Farmer's
Living." It is stated that "the total average of the three items of
food, fuel and use of the house for the 950 families (selected from all
parts of the United States) is $642, and 66% of $424 of this is
furnished by the farm." The Seven Pomeroy Centennial. Trees in one year
produced a food product worth and actually sold for about $800 in one
year! The average annual production of those seven trees has been over
$600 for the last ten years. And what about the labor involved in
raising and harvesting the English walnut crop in question? Picking the
nuts from the ground, children gladly doing it and earning five cents
per basket.

Horace Greeley's undiscovered farm under the first twelve inches was a
gold mine when turned up finally; Mr. Pinchot's farm on top rescued from
flood and other devastations is worth more money than before. But how
about the strip of land along the roadside, an aggregate waste of at
least one per cent of the acreages of eastern farms? Well worth
reclaiming, and no expensive ditching, irrigation and lumbering involved
in the process either. In addition, credit must be given also to this
enterprise for the value of ornamentation of the highways and their
protection from the elements all seasons of the year.

And strange to relate, in the long list of items under the head of
"Classes of Food," given in the Federal Bulletin referred to, no mention
is made of nut foods, either native or imported nut trees. Fruits,
vegetables, meats, store groceries, everything is there but nuts.

"Nutty," do we hear someone suggest? Probably not in this audience of
enlightened nut growers, but speaking to the general public we shall
say, "Well, mebbe," like Uncle Lige of Niagara. Two bad years on the
farm, four acres of tomatoes that didn't pay for the plants, nothing but
soft corn and no potatoes compelled Uncle and Aunt Tompkins to open an
account at the corner grocery. The first month the bill came in, Aunt
Sally was all in a flutter when she audited the items: Sugar, 60;
coffee, 40; oatmeal, 50; sugar, 75; ditto, 80. "Lige, you go right back
to the store and tell that cunnin' clerk that he's charged us fer what
we never got. We ain't had no 'ditto' in this house." Lige went to the
store and returned, apparently a sadder but a wiser man. "Well, Lige,"
inquired the thrifty spouse, "Did you find out 'bout that 'ditto' we
didn't get? What did you find?" Lige picked up his pipe, remarking,
"Well Sally, I