Crops

I thought this was corn meal (from maize) when I first saw this postcard. But it’s wheat. A friend said it looked like turmeric, another mentioned Bette Davis and Joan Crawford were the kids (just look at the faces, it’s so true!). I love their little outfits, but really. What part of Kansas is this? Maybe the one next to where Dorothy and Toto live . . .

Eastern Oregon appears to have strong teams of horses. Also it looks like a couple of ghosts are leading the team from the top of the harvester. I love the pointillism showing in the mountains in the background – it works well with the ghosts.

“Interior section of the largest wheat warehouse in the world, Tahoma Washington”

Is it still there I wonder? And is it still the largest?

Utah says this is their best crop.

“Just babies, babies, healthful, fair

From where the Wasatch lion leaps.

From sunless snows, from desert deeps,

Just babies, babies, everywhere;

Just Babies in arms, at mother’s breast,

And robust boys with girls at play,

With pounding fists, too full to rest,

As chubby, fat and fair as they.”

(Joaquin Miller in the San Francisco “Bulletin”)

My goodness, there’s ample opportunity for commentary on that poem! But I won’t go there . . . let’s see what the sender of the postcard says.

A very straightforward message, from Dick.

Crops. Always worth thinking about.

Heaven, Is My Rotolactor

This is the original rotolactor, and the only one in the world except the one to be at the World’s Fair. Doesn’t it remind you of a Merry-Go-Round?

We visited the Walker-Gordon Farm to-day. Which is one of the largest in the country (2400 cows!) Am enjoying the training course immensely. They have some very attractive girls in the group. We have to study our heads off too. Will write as soon as I have some spare time. Enjoyed seeing you all so much when I was home. Love, Emilie

Consider the Green Pea, In a Field Without Pity

Why this postcard has peas floating in the air I have no idea. Perhaps it is because peas are associated with pea-brains, being somewhat idiotic. Or maybe they are waiting to be put under the bed of the Princess.

The back of the postcard is entirely blank, no notes on who printed it. Or why.

The pod is obviously proud of its peas ready to burst out in little rounds. Yet . . . yet. I hear a whisper in the wind. Can you hear it?

“If only I had been born fifty years later . . . . I could have been a Sugar Snap . . . .I could have been . . . .a Sugar Snap . . . .”