Farmer Boy

A fellow LRC reader recently recommended to me the book Farmer Boy, by Laura Ingalls Wilder, whose work I'd never read. Weeks later it was a little strange opening the package and finding that I'd ordered a book with a 14-point font! A real page turner. The book centers on the upbringing of Almanzo Wilder, who's about to turn nine as it begins in 1866. He lives on a farm in upstate New York with his parents, two sisters, and a brother – all older. Though Farmer Boy probably contains some fiction, Almanzo Wilder and his family were real. He had quite a lot to do with Laura Ingalls, marrying the 18-year-old Laura when he was 28. She wrote about his childhood in Farmer Boy. A helpful time line is here.

There's much to be learned from this children's book and the classic two-tiered child/adult appeal it holds in common with most great works for children. The writing style alone is remarkably economical, yet flowing, with power emanating from that which is unsaid, and from some non-PC portions which are definitely said. The reader's quickly informed that things were not all sweetness and light in upstate New York in the 1860s. The first major incident in the book involved some teenage thugs who effectively murdered the previous schoolmaster, a history seeming to doom Mr. Corse, the new schoolmaster, "a slim, pale young man" who was gentle and patient. Poor Mr. Corse.

While there may have been hooligans running amok on occasion, Almanzo and his siblings were not among them. They did not have the easy-living "advantages" of today's children. Every day was begun and ended with chores. Children were not to speak at table unless spoken to, with one exception – they were allowed to say "thank you" when receiving food. They were treated as though their very lives depended upon their integrity, determination, and ability to think on their feet. I'm guessing they were treated that way because, shockingly enough, people used to admit that basic truth of life on this earth. No more, of course.

Witness this exchange between Almanzo and his father on Almanzo's ninth birthday as they began to break the calves Star and Bright using Almanzo's birthday present, a calf-yoke (a gift which had thrilled the boy):

Then Father tied a rope around Star's nubs of horns and Almanzo took the rope. He stood in front of the calves and shouted, "Giddap!"

Star's neck stretched out longer and longer. Almanzo pulled, till finally Star stepped forward. Bright snorted and pulled back. The yoke twisted Star's head around and stopped him, and the two calves stood wondering what it was all about.

Father helped Almanzo push them, till they stood properly side by side again. Then he said, "Well, son, I'll leave you to figure it out." And he went into the barn.

Huh? Father didn't hold a 7-hour pandering session for the express purpose of raising a dependent milquetoast, in which every answer was handed to the child on a platter and the task basically done for him? Appalling! It's a shame we hadn't progressed to our current state back then, so that Mr. Wilder could be arrested promptly for child abuse, and the downtrodden Almanzo handed over by the state to foster parents who would show him trendy love and care.

And there's more heartlessness from the evil Mr. Wilder, a man apparently oblivious of how to properly keep a boy a boy (forever). Bear in mind that this incident happened just hours after Almanzo was almost crushed by a heavy log that had fallen on him while he loaded his bobsled in the deep snow:

Almanzo could not eat [lunch]. He felt sick, and his foot ached. Mother thought perhaps he should stop work, but Almanzo would not let a little accident stop him.

Still, he was slow. Before he reached the timber he met Father coming back with a load. He knew that an empty sled must always give the road to a loaded sled, so he cracked his whip and shouted: "Gee!"

Star and Bright swerved to the right, and before Almanzo could even yell they were sinking in the deep snow in the ditch. They did not know how to break road, like big oxen. They snorted and floundered and plunged, and the sled was sinking under the snow. The little steers tried to turn around; the twisted yoke was almost choking them.

Almanzo struggled in the snow, trying to reach the yearlings' heads. Father turned and watched, while he went by. Then he faced forward again and drove on toward home.

It's easy to see in the book that Almanzo's parents considered their job primarily to be one of raising adults while realizing that they were still working with children. The confidence and manliness instilled in Almanzo were obvious. There was occasion for laughter, though much of it took place during work, as in this example where Father and the boys headed to meet two local men at a frozen pond to cut blocks of ice:

A cross-cut saw has a long, narrow blade, with wooden handles at the ends. Two men must pull it back and forth across the edge of whatever they want to saw in two. But they could not saw ice that way, because the ice was solid underfoot, like a floor. It had no edge to saw across.

When Father saw them he laughed and called out: "You flipped that penny yet?"

Everybody laughed but Almanzo. He did not know the joke. So French Joe told him:

"Once two Irishmen were sent out to saw ice with a cross-cut saw. They had never sawed ice before. They looked at the ice and they looked at the saw, till at last Pat took a penny out of his pocket and he says, says he, "'Now Jamie, be fair. Heads or tails, who goes below?' "

The reader soon finds out how to saw, transport, and pack ice so that it will last through the summer. There are many similar lessons of self-sufficiency in the book, including how to make candles, thresh wheat, load timber on a bobsled without crushing yourself, and produce maple syrup.

Rather than spoil the book for you, I'll make that one of the last excerpts. There are many instructive moments in Farmer Boy. It would not be hyperbole to claim that if every parent in the United States would read this book and actually learn from and use the lessons in it (explicit and implicit), we could turn back the childish dependence which plagues the standard modern American "adult." Of course, that's like saying, "if only things would get better, things would be better."

We are missing in the current crop of Americans, courtesy of the heathens Lincoln, FDR, and on, the essential ingredient for human happiness: self-sufficiency. Contrary to socialist dogma, one quickly sees in Farmer Boy that society is enhanced, not degraded, among those who do for themselves. Check out this battle between Mrs. Wilder and a traveling tin peddler who, like many travelers to the Wilder household, supped with them and stayed the night before this terrible scene of unregulated (unsupervised) capitalist greed and selfishness played out:

Mother brought the big rag-bags from the attic, and emptied on the porch floor all the rags she had saved during the last year. Mr. Brown examined the good, clean rags of wool and linen, while Mother looked at the shining tinware, and they began to trade.

For a long time they talked and argued. Shining tinware and piles of rags were all over the porch. For every pile of rags that Nick Brown added to the big pile, Mother asked more tinware than he wanted to trade her. They were both having a good time, joking and laughing and trading. At last Mr. Brown said, "Well, ma'am, I'll trade you the milk-pans and pails, the colander and skimmer, and the three baking-pans, but not the dishpan, and that's my last offer."

"Very well, Mr. Brown," Mother said, unexpectedly. She had got exactly what she wanted. Almanzo knew she did not need the dishpan; she had set it out only to bargain with. Mr. Brown knew that, too, now. He looked surprised, and he looked respectfully at Mother. Mother was a good, shrewd trader. She had bested Mr. Brown. But he was satisfied, too, because he had got plenty of good rags for his tinware.

Farmer Boy is an amazing look back at the same strength which built the United States. If one agrees with the theory that most people cling to collectivist politics as a replacement for mommy and daddy (as if there's any other theory worth consideration), it's easy to see from the book that the real mommy and daddy roles have fallen drastically in quality, and presumably in time with surrounding politics. It's not much of a stretch to even conceive that the decline of parents was the cause, not the effect. A large problem today, especially with single mothers (though it affects single fathers as well) is the terribly short-sighted and lazy style of parenting based on the tenet that a child must be shielded at all costs from the effects of his behavior. This leads to perma-children in their 20's, 30's, and beyond. Look me in the eye and tell me that you have not seen the hordes of aimless, inconsiderate, ignorant, miserable, irresponsible, ornery, rude, and disabled teens and 20–30 somethings roaming the land like zombies in quest of their next entitlement, often via the voting booth.

Their forbearers should never have allowed the state to take their place. They should never have thought that the goal of parenting is to protect a child from all ills. Is it not obvious that setting loose such a child into the world is one of the cruelest things a parent can do? And as the parents lose what were natural rearing skills, the state steps in to further the downward spiral in the name of care.

There's more in the book. How it describes the roles of men and women alone is worthy of a series of articles. But enough yap. Pick up Farmer Boy and ponder a day when the common man appears to have put all but the highest of us to shame. Could it be that necessity was once the mother of more than invention? May it be again.

June 2, 2003

Charley Hardman (send him mail) works with databases in Washington, DC.

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