.58 in the poorest, to 4.06 per cent in the richest samples. In other words, one deposit of muck may contain seven times as much nitrogen as another, and it would be well before spending much money in drawing out muck for manure to send a sample of it to some good chemist. A bed of swamp-muck, easily accessible, and containing 3 per cent of nitrogen, would be a mine of wealth to any farmer. One ton of such muck, dry, would contain more nitrogen than 7 tons of straw. “It would be capital stuff,” said the Deacon, “to put in your pig-pens to absorb the urine. It would make rich manure.” “That is so,” said I, “and the weak point in my pig-breeding is the want of sufficient straw. Pigs use up more bedding than any other animals. I have over 200 pigs, and I could use a ton of dry muck to each pig every winter to great advantage. The pens would be drier, the pigs healthier, and the manure richer.” The Doctor here interrupted us. “I see,” said he, “that the average amount of ammonia in the 33 samples of dry peat analyzed by Professor Johnson is 2.07 per cent. I had no idea that muck was so rich. Barn-yard manure, or the manure from the horse stables in the cities, contains only half a per cent (0.5) of ammonia, and it is an unusually rich manure that contains one per cent. We are safe in saying that a ton of dry muck, on the average, contains at least twice as much potential ammonia as the average of our best and richest stable-manure.” CHAPTER VI. WHAT IS POTENTIAL AMMONIA? “You say,” said the Deacon, “that dry muck contains twice as much ‘_potential ammonia_’ as manure?” “Yes,” said the Doctor, “it contains three or four times as much as the half-rotted straw and stalks you call manure.” “But what do you mean,” asked the Deacon, “by ‘_potential_ ammonia?’” “It is a term,” said the Doctor, “we used to hear much more frequently than we do now. Ammonia is composed of 14 lbs. of nitrogen and 3 lbs. of hydrogen; and if, on analysis, a guano or other manure was found to contain, in whatever form, 7 per cent of nitrogen, the chemist reported that he found in it 8½ per cent of ‘potential’ ammonia. Dried blood contains no ammonia, but if it contained 14 per cent of nitrogen, the chemist would be justified in saying it contained 17 per cent of potential ammonia, from the fact that the dried blood, by fermentation, is capable of yielding this amount of ammonia. We say a ton of common horse-manure contains 10 or 12 lbs. of potential ammonia. If perfectly fresh, it may not contain a particle of ammonia; but it contains nitrogen enough to produce, by fermentation, 10 or 12 lbs. of ammonia. And when it is said that dry swamp-muck contains, on the average, 2.07 per cent of potential ammonia, it simply means that it contains nitrogen enough to produce this amount of ammonia. In point of fact, I suppose muck, when dug fresh from the swamp, contains no ammonia. Ammonia is quite soluble in water, and if there was any ammonia in the swamp-muck, it would soon be washed out. The nitrogen, or ‘potential ammonia,’ in the muck exists in an inert, insoluble form, and before the muck will yield up this nitrogen to plants, it is necessary, in some way, to ferment or decompose it. But this is a point we will discuss at a future meeting.” CHAPTER VII. TILLAGE IS MANURE. The Doctor has been invited to deliver a lecture on manure before our local Farmers’ Club. “The etymological meaning of the word manure,” he said, “is _hand labor_, from _main_, hand, and _ouvrer_, to work. To manure the land originally meant to cultivate it, to hoe, to dig, to plow, to harrow, or stir it in any way so as to expose its particles to the oxygen of the atmosphere, and thus render its latent elements assimilable by plants. “When our first parent,” he continued, “was sent forth from the Garden of Eden to till the ground from whence he was taken, he probably did not know that the means necessary to kill the thorns and thistles enhanced the productiveness of the soil, yet such was undoubtedly the case. “The farmer for centuries was simply a ‘tiller of the ground.’ Guano, though formed, according to some eminent authorities, long ages before the creation of man, was not then known. The coprolites lay undisturbed in countless numbers in the lias, the greensand, and the Suffolk crag. Charleston phosphates were unknown. Superphosphate, sulphate of ammonia, nitrate of soda, and kainit were not dreamed of. Nothing was said about the mineral manure theory, or the exhaustion of the soil. There were no frauds in artificial fertilizers; no Experiment Stations. The earth, fresh from the hands of its Creator, needed only to be ‘tickled with a hoe to laugh with a harvest.’ Nothing was said about the value of the manure obtained from the consumption of a ton of oil-cake, or malt-combs, or bran, or clover-hay. For many centuries, the hoe, the spade, and the rake constituted Adam’s whole stock in trade. “At length,” continued the Doctor, “a great discovery was made. A Roman farmer--probably a prominent Granger--stumbled on a mighty truth. Manuring the land--that is, hoeing and cultivating it--increased its fertility. This was well known--had been known for ages, and acted upon; but this Roman farmer, Stercutius, who was a close observer, discovered that the _droppings of animals_ had the same effect as hoeing. No wonder these idolatrous people voted him a god. They thought there would be no more old-fashioned manuring; no more hoeing. “Of course they were mistaken,” continued the Doctor, “our arable land will always need plowing and cultivating to kill weeds. Manure, in the sense in which we now use the term, is only a partial substitute for tillage, and tillage is only a partial substitute for manure; but it is well to bear in mind that the words mean the same thing, and the effects of both are, to a certain extent, identical. Tillage is manure, and manure is tillage.” CHAPTER VIII. SUMMER-FALLOWING. This is not the place to discuss the merits, or demerits, of fallowing. But an intelligent Ohio farmer writes me: --“I see that you recommend fallow plowing, what are your reasons? Granting that the _immediate_ result is an increased crop, is not the land impoverished? Will not the thorough cultivation of corn, or potatoes, answer as well?” And a distinguished farmer, of this State, in a recent communication expressed the same idea--that summer-fallowing would soon impoverish the land. But if this is the case, the fault is not in the practice of summer-fallowing, but in growing too many grain crops, and selling them, instead of consuming them on the farm. Take two fields; summer-fallow one, and sow it to wheat. Plant the other to corn, and sow wheat after it in the fall. You get, say 35 bushels of wheat per acre from the summer-fallow. From the other field you get, say, 30 bushels of shelled corn per acre, and 10 bushels of wheat afterwards. Now, where a farmer is in the habit of selling all his wheat, and consuming all his corn on the farm, it is evident that the practice of summer-fallowing will impoverish the soil more rapidly than the system of growing corn followed by wheat--and for the simple reason that more wheat is sold from the farm. If no more grain is sold in one case than in the other, the summer-fallowing will not impoverish the soil any more than corn growing. My idea of fallowing is this:--The soil and the atmosphere furnish, on good, well cultivated land, plant-food sufficient, say, for 15 bushels of wheat per acre, _every year_. It will be sometimes more, and sometimes less, according to the season and the character of the soil, but on good, strong limestone land this may be taken as about the average. To grow wheat every year in crops of 15 bushels per acre, would impoverish the soil just as much as to summer-fallow and get 30 bushels of wheat every other year. It is the same thing in either case. But in summer-fallowing, we clean the land, and the _profits_ from a crop of 30 bushels per acre every other year, are much more than from two crops of 15 bushels every year. You know that Mr. Lawes has a field of about thirteen acres that he sows with wheat every year. On the plot that receives no manure of any kind, the crop, for twenty years, averaged 16¼ bushels per acre. It is plowed twice every year, and the wheat is hand-hoed in the spring to keep it clean. A few years ago, in a field adjoining this experimental wheat field, and that is of the same character of land, he made the following experiment. The land, after wheat, was fallowed, and then sown to wheat; then fallowed the next year, and again sown to wheat, and the next year it was sown to wheat after wheat. The following is the result compared with the yield of the continuously unmanured plot in the experimental field that is sown to wheat every year: 1. Year--No. 1--Fallow No crop. No. 2--Wheat after wheat 15 bushels 3½ pecks per acre. 2. Year--No. 1--Wheat after fallow 37 ” -- ” ” No. 2--Wheat after wheat 13 ” 3¼ ” ” 3. Year--No. 1--Fallow after wheat No crop. No. 2--Wheat after wheat 15 bushels 3¼ pecks per acre. 4. Year--No. 1--Wheat after fallow 42 ” -- ” ” No. 2--Wheat after wheat 21 ” 0¼ ” ” 5. Year--No. 1--Wheat after wheat 17 ” 1¼ ” ” No. 2--Wheat after wheat 17 ” -- ” ” Taking the first four years, we have a total yield from the plot sown every year of 66 bushels 2¼ pecks, and from the two crops alternately fallowed, a total yield of 79 bushels. The next year, when wheat was sown after wheat on the land previously fallowed, the yield was almost identical with the yield from the plot that has grown wheat after wheat for so many years. So far, these results do not indicate any exhaustion from the practice of fallowing. On the other hand, they tend to show that we can get _more_ wheat by sowing it every other year, than by cropping it every year in succession. The reason for this may be found in the fact that in a fallow the land is more frequently exposed to the atmosphere by repeated plowings and harrowings; and it should be borne in mind that the effect of stirring the land is not necessarily in proportion to the total amount of stirring, but is according to the number of times that fresh particles of soil are exposed to the atmosphere. Two plowings and two harrowings in one week, will not do as much good as two plowings and two harrowings, at different times in the course of three or four months. It is for this reason that I object, theoretically, to sowing wheat after barley. We often plow the barley stubble twice, and spend considerable labor in getting the land into good condition; but it is generally all done in the course of ten days or two weeks. We do not get any adequate benefit for this labor. We can kill weeds readily at this season, (August), but the stirring of the soil does not develope the latent plant-food to the extent it would if the work was not necessarily done in such a limited period. I say _theoretically_, for in point of fact I _do_ sow wheat after barley. I do so because it is very convenient, and because it is more immediately profitable. I am satisfied, however, that _in the end_ it would be more profitable to seed down the barley with clover. We _must_ raise larger crops; and to do this we must raise them less frequently. This is the key-note of the coming improved system of American agriculture, in all sections where good land is worth less than one hundred dollars per acre. In the neighborhood of large cities, and wherever land commands a high price, we must keep our farms in a high state of fertility by the purchase of manures or cattle foods. Those of us in the interior, where we can not buy manure, must raise fewer grain crops, and more clover. We must aim to raise 40 bushels of wheat, 50 bushels of barley, 80 bushels of oats, and 100 bushels of shelled corn, and 5 bushels of clover-seed per acre. That this can be done on good, well-drained land, from the unaided resources of the farm, I have no doubt. It may give us no more grain to sell than at present, but it will enable us to produce much more mutton, wool, beef, cheese, butter, and pork, than at present. “But, then, will there be a demand for the meat, wool, etc.?” The present indications are highly favorable. But we must aim to raise _good_ meat. The low-priced beef and mutton sold in our markets are as unprofitable to the consumer as they are to the producer. We must feed higher, and to do this to advantage we must have improved stock. There is no profit in farming without good tillage, larger crops, improved stock, and higher feeding. The details will be modified by circumstances, but the principles are the same wherever agri-_culture_ is practised. CHAPTER IX. HOW TO RESTORE A WORN-OUT FARM. I have never yet seen a “worn-out” or “exhausted farm.” I know many farms that are “run down.” I bought just such a farm a dozen or more years ago, and I have been trying hard, ever since, to bring it up to a profitable standard of productiveness--and am still trying, and expect to have to keep on trying so long as I keep on farming. The truth is, there never was a farm so rich, that the farmer did not wish it was richer. I have succeeded in making the larger part of my farm much more productive than it ever was before, since it was cleared from the original forest. But it is far from being as rich as I want it. The truth is, God sent us into this world to work, and He has given us plenty to do, if we will only do it. At any rate, this is true of farming. He has not given us land ready to our hand. The man who first cleared up my farm, had no easy task. He fairly earned all the good crops he ever got from it. I have never begrudged him one particle of the “natural manure” he took out of the land, in the form of wheat, corn, oats, and hay. On the dry, sandy knolls, he probably got out a good portion of this natural manure, but on the wetter and heavier portions of the farm, he probably did not get out one-hundredth part of the natural manure which the land contained. Now, when such a farm came into my possession, what was I to do with it? “Tell us what you did,” said the Doctor, “and then, perhaps, we can tell you what you ought to have done, and what you ought to have left undone.” “I made many mistakes.” “Amen,” said the Deacon; “I am glad to hear you acknowledge it.” “Well,” said the Doctor, “it is better to make mistakes in trying to do something, than to hug our self-esteem, and fold our hands in indolence. It has been said that critics are men who have failed in their undertakings. But I rather think the most disagreeable, and self-satisfied critics, are men who have never done anything, or tried to do anything, themselves.” The Deacon, who, though something of an old fogy, is a good deal of a man, and possessed of good common sense, and much experience, took these remarks kindly. “Well,” said he to me, “I must say that your farm has certainly improved, but you did things so differently from what we expected, that we could not see what you were driving at.” “I can tell you what I have been aiming at all along. 1st. To drain the wet portions of the arable land. 2d. To kill weeds, and make the soil mellow and clean. 3d. To make more manure.” “You have also bought some bone-dust, superphosphate, and other artificial manures.” “True; and if I had had more money I would have bought more manure. It would have paid well. I could have made my land as rich as it is now in half the time.” I had to depend principally on the natural resources of the land. I got out of the soil all I could, and kept as much of it as possible on the farm. One of the mistakes I made was, in breaking up too much land, and putting in too much wheat, barley, oats, peas, and corn. It would have been better for my pocket, though possibly not so good for the farm, if I had left more of the land in grass, and also, if I had summer-fallowed more, and sown less barley and oats, and planted less corn. “I do not see how plowing up the grass land,” said the Deacon, “could