be added day by day in the way of stock, and we will have to think
of names for them. Would it not be well before the time comes for active
farm work to think out a long list of names before the little strangers
arrive? Nothing serves to lower us in the estimation of our
fellow-farmers or the world more than the frequent altercations between
owners and their hired help over what name they shall give a weary,
wobbly calf who has just entered the great arena of life, full of hopes
and aspirations, perhaps, but otherwise absolutely empty. Let us
consider this before Spring fairly opens, so that we may be prepared for
anything of this kind.

One more point may properly come before the club at its next meeting,
and I mention it here because I may be so busy at Washington looking
after our other interests that I cannot get to the club meeting. I refer
to the evident change in climate here from year to year, and its effect
upon seeds purchased of florists and seedsmen generally.

Twenty years ago you could plant a seed according to directions and it
would produce a plant which seemed to resemble in a general way the
picture on the outside of the package. Now, under the fluctuating
influences of irresponsible isotherms, phlegmatic Springs, rare June
weather and overdone weather in August, I find it almost impossible to
produce a plant or vegetable which in any way resembles its portrait. Is
it my fault or the fault of the climate? I wish the club would take hold
of this at its next regular meeting. I first noticed the change in the
summer of '72, I think. I purchased a small package of early Scotch
plaid curled kale with a beautiful picture on the outside. It was as
good a picture of Scotch kale as I ever saw. I could imagine how gay and
light-hearted it was the day when it went up to the studio and had its
picture taken for this purpose. A short editorial paragraph under the
picture stated that I should plant in quick, rich soil, in rows four
inches apart, to a depth of one inch, cover lightly and then roll. I did
so. No farmer of my years enjoys rolling better than I do.

In a few weeks the kale came up but turned out to be a canard. I then
waited two weeks more and other forms of vegetation made their
appearance. None of them were kale. A small delegation of bugs which
deal mostly with kale came into the garden one day, looked at the
picture on the discarded paper, then examined what had crawled out
through the ground and