Thursday, May 6, 1926
The moss back who says the railroad is a curse to the country and who cannot stand the advancement of civilization and the shrill whistle of the locomotive, had better throw his moccasins across his shoulder and start for the Black Hills and give more room for our young businessmen.
DUNMORE
The passenger depot is completed at Forrest. Taking the snake den road from the people did not cut any figure with the depot at Forrest, and we will get two depots, and the road will be built around the snake den. There is $1,250 laying for that purpose
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Uncle Billy, of Arbovale, doesn’t know a road from a cow path. I am going to use him as the Irishman did the skunk – let him alone till he stinks himself to death.
SENECA THEATRE
There was a very pretty play at the Seneca Theatre the other night – The Keeper of the Bees. It was from the works of Gene Stratton Porter, a good wholesome woman writer out of a swamp called Limberost. She is an authority on bees, butterflies, birds and human emotions. It was a portrayal of bees that every child in the country ought to have seen but the trouble with it was that it was mixed up. With the story was a complicated sex question that was anything but agreeable. It was like the average western picture where every prospect pleases and only man is vile.
At one time, I knew a good deal about bees though I was more or less afraid of them. I have hived a swarm, but I was rather inclined to give my place to someone who really liked it.
Since it has become apparent that farming communities must cater to the city tables with the small and insignificant animals, it may be that bee farming will come into vogue. The day of the beef steer seems to be passing this country. It takes too long for him to ripen. Anything that takes more than half a year to get ready for market seems too slow for this age. It will be bees, poultry and lambs, pretty soon, all of which take but one season to grow and market.
A LEAF FROM MY NOTEBOOK
Here is Mary Duncan’s residence. She must have a lonely time of it in this life and yet not so lonely as doubtless her Savior is with her to make and keep everything right
Yonder is West Union Schoolhouse. There is a sacred spot where the people pray as well to have their children taught. As we turn here to the right and looking over our left shoulder we see the beautiful and pleasant spot of ground recently selected for a church.
Arrangements are being made to erect a church in the spring. We hope and pray that this church will soon be built as the good people of his locality need it very much.
But now we are at the Cochran place. This is a nice farm, and best of all, very good people live here. We are told that fortune knocks at every man’s door once. Some fail to open the door and let her in. These people, however, have let fortune in – at least they seem to be doing very well for both worlds.
At the right of us here, William Sharp and his son Watson live. William and his younger son run a sawmill at Big Spring and Watson teaches the West Union school. These people are looking after the “good things of the life that is to come.
Still farther to the right and up the mountain is where J. W. Curry lives. Mr. Curry is one of the unfortunate ones. He lost his wife last winter and was left with five small children and one of these, his only girl, was fatally burned not long since. There is only one remedy for such, and we would say to John and to all in any trouble, “Cast thy burden upon the Lord.”
Let us tread softly as we come near the Cochran graveyard. We are pleased to see a new wire fence built around this graveyard. Here is a specimen of Robert Doyle and Wallace Jackson’s wire fencing. It is well done.
We pass George C. Moore’s place. There is here quite an improvement made on the house. They are working people and live a very quiet and peaceable life. We breathe a short prayer for their welfare as we pass. We hope to meet them on the “plains of light where sorrows never come.”
Truly,
A. M.
