southwest winds; its fields were all amenable to the plough, yielding
good crops of oats, rye, buckwheat, potatoes, or, when in grass,
yielding good pasture, divided east and west by parallel stone walls;
this hill, or lower slope of the mountain, was one of the principal
features of the farm. It was steep, but it was smooth; it was
broad-backed and fertile; its soil was made up mainly of decomposed old
red sandstone. How many times have I seen its different sections grow
ruddy under the side-hill plough! One of my earliest recollections of
my father is seeing him, when I was a child of three or four, striding
across the middle side-hill lot with a bag slung across his breast,
scattering the seed-grain.

How often at early nightfall, while the west was yet glowing, have I
seen the grazing cattle silhouetted against the sky. In the winter the
northwest winds would sweep the snow clean from the other side, and
bring it over to our side and leave it in a long, huge drift that buried
the fences and gave the hill an extra full-breasted appearance. The
breast of the old hill would be padded with ten or fifteen feet of snow.
This drift would often last till May. I have seen it stop the plough.
I remember once carrying a jug of water up to Brother Curtis when his
plough was within a few feet of the snow. Woodchucks would sometimes
feel the spring through this thick coverlid of snow and bore up through
it to the sunlight. I think the woodchuck's alarm clock always goes off
before April is done, and he comes forth, apparently not to break his
long fast, but to find his mate.

I remember working in oats in the middle side-hill lot one September
during the early years of the Civil War, when Hiram was talking of
enlisting as a drummer, and when Father and Mother were much worried
about it. I carried together the sheaves, putting fifteen in a "shock."

I have heard my father tell of a curious incident that once befell his
hired man and himself when they were drawing in oats on a sled from the
first side-hill lot. They had on a load, and the hired man had thrust
his fork into the upper sides of it and was bringing his weight to bear
against its tendency to capsize. But gravity got the better of them and
over went the load; the hired man (Rueb Dart) clung to his fork, and
swung over the load through the air, alighting on his feet none the
worse for the adventure.

The spring that supplies the house and the dairy with water comes f