The Debts a Country Owes Its Farmers — and Its Farmers' Wives
An 1898 farm-column editorial tallies what rural Washington neglects: untrained road supervisors, school directors so illiterate the legislature had to bar them, and farm women who never see a newspaper or a neighbor.
There is another debt we owe. The general way of travel for a farmer and his family is the country road, not the electric car, and in the winter, from October to May, we know tolerably well that often we cannot use them with any degree of comfort, although thousands of dollars a year are expended in their repair. How often is the main feature of a road supervisor made the qualification for his nomination or election? Who has ever heard the question of the experience of a candidate upon road matters discussed when some candidate came forward for the office of road supervisor, knowing full well he has had no training nor experience therefor? How do you expect him to put his roads in good order?
How often do we find a supervisor looking over the ditches to see if they are stopped up or choked by the sides having fallen in, and thereby preventing the water from escaping? And how many of them ever do have them cleared out? Not one in twenty. Is it any wonder, then, that our roads are soft and full of chuck holes, and that our field drains cannot discharge, and our fields have water standing on them so long? To see that our road supervisors are practical and qualified men is another debt we owe; and when we have such a one, who does get value for the money allowed, to see that he is kept there is another debt we owe.
The care and education of the children in the country is in your hands. You practically have it under your own control; to take a deep interest in the election of your directors is a debt you owe. Do you pay the debt? Our last legislature found it necessary to pass a law disqualifying any elector for that office as ineligible who cannot read and write the English language. What a back-hand slap at the interest exhibited by us in the country. To think that we put our children under the control of a board of school directors whose qualifications for making a selection of a teacher are ignorance so dense they can't read or write. How can they know if a teacher is doing his or her duty to the scholars unless they visit the school often, and sit to see and hear and know such is the case? And if your school runs six months in the year only, and that is a good average, and during that six months your children are not thoroughly attended to, how can they progress, how can they become intelligent? How many directors ever go to the school at all during the entire term except at election?
To give them our best care, and to see that the directors and teachers also do the same, is a debt we owe.
To see that our homes are supplied with good farm papers and at least a daily paper is a debt we owe ourselves. Is it not necessary to know the condition of the markets? Is it enough to raise the crops without knowing anything of the prospects for the sale of them? Don't you desire to know what the world is doing? Is your wife and daughters to be kept in ignorance of the world and of that which is going on? How can they know without the news? What opportunity do they have without the papers? They rise at the break of day and often before. "Man's work is from sun to sun, woman's work is never done." Even when supper is over they must wash up and clear away and get set for morning, and when tired night comes around are they not entitled to some consideration — may they not be permitted to have some relaxation of the mind? The man is out; he sees something of the neighbors daily when out in the field, but his better-half sees nothing, hears nothing, and unless the race of the horse tells her something he has heard, she has no opportunity of reflection or improvement of the mind.
No wonder the boys don't want to stay on the farm; no wonder so many farmers' wives complain of its solitude, and pass away a lifetime without having any of the pleasures of recreation or enjoyment. And they are principal features — the comfort of the home. They toil week in and week out from morn till night, and I ask you, my friends, do you not owe them a debt? Would you be satisfied to take their place upon the same terms?
If not, let us pay off our debt, give pleasure and some sunshine where it is needed and where we owe it.
“"Man's work is from sun to sun, woman's work is never done."”
The argument is startlingly current: rural Yakima Valley voters still elect school boards and decide road levies, and the same complaint — that the least prepared candidate wins because nobody asks about qualifications — gets made at every school board meeting. What lands hardest is the last section. The isolation of farm wives, their unpaid labor and their hunger for news of the wider world, was an 1898 farm-press cause that prefigured a century of rural broadband and library debates.
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