Lind01

 

OSHKOSH NORTHWESTERN

November 5, 1868

 

WAUPACA COUNTY

 

The Town of Lind – Farming and Farm Lands –

Lillie Pushen in a New Role – Soil and Character of the Country

 

Correspondence of the Daily Northwestern.

 

            LIND, Waupaca Co., Oct. 19, 1868.

            A few weeks ago, we made a kindly avoirdupoise to Oshkosh, its mills, steamers, homes, men and handsome women and after a wearisome five hours trip up the Wolf on the Northwestern disembarked at Fremont after having attended to the landing of our personal and impersonal property were soon seated upon a load of the same and riding toward the setting sun.  (It would be well perhaps to insert a note just here to the effect that we have become a farmer.)  A ride of twelve miles and we are at our destination, whose distinctive name heads this letter.  A very pretty place it is situated upon the main thoroughfare between Waupaca and Berlin, almost entirely surrounded by ranges of hills, crowned with the oak, maple and laurel.  A lovely chain of small, inland lakes, in our immediate vicinity, and an abundance of wild game would render this section of Waupaca county one vast Elysian field, were it not for a superabundance of sand, which in the eyes of a stranger is usually a complete offset to the charms which the country possesses.  To illustrate:  Aggravation is defined by Webster as “the act of increasing severity or heinousness.”  Now Webster, although doubtless a true friend  to the human family, never lived in Lind, or he would have given as a broader definition of the word. Here is an instance of true aggravation.  Yesterday after we had donned our robes for church, a large flock of nice, fat prairie chickens appeared in a field, but three or four rods from the house, three of them, however, remained in trees near by acting as sentinels.  They must have known the day, as well as we, as we approached very near (under cover of nothing but the blue canister of Heaven) and still they remained.  Just think of the above situation. If it had only been washing day we might have “gone for them” and not have violated an injunction of the Decalogue.  But it was Sunday; therefore we shot not.  Illustration No. 2 – A few nights since, we chanced to be driving along the highway, but a half mile from here, when a huge Bruin attracted toward us by a lantern, came so near through the dense oak undergrowth by the wayside that the homes were considerably frightened, particularly as his bearship snorted prodigiously, but we do not see why it is necessary to multiply instances of the above character, it sufficeth that there exists an infinite variety of wild animals in these parts from mice and gophers up to bears and deer.  We usually approach bears so near as to daub their several noses well with molasses, and then capture and our homeward march triumphant, are equally certain.

FARMS AND FARMING

            Although the soil is of a sandy nature, it is quite arable, easily tilled, and yields abundantly when properly tilled. Never seen such nice potatoes, taken as a whole, as were grown in Waupaca county this year.  The crop is quite large, the tubers selling at from forty cents to six shillings per bushel. The wheat grown in this section is of average quality, and yields from fourteen to twenty-five bushels per acre.  Excellent hops are annually produced here, much better this year, at least, than those raised in Winnebago county.  The soil of Waupaca county seems peculiarly adapted to corn, and an excellent crop of this cereal is harvested annually.  One thing more and we have done with this branch of our letter.  The farmers of this favored portion of the Badger State, particularly, are just beginning to appreciate the true value of fruit, and as those orchards which have thus far been set out are doing nicely, farmers are encouraged and we hope soon to see the entire landscape dotted with clumps of fruit trees, amply remunerating the fruit grower for his labor in caring for them.

AMATEUR FARMING, &C.

            Your correspondent is an amateur farmer, as any sane man would soon discover were he to examine our work.  The other day we were out with a Yankee male cousin, and were amused and surprised to see him feed corn in the ear to his horses.  (This concerns our novitiate) we asked him innocently if they swallowed the whole, thinking of course they couldn’t chew such hard food, where upon he lifted up his voice and brayed, and at once rushed into the house with a “ha, ha, ha, oh gracious, ho, ho, he the darned goose thought the horse had a crop like a hen, ha ha, ha!”  We next assayed to harness a horse and didn’t exactly get the crooper over his nose, but got the collar bottom side up and worked like a Trojan to work the hames, after securing the same drove the horse six miles and escaped dangers of every description.  But as an oxen drivist we excel, yea verily we are blessed (?) with the proprietorship of a very unruly yoke of cattle, and so soon as our attention is diverted from them off they go at a tangent, through the garden, towards a corn field, after having performed in this manner a few days since, our ire – land arose and compel them to retrace their steps, and whip them severely for their misconduct.  Securing a long oaken rod, we went for them, but the miserable creatures minded not our “whoa back, haw,” but rushed over flower beds, currant bushes and shrubbery, tore down apple trees for the sake of variety, we finally succeeded in expelling them from the garden precinct oxen driving is not our forte.

            We throw up the sponge, &c.

            Last Sabbath we attended divine services at he “Dist. School house,” conducted by an illustrated “circuit rider” whose first remark we stereotyped thusly.  “Is there any hymn books present,” we thought there were a few tardy or absent as but one was produced.  He requested his audience to sing a hymn (a line or two of which he repeated) on the 553d page, one man (the owner of the hymn book) made an examination and said, “I think you must be mistaken sir”, “well,” said the preacher, “I know it is around there somewhere, refer to the index.”  The discussion as one might have expected, abounded in ungramaticisms, but was decidedly pointed, and this rural Henry Waid Beecher, will doubtless be heard from eventually in the outer world.

            A long trace of stony land but a short distance from here has been assigned a nitch in local history, and is known by the dignified appellative of the Devil’s Garden, but if his satanic majesty could walk through is domains, and not break his bones, he would do remarkably well.  In order to enter this wild and romantic region of country, where one may enjoy almost captivating period of rustication, hunting, fishing, boating, and riding, it becomes necessary to take a steamer of the Wolf River line, at Oshkosh, disembarking at Fremont.

            But we fear the Northwestern readers have wearied of this rambling prosy letter therefore      Bon Jour,                                                                                                          RIP VAN WINKLE