ON AN AUSTRALIAN FARM

Evening Star, Issue 18502, 8 December 1923, Page 17

ON AN AUSTRALIAN FARM

UNCERTAINTIES OF TOBACCO ' GROWING.

[Written by W.G., far the ‘Evening Star, ’]

T shall never forget my first impression of this particular farm. Before this "’o had been in the heart of the dairying country, some thirty miles out of Melbourne, and excepting for a range of hills against the skyline on one side the country around was rather uninteresting. We were full of hope, too—at least I was—for were wo not starting nn a new venture—viz., tobacco growing? My husband had been up-country about throe weeks to get the lay of the land and prepare the bods for the seed. It was late one Saturday night when the train steamed into this little wayside station, and I alighted. Of course” I was burdened with the usual travelling impedimenta, which wo stowed on the waiting dog-cart. The drive to the farm—about two miles distant—was glorious even in the moonlight. Over the dusty mad wo bounded. Smoky, nn n'd sleep dog, harking madly at the horse’e hoofs. On either side the road wa.s lined with groat green trees; but wo loft that conn and entered a long, unused carriage drive, which led right up to the farm. There was still an avenue of trees, and at one snot my husband pointed out something which gleamed white in the moonlight. These proved to be the newly-made tobacco beds, with their light coverings of hessian., the latter being used to protect the. young plants from scorching in the sun’s heat. Another short distance, and wo were driving through the orange and lemon grove—.and I was wishing it was davtime so that I could see actually the golden fruit hanging from the glossy, gredn-leaved boughs, Tim old farm loomed no then, gaunt and snectral in the moonlight, fit had the reputation of being haunted, though wo never saw anything to iustifv that in our stay there.) Smoky gave another mad caper, and there eve were in the farm yard, with lh<> bmnHght streaming from the open kitchen door bidding a kindly weVome. Nor was that all; th n re was a rough, kindlv hand helping me to scrambl" down and hauling down the haggrum. That was o'd .Toe Joe, with his faithful heart and his clear, short-sighted eyes.

We passed under the verandah to tho kitchen, and I almost cannoned into a sheep hung by the door, freshly killed and dressed and ready for cutting up and cooking on tho morrow. There was a little supper waiting, presided over by a rosy-cheeked, red-haired, buxom maid, who was rather comely, nevertheless, and who rejoiced in tho name of Veronica. We were growing tobacco on the share system, and wo had made arrangements with the owner of the farm that I should do the cooking and kitchen work in return for my husband’s keep and my own. In the morning, therefore, I was tup betimes, had an interview with the mistress, and soon had tho breakfast well under way. That over, I resolved to steal one minute to feast my eyes on everything around. Nature had been so prodigal — she had flung out her gifts with lavish hands! First of all I ran to peep at the orange grove. Yes; sure enough the fruit was hanging there in groat golden clusters. On the other side, facing, I could see the foamy pink of the orchard, and I saw, too, that the old itseli was a hit gaunt ami grim even in the daytime. It was built of brick, twostoried and lofty, and had tho look of a half-finished factory such as we see at Home. It was one of the pioneer homes of Australia, and the family were justly proud of it. The garden it overlooked, though! It'was almost indescribable —a perfect wilderness of beauty. Beds _of iris, an exquisite mauve in color,, a riot of roses everywhere. Heavily-scented, semi-tropical flowers there were, and great banks of lilac, magnolias, and all kinds of dowering shrubs. The quaint, quiet beauty of tho farmyard struck me. Underfoot the redearth, dotted here and there with great acacia trees, and the low% rod-roofed, rambling kitchen on ono side. On another side was tho pump and tho 'little gate that gave access to the garden again—that garden that steadfastly refused to bo kept under control and would persist in rambling riotously over fences and things. Then there was the wood-heap, useful, indispensable, and old Joe carefully piling the logs in the wheelbarrow. Another gate, which led to the dairies and milking sheds, wa.s flanked on cither side by olive and cedar trees, and tucked away under these wore the tool shed, joiner's shop, and blacksmith’s shop, as they were styled. And I mustn’t forget tho fowlhouses, which kept them company, and which you would never have dreamt the purport of—'such quaint little affairs they were, with thatched roofs. Last of nil, there was still another gate which _led into the swamp. I always had a curious little fear of the swamp, with its graytrunked gum trees, some of them ringed for felling, some already felled; its unexpected lagoons and dark crocks spanned by logs; the rough, uneven ground where you had to watch for the wily snake; and the weird chatter of its birds at night. It was rather a large farm—over twelve hundred acres—so there was good scope for mixed farming. They milked over fifty cows in the dairying section, and this, too. was let out on the share system. Then they had a good acreage under crop; fruit farming was done on a rather big scale, boo-kceping, and sheeprearing. Then, as an experiment, they were trying tobacco-growing—heneo our advent there. It was situated on the banks of tho Ovens River, and, according to experts, a good few acres were in too best, tobacco-growing bolt of the country. Tho following day the mistress was showing me around, and, of course, the storerooms were included in tho tour of 1 inspection. They would have gladdened tho heart of any housewife. Big, roomy cupboards lined the walls on all sides, and mostly all of them were fitted with perforated iron doors. And the contents! Hows and rows of bottled fruits in large, healthy-looking sizes, besides all _ kinds ,of jams and marmalade, honey, pickies, a.nd sauces. These were all homo made 1 from the products of their own farm. Tho j kitchen was splendidly equipped, too, i with many labor-saving devices. Our ! quarters adjoined this and the above rooms, and comprised bathroom, bedrooms, and our own sitting or dining room. Altogether, we ware very comfortable, and our food tho first month or two something to be remembered. Home-killed mutton, milk —two foaming bucketfuls each day—- ' cream, honey, and fruit in abundance. During the first month or two the i evenings were still a bit chilly, so | wo made up a fire of crackling logs, lit ' the lamp, and drew in our chairs to the 1 hearth, and bad a cosy hour in our little i sitting room. Old Joe was splendid company as a rule, and had a fund of quaint, 1 dry humor, with lots of pithy little sayl ings. Sometimes, though, he would sit I and listen to us tho whole evening, and | we knew then he bad nothing to say j that was worth while. We used to twit I him unmercifully, too —he was “ keeping i company,” they said, with a lady who l lived a few miles away—had been doing I so for years and years, and still things ' didn’t seem to got " much forrardor.” Occasionally, about once a month, Joe i would be very early astir on the Sunday | morning, and breakfast time would find him with his work for the day done. I Then he’d got out his Sunday-best suit, j brush off all the Imaginary dust (he was • such a careful old soul), polish his boots until they shone again, wash his face untill that shone, too, and set off on his fivemile walk to his lady love. When he returned home, fairly early in the evening, I he was almost invariably quiet, and many I a time I used to ponder over this—he was I such a fine old soul, with a deep regard for the womenfolk.

The days passed very happily the first few weeks It was spring weather, and almost every day some new beauty revealed itself. The " tobacco boys,” as Joe termed them, were kept very busy.

(There were two new recruits who had come in on shares on another plot of land, and my husband was kind of in charge.) They had made a good many more seed beds, firstly, in order to bo able to plant out in relays; secondly, in case any of the first bods failed to mature. The tobacco seed is a very fine seed, almost like dust, and a groat percentage of it is infertile. For the new beds they had gone down to the banks of the river for the bake of irrigating when summer came, and then because the soil seemed to be better adapted. First of all the undergrowth is cleared away, twigs scattered over, and a log rolled on top. This is then set alight, so that the soil underneath may have what is called a “ good burn.” After this the long, narrow strip of treated ground is well worked, the seed mixed with finely sifted wood ashes, and scattered on top. It takes a time before there is a visible sign of anything—about throe weeks—although they have to be kept duly watered. During this waiting period my husband filled in the time with digging around the trees in the orange grove, and picking and packing fruit for market. This latter is rather a pleasant occupation, as one might imagine, and I used to love to help in my half-day off duty. Joe would come along after with his lumbering dray to take the cases to the station, and the three children would clamber around him, begging to be allowed to go. If ha couldn’t take them he Generally brought them a bag of “ lollies ” back from the one and only sweets stores in the village. The weather was getting noticeably warmer, and instead of fires in the evenings we took to having a basket of fruit—navel oranges —and chatting over them. A few weeks later, when the real hot weather came, we would take a kerosene tin and gather up all the windfalls, sometimes oranges, sometimes limes or lemons, and Joe wou'd pump a great pitcherful of ice-cold water. Then wo would squeeze out the juice, add sugar, and the result would be a drink fit for anyone—no chemical concoction there. The sitting room was too hot then as well, the lamp too much of an attraction for hornets, flies, moths, and anything that had a bite or sting, to bo pleasant, so we would take our chairs out in the open, under the acacias, and listen to the jackasses laughing away, the parrots screeching, or maybe an opossum dropping on the roof. Just at this time, too, the swamp was rather a dangerous place to cross, owing to the snakes. The tobacco boys always carried a stout stick in their journeys to and from the tobacco beds, and altogether they killed fifteen or sixteen snakes—poisonous—and one fellow was a particularly largo specimen.

With the advent of the fruit, the bottling and jam-making began in earnest. Then the harvesting and sheep-shearing came on, with all the extra hands to cater for ; so the kitchen was a veritable hive of industry. About this time, too, we were getting rather anxious about the young plants in the tobacco beds. They had given great promise up to this, and were now almost the size of small cabbage plants. However, there was a disease sweeping the whole tobacco area —namely, blue mould, said to be due to atmospheric cond’tions, and all the growers in the neighborhood were fighting it. lam Sony to have to say that, despite all our elforts and the following out of advice that the tobacco expert gave us, we failed to get a crop even fairly planted. Our portion should have been five acres, but we ended up with about half an acre planted. Then, last season, too, in Australia, was particularly dry, so the chances are that they would fail to harvest even this. Had we struck a good season we might have realised anything up to £3OO for our share of the crop; but, as it was, wo abandoned it, and hade a reluctant farewell to this particular Australian farm.