I used to mow at the head of the crew...

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"WHEN A MAN GETS OLD"

The clash and the clatter of mowing-machines
Float up where the old man stands and leans
His trembling hands on the worn old snath,
As he looks afar in the broadening path,
Where the shivering grasses melt beneath
A seven foot bar and its chattering teeth.

When a man gits old, says he,
When a man gits old,
He is mighty small pettaters
As I've just been told.

I used to mow at the head of the crew,
And I cut a swath that was wide as two.
Covered a yard, sah, at every sweep;
The man that follered me had to leap.
I made the best of the critters squeal,
And nary a feller could nick my heel.
The crowd that follered, they took my road
As I walked away from the best that mowed.
But I can't keep up with the boys no more,
My arms are stiff and my cords are sore:
And they've given this rusty scythe to me
-- It has hung two years in an apple tree --
And told me to trim along the edge
Where the mowing-machine has skipped the ledge.

It seems, sah, skurcely a year ago
That I was a-showin' 'em how to mow,
A-showin' em how, with the tanglin' grass
Topplin' and fallin', to let me pass;
A-showing 'em how, with a five-foot steel,
And never a man who could nick my heel.
But now it's the day of the hot young blood,
And I'm doin' the job of the fuddy dud;
Hacking the sides of the dusty road
And the corner clumps where the men ain't mowed.
And that's the way, a man gits told,
He's smaller pettaters when he grows old.

-- by Holman F. Day

Sources:


Whetting the scythe
by Käthe Kollwitz (1867-1945), 1905

Whitworth Art Gallery,

The University of Manchester

http://gallerysearch.ds.man.ac.uk/Detail/15049

Up in Maine: Stories of Yankee Life Told in Verse
by Holman F. Day
Boston,  Small, Maynard & Company,  1901, p. 57
Google Books copy

Reaping Rye, Wheat, Barley, Oats...

Here, stretched in ranks, the swelled swarths are found.
Sheaves heaped on sheaves here thicken up the ground. 

With sweeping stroke the mowers strew the lands— 

The gatherers follow and collect in bands; 

The rustic monarch of the field descries, 

With silent glee, the heaps around him rise." 

-- from Homer's "Iliad", A. Pope translation

All material quoted from:
The book of the farm: detailing the labors of the farmer, steward, plowman, hedger, cattle-man, shepherd, field-worker, and dairy maid, Volume 2,  by Henry Stephens, 1852,

Chapter 34 (page 373 onward)

In mowing, it is the duty of the mower to lay the cut corn [meaning "grain"] or swath at right angles to his own line of motion, and the straws parallel to each other...To maintain this essential requisite in corn [grain]-mowing, he should not swing his arms too far to the right in entering the sweep of his cut, for he will not be able to turn far enough round toward the left, and will necessarily lay the swath short of the right angle; nor should he bring his arms too far round to the left, as he will lay the swath beyond the right angle; and, in either case, the straws will lie in the swath partly above each other, and with uneven ends, to put which even in the sheaf is waste of time. He should proceed straight forward, with a steady motion of arms and limbs, bearing the greatest part of the weight of the body on the right leg, which is kept slightly in advance...The sweep of the scythe will measure about 7 feet in length, and 14 or 15 inches in breadth. 


The woman-gatherers follow by making a band from the swath, and laying as much of the swath in it as will make a suitable sheaf...The gatherer is required to be an active person, as she will have as much to do as she can overtake. The bandster follows her, and binds the sheaves in the manner already described, and any 2 of the 3 bandsters set the stooks  together, so that a stook is easily made up among them; and in setting them, while crossing the ridges, they should be placed on the same ridge, to give the people who remove them with the cart the least trouble. 


Last of all comes the raker, who clears the ground between the stooks with his large rake of all loose straws, and brings them to a bandster, who binds them together by themselves, and sets them in bundles beside the stooks. This is better than putting the rakings into the heart of a sheaf, where they will not thresh clean with the rest of the corn; and, moreover, as they may contain earth and small stones, and also inferior grain, from straws which may have fallen down before the mowing, it is better to thresh bundles of takings by themselves.


The figure [above] exhibits the 3 kinds of scythes in operation [along with the other workers doing the described tasks].

A scythesman will cut fully more than 1 imperial acre of wheat in a day. Many farmers affect to believe that the scythe is an unsuitable instrument for cutting wheat; but I can assure them, from experience, that it is as suitable as the sickle, and that mown sheaves may be made to look as well as reaped. No doubt mowing wheat is severe work, but so is reaping it. Of oats, 1 scythesman will mow fully 2 acres with ease. The oat crop is remarkably pleasant to handle in every way; its crisp straw is easily cut by the scythe, and being hard and free, and generally not too long, is easily bound in sheaf and set in stook. Nearly 2 acres may be mown of barley; but the gummy matter in the straw, which gives it a malty smell, causes the stone to be frequently used in mowing barley, and the straw being always free, the bands are apt to break when rashly handled in binding the sheaves.

One mode of setting up corn [grain] to dry quickly is in gaits, that is, the band of the sheaf is tied loosely round the straw, just under the corn, and the loose sheaf is made to stand upon the lower end of its straw being spread out in a circular form, and they are set upon every ridge. The wind whistles through the open sheaf, and even the rain passes through, and does not hang upon it. 


The expedient of gaiting, however, is only practiced in wet weather, and even then only should the crop, if allowed to stand, be endangered by a shaking wind. It is confined also to a particular kind of crop, namely, oats—wheat and barley never being gaited, because when wheat gets dry, after being cut in a wet state, it is apt to shake out in binding the gaits; and when barley is subjected to the rough usage of binding, after being won, the heads are apt to snap off altogether, and, besides, exposure in gaits would injure its color, and render it unfit for the maltster. Oats are protected by a thick husk, and the grain is not very apt to shake out in handling, excepting potato-oats, which are seldom gaited, the common kinds only being so treated. But, for my part, I would not hesitate to gait any sort of oats when wet with dew in the morning, or even when wetted with rain, rather than lose a few hours' work of reaping every morning, or at nightfall. 


Gaits, it is true, are very apt to be upset by a high wind; but after having got a set, it is surprising what a breeze they will withstand. After being blown down, however, they are not easily made to stand again, and then 3 at least are required to be set against each other; but whatever trouble the re-setting them should create, they should not be allowed to lie on the ground, and it will be found that a windy day dries them very quickly, and secures their winning.

Rye may be reaped or mown in the same manner as the other cereal crops. Its straw, being very tough, may be made into neat slim bands. It usually ripens a good deal earlier than the other grains; and its straw being clean and hard, does not require long exposure in the field, and on that account the stooks need not be hooded.

Beans in drills are reaped only with the sickle, by moving backward, taking the stalks under the left arm, and cutting every stalk through with the point of the sickle. When beans are sown by themselves straw ropes are required for bands; but when mixed with pease, the pea-straw answers the purpose. 


Beans are always the latest crop in being reaped, sometimes not for weeks after the others have been reaped and carried. In stooking, bean-sheaves are set up in pairs against one another, and the stook may consist of 4 or more sheaves, as is thought most expedient in the circumstances for the winning of the crop, the desire being to have them won as soon as possible, to get the land sown with wheat. 


Pease are also reaped with the point of the hook, gathered with the left hand, while moving backward, and laid in bundles, not bound in sheaves, until ready to be carried, and are never stooked at all.


-- Henry Stephens, 1852

Sheaves of Wheat in a Field,  Vincent Van Gogh, 1885

Sources:

The book of the farm: detailing the labors of the farmer, steward, plowman, hedger, cattle-man, shepherd, field-worker, and dairy maid, Volume 2,  by Henry Stephens, 1852,

Chapter 34 (page 373 onward)

Read online or download a .pdf with Google Books

Sheaves of Wheat in a Field, by Vincent Van Gogh, 1885
Place of creation: Nunen / Nuenen, Netherlands
from http://www.wikipaintings.org/en/vincent-van-gogh/sheaves-of-wheat-in-a-field-1885

"Scythes forever"

There was an old person of Blythe,
Who cut up his meat with a scythe;
When they said, "Well! I never!" he cried, "Scythes for ever!"
That lively old person of Blythe.

- from "More Nonsense" by Edward Lear, 1872




(Source:  http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/13648)

"The Mower knew not rest nor haste..."

...The world's possessors lay abed,And all the world was ours—

"Nay, nay, but hark! the Mower's tread!And we must save the flowers!"
The Mower knew not rest nor haste—That old unweary man:

But we were young. We paused and racedAnd gather'd while we ran...

OF THREE CHILDREN CHOOSING
A CHAPLET OF VERSE

You and I and Burd so blithe—
Burd so blithe, and you, and I—

The Mower he would whet his scythe
Before the dew was dry.

And he woke soon, but we woke soon
And drew the nursery blind,

All wondering at the waning moon
With the small June roses twined:

Low in her cradle swung the moon
With an elfin dawn behind.

In whispers, while our elders slept,
We knelt and said our prayers,

And dress'd us and on tiptoe crept
Adown the creaking stairs.

The world's possessors lay abed,
And all the world was ours—

"Nay, nay, but hark! the Mower's tread!
And we must save the flowers!"

The Mower knew not rest nor haste—
That old unweary man:

But we were young. We paused and raced
And gather'd while we ran.

O youth is careless, youth is fleet,
With heart and wing of bird!

The lark flew up beneath our feet,
To his copse the pheasant whirr'd;

The cattle from their darkling lairs
Heaved up and stretch'd themselves;

Almost they trod at unawares
Upon the busy elves

That dropp'd their spools of gossamer,
To dangle and to dry,

And scurried home to the hollow fir
Where the white owl winks an eye.

Nor you, nor I, nor Burd so blithe
Had driven them in this haste;

But the old, old man, so lean and lithe,
That afar behind us paced;

So lean and lithe, with shoulder'd scythe,
And a whetstone at his waist.

Within the gate, in a grassy round
Whence they had earliest flown,

He upside-down'd his scythe, and ground
Its edge with careful hone.

But we heeded not, if we heard, the sound,
For the world was ours alone;

The world was ours!—and with a bound
The conquering Sun upshone!

And while as from his level ray
We stood our eyes to screen.

The world was not as yesterday
Our homelier world had been—

So grey and golden-green it lay
All in his quiet sheen,

That wove the gold into the grey,
The grey into the green.

Sure never hand of Puck, nor wand
Of Mab the fairies' queen,

Nor prince nor peer of fairyland
Had power to weave that wide riband
Of the grey, the gold, the green.

But the Gods of Greece had been before
And walked our meads along,

The great authentic Gods of yore
That haunt the earth from shore to shore
Trailing their robes of song.

And where a sandall'd foot had brush'd,
And where a scarfed hem,

The flowers awoke from sleep and rush'd
Like children after them.

Pell-mell they poured by vale and stream,
By lawn and steepy brae—

"O children, children! while you dream,
Your flowers run all away!"

But afar and abed and sleepily
The children heard us call;

And Burd so blithe and you and I
Must be gatherers for all.

The meadow-sweet beside the hedge,
The dog-rose and the vetch,

The sworded iris 'mid the sedge,
The mallow by the ditch—

With these, and by the wimpling burn,
Where the midges danced in reels,

With the watermint and the lady fern
We brimm'd out wicker creels:

Till, all so heavily they weigh'd,
On a bank we flung us down,

Shook out our treasures 'neath the shade
And wove this Triple Crown.

Flower after flower—for some there were
The noonday heats had dried,

And some were dear yet could not bear
A lovelier cheek beside,

And some were perfect past compare—
Ah, darlings! what a world of care
It cost us to decide!

Natheless we sang in sweet accord,
Each bending o'er her brede—

"O there be flowers in Oxenford,
And flowers be north of Tweed,

And flowers there be on earthly sward
That owe no mortal seed!"

And these, the brightest that we wove,
Were Innocence and Truth,

And holy Peace and angel Love,
Glad Hope and gentle Ruth.

Ah, bind them fast with triple twine
Of Memory, the wild woodbine
That still, being human, stays divine,
And alone is age's youth!...

But hark! but look! the warning rook
Wings home in level flight;

The children tired with play and book
Have kiss'd and call'd Good-night!

Ah, sisters, look! What fields be these
That lie so sad and shorn?

What hand has cut our coppices,
And thro' the trimm'd, the ruin'd, trees
Lets wail a wind forlorn?

'Tis Time, 'tis Time has done this crime
And laid our meadows waste—

The bent unwearied tyrant Time,
That knows nor rest nor haste.

Yet courage, children; homeward bring
Your hearts, your garlands high;

For we have dared to do a thing
That shall his worst defy.

We cannot nail the dial's hand;
We cannot bind the sun

By Gibeon to stay and stand,
Or the moon o'er Ajalon;

We cannot blunt th' abhorred shears,
Nor shift the skeins of Fate,

Nor say unto the posting years
"Ye shall not desolate."

We cannot cage the lion's rage,
Nor teach the turtle-dove

Beside what well his moan to tell
Or to haunt one only grove;

But the lion's brood will range for food
As the fledged bird will rove.

And east and west we three may wend—
Yet we a wreath have wound

For us shall wind withouten end
The wide, wide world around:

Be it east or west, and ne'er so far,
In east or west shall peep no star,
No blossom break from ground,
But minds us of the wreath we wove
Of innocence and holy love
That in the meads we found,

And handsell'd from the Mower's scythe,
And bound with memory's living withe—
You and I and Burd so blithe—
Three maidens on a mound:

And all of happiness was ours
Shall find remembrance 'mid the flowers,
Shall take revival from the flowers
And by the flowers be crown'd. 

- from The Vigil of Venus and Other Poems by "Q"
  (a.k.a. Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch), 1912


(Source:  http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/10133)