Grandview, June 24, 1912
Dear Bess:
S.V.B.E. [Si vales, bene est], as Dicie's brother would say. It is about all I have the ability to think of now. Not that I ever have the ability to think much, but at times my brainstorms are worse than others. This probably won't be a violent one because we've been putting up hay all day. I ran the buckrake. Therefore I had to pail the cow when I got in, which is a job I hate. There is only one cow on the place that will let me milk her and not create a disturbance. She is the old standby and the old rip gives about a bushel at a milking. Her name is Nellie Bly. I call her Purple for short. Ethel has a favorite poem which runs "Did you ever see a purple cow. No, I never want to see one, although I'd rather see than be one." Entrancing, isn't it? That's why I call her Purple. (The cow, you understand.) There are two more that have to be milked after calves obtain a share. One of them is a most perverse creature. She has to have her feed in and you must approach her in a gentle and smiling mood. I always do until she's tied. It's "Whoa you nice cow. That's a nice cow," until the rope lands. Then it's "Now get away you blankety-blank speckled rip. Let's see you chase around the lot now." I make Mr. McBroom attend to her when I milk, which I don't very often. Papa stacked hay today and didn't feel like doing the job was why I did it. You see, the rake is not quite so strenuous. He wouldn't let me do the stacking, though, and he positively won't run the rake. It is a cussin' job. Ours is one of the kind where the horses are hitched behind the rake. If you desire to go to the right, it is necessary to make the left-hand horse move and the right one stand still. It works like the tiller on a boat - wrong end to. Sometimes you aim for a pile of hay and get one some distance away. I have arrived at the stage where I can generally go where I'm looking, therefore it's my job.
I do hope it won't rain. We cut down about seven or eight acres of fine clover this morning and if tomorrow will only behave we'll get it up. This is the first Monday in some weeks that it hasn't rained. Let's hope that Uncle Harry's three more day sign will work for clear days as well as rainy ones. It has sure worked for the rainy ones alright.
Have you and Miss Dicie come to blows yet? Wouldn't it be fine if she had perfect health or thought she had? You could have a fine time while she's there.
The banana ice cream wasn't all gone. I finished it for breakfast. Tell Frank I haven't seen the wheat raisers yet but will as soon as the hay is out of the way.
This letter ought to be most awful good, there is a gigantic Bible being right close to it. I am writing upstairs in my room. It always creates so much comment when I sit at the desk on Monday evening to write that I came up here where I could have some peace. I have one on Mary though. She got a picture from a guy down here in Central Mo. the other day. I had business in her room Sunday while she was away and saw it on the bureau. His brother and sister-in-law were here just as I left. They have a four- year-boy who wanted to go upstairs and they wouldn't let him. I said, "Oh let him go. He wants to see the picture of his uncle." Mary was sure enough sold out all right. Also it was necessary for me to beat it suddenly, which I did in good order.
Please write me a letter on the strength of this. Let's hope also for rain Saturday evening so Salisburys will have to postpone their do another week. I'll be along about seven-thirty Saturday if it will be all right. Answer - quick.
Sincerely, Harry